The sky rose blood red.
Not the red of a painted sunset. Not the red of a distant storm.No—this was the deep crimson of a wound torn open across the heavens.
There was no rain. No thunder.Only silence—thick and heavy, like a warning carved into the air itself.
Inside the fortress, people stirred uneasily.Some called it intuition.Others called it dread.But all of them felt it.
Today was not like the others.
Children cried without cause.The dogs didn't bark.And the wind that whispered from the mountains seemed to speak a language no one understood.
Diego was already awake.
He stood atop the Bastion, alone, his gaze fixed on the horizon.He hadn't slept that night.He couldn't.
His heart—hardened by years of war, death, and sacrifice—now trembled with a different fear.
It wasn't fear of battle.It was fear of memory.
This was the day.The day he had lost his parents.
He remembered it with a clarity that burned.The screams.The blood.The helplessness.
He had tried to change everything.He had trained, warned, prepared.He had rebuilt his family, his people, his world.
Not from dreams.Not from visions.From memory.
He had lived it all.Died with it.Returned because of it.
But if there was one thing he didn't know...
It was the hour.
The exact moment when it would all begin.
And that uncertainty tore at his insides like claws.
Would it be at dawn?Midday?Nightfall?
He watched the sky, the forest, the silence... waiting for a sign that hadn't yet come.
His father, Rodrigo, appeared quietly behind him.He handed Diego a warm cup and a heavy silence.
—Is it today? —he asked softly.
Diego nodded, eyes still on the horizon.
—I don't know when. But this is the day.
Rodrigo placed a hand on his son's shoulder.He didn't say anything else.
Some things didn't need words.
Across the inner streets of the fortress, tension spread like wildfire.
Warriors sharpened their blades.Children were led to hidden shelters.Elders whispered prayers to gods that may have long stopped listening.
Everyone wondered the same thing:When will it start?
But no one dared to ask aloud.
Time became the enemy.
Minutes passed like hours.Hours like entire days.
Diego walked the walls.He watched his people.He saw his little brother Matías, still a child, training with clumsy movements and fierce resolve.
His mother was in the kitchen, cooking with nervous hands.His grandfather meditated in silence, eyes closed, but body alert.
They all knew.
This was the day the old world would end.
It was just past midday when it happened.There was no explosion.No warning.
Just a strange hum in the air...Then a fracture in the sky.
A thin black line, slicing across the heavens like a blade through fabric.
And from that tear… they began to fall.
At first, only shadows.Then bodies.
They weren't human.Nor were they mere beasts.
They were abominations.The same monsters that had hunted him in his previous life.Creatures that devoured, infected, and corrupted.
A woman screamed.Then a child.Then… chaos.
But Diego didn't move.His legs trembled.His soul burned.
And then… he breathed.
He was not the same Diego.This time, he was ready.
He grabbed his sword.He felt the weight of Excalibur on his back.Felt the crown watching him.The pendant on his chest pulsed, warm—as if whispering: Now.
The roar of the apocalypse was rising.
And Diego, eyes locked on the torn sky, whispered:
—This time… I won't lose anyone.