A boy's anguished cry pierces the void—he's died countless times, yet mana proves useless against creatures of unimaginable scale. Before him looms a colossal entity, its face hidden in shadow, presence suffocating. "What if mana was never real?" the being whispers, voice echoing across dimensions. "What if mana atoms fractured into something far smaller?" The boy's frame trembles. His eyes strain upward, searching for the hidden face. "You're speaking in riddles! Catastrophe approaches—humanity has no defense!" The entity's weight crushes down. "Tell me: why does mana vanish in the Plasma Dimension? Why absent from the Upper Echelons? The Lake of Harbinger?" "During the Doomspire Conflict, mana was drained by reality itself—" "False." The voice cuts sharper, colder. "Mana dwells there still, transformed into a state humans cannot perceive nor command." The boy gasps. The being descends closer. "Why are some blessed with endless mana reserves while others possess nothing? Why do certain warriors channel Void Pulse while others curse themselves with Hell Blast?" "I... don't know..." "Our universe appears chaotic, cruel even—yet it worships order. Rules. Hidden patterns beneath the surface. That duality is what terrifies us... and captivates us." A silence stretches between them. "What if you could finally perceive those patterns?"