Chronicles Of The Shadow Sovereign

As the boy's story ended, the dreamscape began to shift. The city faded away, replaced by a vast, empty plane.

Levi found himself standing before a circle of light, his visions displayed within it like scenes from a play.

But there were no sovereigns present to judge him, only the Archangel Sophion, a being of immense power and wisdom.

Sophion's voice echoed through the void, deep and resonant. "Levi, you have faced the trial of the Shattered Veil. You have endured pain, suffering, and despair. But you have also shown resilience, compassion, and leadership. These are the qualities of a true sovereign."

The archangel said. " But You let the beggar die."

"No." Levi flexed his resurrected hands, still feeling the ghost of Ness's grip. "I let the Crow live."

Even after Levi died in the dream, the story did not end. The group he built did not crumble. Instead, Ness rose in his place, leading with the same resilience Levi had instilled in them.

Under her guidance, the group did not merely survive—they grew, expanded, and thrived.

As the dream unfolded, a quiet truth echoed through the ages:

"A true leader is not the one who rules until death, but the one who creates leaders before he dies."

"A king builds monuments. A leader builds mirrors."

Sophion inclined his head. For the first time in millennia, a hint of respect softened his divine gaze.

Levi bowed his head, his heart heavy with the weight of his experiences. "I did not know it was a trial," he admitted. "I thought it was reality."

"That is the nature of the Shattered Veil," Sophion replied. "It strips away your illusions, forcing you to confront your deepest fears and insecurities. Only by facing them can you emerge stronger."

"The trial does not test strength, It tests your will to endure pain."

Then, the crimson aura of the Shattered Veil surged through his body, filling him with a power unlike anything he had ever known.

It flowed through his veins, his bones, his very soul, transforming him from within.

"Remember, Marked Sovereign: Rulers are judged not by the heights they reach, but by what they refuse to abandon in the climb."

Archangel Sophion's voice echoed in Levi's ear, carrying an ominous weight.

"Perhaps the next time we meet... it will be on the battlefield."

Who?or what?Sophion truly was remained a mystery. No records in human history spoke of an entity capable of trapping a soul within a dream for hundreds of lifetimes, all while only a single instant passed in the real world.

The only truth known so far?

He was the Lord of the Dream Realm. A ruler of illusions that felt more real than reality itself.

Levi's body surged with power as the red aura from The Shattered Veil poured into him, merging with his veins, his bones, his very essence. It was the reward for conquerering the " The shattered veil"

The crimson light spread through his body, a testament to his triumph.

But then—something unprecedented happened.

Auras from all seven gates surged towards him—red, purple, white, black, silver, gold, and azure. Each represented a domain of power, yet they all bowed before Levi.

Because the red-crimson aura of the Shattered Veil holds authority over the auras of other gates—and Levi has been marked by it—he gains the ability to command the energies of the other gates to a certain extent. However, while he can wield their power, he cannot yet fully rule over them.

He still has to conquer the remaining gates to achieve true ascension. Within the Dream Realm, he holds absolute authority—a sovereign unchallenged—able to shape reality as he wills.

But in the real world, his journey is far from complete. Outside the Dream Realm, he remains a mere Order 7 Marked Sovereign, still bound by the laws of power, still far from the pinnacle he seeks.

His body transformed.

As the trial concludes, Levi's body ceases to be bound by mere flesh and bone.

The surge of power from the seven gates,red, purple, white, black, and more, converges within him, forcing his form to transcend the limits of human existence in dream realm.

His flesh turns to shadow. It does not dissolve, nor does it vanish—it evolves into an amorphous state, flickering between solidity and intangibility, like a wraith caught between existence and oblivion.

His presence distorts reality, the space around him warping like heat rising from the earth, as if the world itself struggles to comprehend what he has become.

His face is no longer visible, instead, it is enveloped in pure blackness, a void darker than night, swallowing all light that touches it.

Yet above this abyss, a brilliant white aura flares to life, shaping itself into a polygonal mask, smooth and featureless, save for the three sharp, triangular protrusions extending from the edges, one in the center of his forehead, two along his cheekbones, resembling a crown sculpted from celestial radiance.

The black aura engulfs his body, a cloak of living shadow draping over him, its edges constantly shifting, curling like wisps of smoke.

But where shadow covers his form, light defines it—his upper body, shoulders, and arms outlined by an ethereal white glow, as if a ruler of the unseen had stepped forth from the boundary between night and dawn.

His presence is suffocating yet divine, a paradox that unsettles those who witness it.

To ordinary beings, he feels like a void, an abyss that stares back, a force that erases all who dare stand before it.

Yet, for those attuned to power, he is a ruler, a force of undeniable will that commands reverence.

His aura does not simply radiate, it claims the space around him, imposing his dominion over it.

The seven-colored energy of the gates does not fade; instead, it integrates into his very being. Hints of red flicker like dying embers in the folds of his shifting form, while streaks of violet, white, and blue surge like veins of power coursing through his shadowed figure. Each color represents a domain, a force that has acknowledged him as its rightful heir.

When he moves, it is not with the weight of a mortal body but with fluid grace, his form stretching and reforming, as if distance and space no longer hold dominion over him.

He can step through the veil of reality, emerging where he wills, his existence neither bound by the physical nor the ethereal.

He is the monarch of the unseen, a force of nature clothed in darkness, defined by light, feared by many but bound by none.

He stood there, no longer just a man but a shadowed sovereign, one who existed in both the material and spiritual realms.

The others stared in awe.

Dorian swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you... Levi?"

The shadowed figure turned, his masked face unreadable.

Then, the transformation faded, and Levi returned to his original form.

"Here I am," he said.

Anderson stepped forward. "Did you... become the Sovereign?"

Levi exhaled, his gaze steady.

"No," he said. "Not yet."

His lips curved slightly, and his voice was cold, commanding.

"But I am now... a Marked Sovereign."

Then, his gaze fell upon the others, and he gave them a chilling command:

"Now, it is your turn."