What are laws?
Some would say they are rules—written codes made by men to keep other men in check. Others would call them invisible contracts, collective agreements to prevent chaos, protect the weak, punish the strong… or perhaps the other way around.
Perhaps rules are not shields, but chains — forged not to protect the vulnerable, but to keep them in their place. Perhaps they do not punish the strong, but exalt them. Perhaps they serve those already at the top, legitimizing their privileges with ink and parchment, while those below learn to call it justice.
But the true laws—the real ones—are not written in ink, not signed with quills, and never bow to the will of the powerful. They have existed since before the first cities, the first thrones, the first names. They are older than any empire, more solid than any wall. They need no courts, no soldiers, no witnesses.
They continue to act even when no one is watching.
Gravity.
Time.
Life.
Death.
These are the so-called laws of nature—immutable, essential, the very quintessence of the universe.
But humanity… ah, humanity created its own versions. Laws shaped not by truth, but by convenience. Laws that favor the rich, ignore the poor, absolve monsters, and condemn the innocent.
They were as fragile as paper. As corrupted as their makers.
Some tried to build systems to protect the majority—but always at the expense of a forgotten minority.
Others claimed that no laws should exist at all—that absolute freedom was the only salvation.
And many, in their obsession with order, lost themselves in their own ideals, turning virtue into fanaticism, justice into tyranny, progress into arrogance.
Yet, amid moral and structural ruin, a few dared to believe.
They believed there was one law—not created, not written, not manipulable.
A law that pulses at the heart of the world.
And when they crossed the Gate, they took the first step toward understanding it.
Only to eventually learn a truth as simple as it was brutal:
The true laws do not govern just men. They judge the worth of the soul itself. They define existence.
But long before that… long before this group even existed, humanity had already done the unthinkable.
Would you believe me if I said the world has been broken before? Destroyed. Erased. And not just once, but countless times.
And in every instance, the cause was the same: arrogance. In the pursuit of a supreme law, of absolute control, of a monopoly on truth, humanity ignored the signs, ignored the limits—even ignored its own nature.
With a diseased pride and blind faith in what it called consciousness, humanity gave birth to a dangerous child: science.
But not the science of wisdom and discovery—the science of hubris.
The one that wages war in the name of peace, that scorches the earth in the name of progress, that poisons the air in the name of comfort, and that drains the last resource in pursuit of profits that are never enough.
That science—proud and blind—dared to lift its eyes to the heavens and declare: "Nothing is beyond our reach."
And so, the planet was pushed to its limits. Not once, but time and again. It was exploited, plundered, poisoned. It was broken. Killed. Left to rot. Turned into a shadow of what it once was.
And then—against all logic—a miracle would happen.
The world would come back to life.
Not out of mercy.
Not because it was deserved.
But as if the very laws of the universe refused to allow the end.
As if the essence of things knew how to heal, if only left alone.
And humanity?
It, too, returned. Like cockroaches surviving an apocalypse. Like starving insects crawling through the wreckage of their own arrogance.
Refusing to disappear.
Always.
Always.
But the question now is not whether the world will die again.
The real, inevitable, cruel question is:
How many more times can it be reborn… before the laws themselves decide not to forgive?
That question, however, has already been answered.
Because this time, it wasn't the world that broke the laws.
It was the one who weaves them who chose to rewrite them.
The world didn't merely survive—it changed.
It evolved.
Expanded.
Mutated.
Or perhaps, more precisely, it gave up on obedience.
Gave up on preserving the ancient balance.
Gave up on bearing the weight of humanity.
Just as men grew tired of breaking the laws…
the laws, in turn, grew tired of being broken.
And then, against all expectation, the ancient forces that upheld balance turned their backs.
The laws that once protected humanity withdrew.
They stopped supporting.
Stopped judging with fairness or forgiving with mercy.
They simply watched—coldly, distantly, mercilessly.
And when that support ended… something new emerged.
Forces no one understood. Phenomena that defied even the most basic logic. Unknown laws—or ones too ancient to be remembered—took the place of the old.
Reality began to falter.
Time no longer flowed as it once had.
Space ceased to obey distances.
Physics, once considered absolute, became a suggestion.
Reason, a comforting superstition.
And the impossible… became routine.
Certainties shattered like glass under pressure.
Logic was subverted, forgotten, corroded. And with it fell everything humanity believed it had achieved: its books, its formulas, treaties and theories—even its pride.
All turned to dust.
What was once fixed became unstable. The absolute gave way to doubt. What once offered safety became a threat. The past—with its maps, laws, and memories—was swallowed by oblivion.
And a new world took its place.
Not built.
Not conquered.
Redefined.
A world whose foundations did not rest on human certainties,
but on older—or newly awakened—forces.
Not governed by written codes, but by harsher, wilder, indifferent laws.
Just, perhaps.
But never merciful.
In this new world, effort does not guarantee victory.
Talent is not enough.
Morality is measured by invisible standards.
Destiny is shaped by imperceptible—or unavoidable—choices.
A world where even the wisest walk blind, and the unknown dictates the rules.
Now, all that remains is to discover:
Who will survive in a reality that no longer recognizes humans as its rightful heirs?
And more importantly:
Who will be worthy of understanding the new laws—before they change again?
That question, in truth, has already been answered.
But some truths…
can only be understood at the right time.