The obsidian walls had grown star-like patterns on them, twinkling in the dim light produced by the golden tesseracts rotating on the seven spires. The eighth spire—that completed the octagon, was left dark, its structure just barely together, close to crumbling and so close to becoming consumed by the darkness around it—the small linings of ancient rune architecture still managed to hold it up with the help of little ice at its base and corners. It wasn't like there was any way out of the space in that the eight spires circumscribed, outside it was a type of void, one with weird astronomical syngils imprinted into every visible part. Perhaps the walls weren't even walls to begin with, but were just there for the sake of enclosure to keep the human mind from going insane. 

In the middle of the eight spires, was a bright white circular array formation on top of which a man lay, curled up into himself and exhaling frosted breaths as he held a broken compass close to his chest in his hand—the cover glass had already cracked and caused a gnash in the man's palm, but he didn't seem to care the slightest. The blood dribbled from the wound ever so slowly, like even it was as affected as the compass needle which refused to stay in one direction. Maybe it was, maybe that was why, despite his unyielding counting providing him with the answer that he had been here for years, nothing had changed. His throat was parched, but his stomach wasn't famished. His hair was messy but not outgrown, his hands were bloody but unhealed—his skin bore the same texture. 

It was eternal prison, a paradox created by the universe to keep him here as the repercussion for the sacrifice he made. It had been his choice, he had been the one who had given his life up, but he wondered if there would have been another way. He opened his eyes and blinked softly, unable to see much more than the intricate designs of the array underneath him. He wondered if there was a way out—a penalty for him following the rules for this long. Regardless, he pushed himself to sit up wearily and cast a glance around him for the millionth time—sighing heavily. 

The criteria for his removal from the Celestium had been the collection of eight tesseracts, which honestly, the man doubted was possible at this point. Maybe his companions were already consumed by the <Stygian> and there was no one to continue bothering to go through the painstaking process of going to each macrocosm and collecting its part. He honestly wondered if there was any point in even getting out, since nothing bad had occurred—in the definition of bad, he meant outbreak of Armageddons. 

A screen opened in front of him when he thought of the Armageddon, showcasing yet another fight in <Level 1263>. He closed his eyes and the screen vanished. 

He could fall asleep for days and dream about the part of him that still coexisted in the worlds around, but he could no longer recognize that version of him as 'himself'. He couldn't sympathize with that person's actions and couldn't call the person that looked exactly like him—'I', either. The feeling of desolation was perpetual, and he wondered if it was envy that was gnawing at his insides. 

Things would have been so different if he hadn't thrown his life away in <Level 1502>, if he hadn't made the oath with the <Celestium> to collect the eight tesseracts of each macrocosm. He closed his eyes again letting himself collapse back into the fetal position and let out a long exhale of frosted air, shivering the slightest and pulling his black coat close to his body, uncaring that the glass shards were pinching him from underneath his skin. 

He opened his eyes and stared directly at the empty part on top of the eighth spire. Just before he could resume his thoughts, a sickly familiar computer voice vibrated faintly in his ears. 

[The Tranium Oath of the Eight Macrocosm is looking at you]

[The Tranium Oath of the Eight Macrocosm is suggesting a contract.]

The man's eyes widened automatically—it was the first time in so long that he'd heard the sound of the <Watchers> of the System reaching out to him. A part of him wanted to close his eyes in disbelief but the other part of him  immediately nodded, attempting to speak but ending up sputtering for a few moments. "Y—yes," he said, voice suddenly desperate and awfully dry. He braced himself to pay the repercussions, but to his surprise the black shards never came, instead a holograph opened in front of him. 

[1. . . ␣␣ must give up certain memories and expect others to be forgotten.

2 . . . ␣␣ must be willing to face the Repercussions.

3 . . . ␣␣ should visit the 9th macrocosm.

4 . . . ␣␣ may have the capabilities to change designated events if willing to lose the course of others. 

5. . . ␣␣ must be willing to make the story more interesting for the God's will be displeased—

6. . .]

He didn't care about more than half the things, other than realizing that it was a way back. In trade for the higher percentage of himself that existed within the physical world, he could go back. But to the [Ninth Macrocosm], according to the God of the [Eight Macrocosm]. 

"I agree to the terms," he said, voice a mess. 

The hologram that appeared in front of him began dissipating into thin particles that slowly began surrounding him, resembling tiny stars that were persistent on prodding at his entire body. He stayed resilient, though, holding the compass close to his chest as he curled into himself, closing his eyes tight as the particles turned into shards and drew gnashes into his body as their velocities began increasing. 

The world around him kept spinning and the only thing he could register was the sensation of floatiness. Regardless of the pain, he felt faintly glad. He didn't know how many years had actually passed in the eternal prison. His body was stuck in the same age as when he'd arrived, but his mind was held elsewhere. Stuck in a time far different than this. 

[Conditions related to exclusive skill have been met!]

[Personal Skill, 'Crystal Memories' has been earned!]

[The Tranium Oath of the Eight Macrocosm has blessed you with the contract]

[Censorships have been applied!]

[You've traveled 10 years into the past]