Days 291–295: I continued my pilgrimage through the timeworn tents of an ancient expedition. Each step on the desert dunes crunched with the dust of forgotten centuries. Every tent, every fold of fabric held echoes of lost knowledge—fragments of Omnium blueprints, glyphs, and manuscripts that seemed written not by human hands... or not by human hands alone. Who were they, the ones who came before? Shadows? Messengers from deeper layers of existence? Or… something else? But suddenly — rupture. A crack in the calm. Like a loop of time pierced by a blade, a Penegron — the predatory herald of the void — descended upon me from the sky. I didn’t have time to reach for my gems. The razor of its beak sliced through the boundary between consciousness and oblivion. The last thing I remember was a prayer flung into the stream of quantum currents: “Let someone... someone among the heroes hear me…” Four days. I lay in the sand, nearly erased by the winds, nearly dissolved into the scorched fabric of the desert. And yet, my link to the heroes did not break. A name — like a thread of salvation — pulled me back: steelyaga. He sensed my absence like a disruption in the field of probabilities, like a disruption in the heartbeat of the camp. “Professor!” — the voice cut through the darkness — “We have huge news! Our scouting vanguards have begun to win! We’ve cleared the desert... but some unknown force brings the enemies back. It’s like a reversed victory. The weakest monsters rise again and strike with fury. We’re holding the line, but for how long?.. Professor, it’s time to launch the Expedition! We need YOU!” My entire body ached, but the inner beacon had already lit — the Nexus was calling. The lists were ready. The heroes — determined. The Prismars — charged. With trembling hands, I activated the first wave. The crystals sang, and their song was not just an echo of resonance — it was the opening chord of a new symphony of discovery. They opened like petals of consciousness, scanning the fabric of reality, tasting the cosmos… Now — 30 days. A cycle of scanning. A cycle of waiting. A cycle of fate. And while it spins, I must uncover: What is this second wave of attacks that breaks the lines? What void anomaly is triggering this inverted response? And most of all — why did the heroes forget me, forget the Professor, while I was drifting between layers of time? Or… maybe they didn’t forget. Maybe they simply couldn’t…