Chapter 135#
End · Dusk#
The Tower of Creation, ninth floor.
Mophy was polishing his hourglasses and birdcages with fine silk cloth, making each one gleam as clear as crystal.
From time to time he glanced out at the Radiant Ice Stone plaza below. At the center of the plaza, the largest hourglass in all the Paradise had not yet begun to flow — meaning the Paradise had still not resumed its normal operation for a new era.
In the Paradise, many people had begun to feel this holiday was running unusually long.
Mophy withdrew his gaze and continued tidying, his mind elsewhere.
“Stop fussing.” A languid voice drifted from the depths of the hall.
“Stay away from my chair.” Mophy said coldly. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping the gate?”
“I quit. I’m just going to shut the gate entirely.” Claros lay stretched out in the God of Time’s suede armchair, finding it considerably more comfortable than his own black iron throne.
He had no desire to stand watch right now.
The little flames in Mophy’s eyes instantly threw off a few sparks. He raised his hand to contact the God of Discipline.
“Don’t.” Claros drawled. “Want to play a game?”
“What game?”
“I ask, you guess. If you guess wrong, you have to answer one question from me.”
Mophy had no interest in humoring him and continued dusting the cages. Claros didn’t care whether he agreed or not — the gatekeeper pulled his hood forward over his face, which was as good as declaring he had no shame whatsoever.
Claros said: “Who do you think is the most reckless gambler in all the Eternal Night?”
Mophy said flatly: “You.”
“Wrong. I am the most timid person in all the Eternal Night. You owe me an answer.”
Mophy was one gesture away from putting the call through to Discipline.
From the suede armchair, Claros dissolved into a plume of purple-grey smoke and reappeared ghost-like behind Mophy in the next instant.
A low, conspiratorial voice sounded at Mophy’s ear: “Have you ever done any private divinations on little Yu?”
Mophy went still. After a long moment, he said: “What do you want to know?”
For someone with such an anomalous hand — one that could easily cause damage to the Paradise, yet was somehow connected to Him — of course he had privately conducted many divinations, even drawing on his source power.
But for reasons he could not explain, the results had come back blank multiple times, yielding no clues whatsoever. Much like the way he could not divine fortune or misfortune for the Chief God.
Being unable to read the Chief God was perfectly normal — His fate line sat far beyond the reach of any diviner. Being unable to read Yu Feichen was what genuinely annoyed Mophy.
Unfortunately, not a single divine official knew where this person had come from.
“Is there any clue at all?” Claros said.
There was, in fact.
Unable to read his future, he had turned to divining his present.
“There is a lock on him,” Mophy said.
Claros’s interest sharpened instantly. “Elaborate.”
Mophy frowned, recalling that strange divination result.
A lock. Isolation. Severance. Images in that family.
He shook his head and said: “The lock is rooted in his soul, but it is not unbreakable. Beyond that, there is nothing more.”
“You’re telling me all this — how forthcoming.” Claros’s crimson lips curved upward. “Then I’ll be equally forthcoming: I think I may know what that lock is.”
“What is it?”
“When I was teaching little Yu to use power a while back, I noticed something: he can wield every kind of power without any resistance whatsoever, no matter how chaotic or violent. There is only one reason for that — his source power is vastly superior to all of them. Yet little Yu knows nothing of his own source, as if it simply doesn’t exist. Don’t you find that strange? He can catch your Arrow of Truth with bare hands, yet in his own mind he believes he’s just an ordinary visitor passing through the Paradise. So tell me — where does he come from? And who would be capable of placing a lock like that on him?”
After a long pause, Mophy said: “I imagine He has His own reasons.”
Mophy said no more. But Claros materialized again, wraith-like, directly in front of him.
“Back to the original question,” the gatekeeper said with an air of mystery. “Who is the most reckless gambler in this Eternal Night? Aren’t you curious?”
Mophy said nothing. From the scatter of cards on the table, he lifted one.
On a throne, a figure holding a scepter — only a silhouette, no features visible.
It was the Sovereign card. Its meaning: the one to whom you are devoted.
“But there is no need to worry,” said Claros, his figure dissolving into the silent purple mist, his voice trailing back like an echo. “Over all these years, the things He has wanted to possess — He has always found a way to hold them in His hands.”
Crossing back over the River of the Past, everything returned to its original form.
The mist of time was scattered by the night wind, and Yu Feichen watched the young Anfi he had been holding hands with shift back into the form of the Chief God. The teardrop mole beneath His eye flickered in and out of sight, and the moonlight rendered His silhouette serene and sacred.
Their fingers were still intertwined. In the brief moment their eyes met, Yu Feichen felt His presence was no longer quite so intangible and elusive. He had seen the God’s past — and in doing so, had seen a more complete God.
The journey to Yoran Town came to an end. Afterward, they didn’t seek out any particular next destination, but wandered and lingered aimlessly through Landenwarren. Unlike the butterfly-people who secluded themselves deep in the mountains, most other races and cities were fully open to outsiders — and at the center of every city stood a branch of the divine temple.
He explained that such temples were scattered across every corner of Landenwarren, the divine realm, and the Sea of Dust and Sand. Each temple had an envoy in residence, ensuring that every stretch of land remained governed and protected.
When a place encountered a problem it could not resolve on its own, it would appeal to the temple. The temple would relay the message to the Paradise, where a corresponding task would be generated according to the scope and difficulty of the problem — and the people of the Paradise would take up the task and come to resolve it.
And whenever the Paradise needed to draw in new adherents, word would be sent through the temples to the people, and selection events and trials would be held.
An endless web of temples formed a net, draping over all the Eternal Day, ensuring that everything ran smoothly according to the God’s will.
This system had persisted for tens of thousands of eras, until in everyone’s mind, this was simply how the world worked. Since it had never changed, it would never change.
“I’ll take you somewhere.” The Chief God brought Yu Feichen quietly slipping into the center of a temple they happened to be passing.
Unfortunately, one passage required going by the confessional, and temple staff happened to be moving through it.
A certain deity had no choice but to pull him behind a floor-length curtain, like two figures up to no good.
Beneath a vivid and solemn stained glass window, Yu Feichen glanced at the Chief God.
——So even You have days like this.
There was a faint hint of amusement in the Chief God’s smile.
Inside the confessional, a divine official was at work.
“Divine official, I wish to confess.” A resident stepped in.
“The God hears your confession,” the official said.
This is getting strange, Yu Feichen thought — and yet the God really was listening to this confession.
The man confessed that his magical potion had burned through the city’s drainage system and caused a minor but messy incident.
“The God forgives your mistake,” the official said. “However, the enforcement unit will collect you in five minutes to issue a fine.”
Resident: “…I am grateful for the God’s justice.”
The resident departed. The corridor was briefly empty. They drifted through, then passed through several more doors, disregarding the locks and warding spells, until they arrived at a spacious hall.
At the center of the hall, a cluster of pure white flame hovered in midair, burning slowly.
The Chief God extended His hand, and the flame drifted obediently onto His palm.
“It is the core of the temple’s power. Each temple is a node.”
The flame suddenly expanded, and in an instant Yu Feichen found himself inside its intricate structure, as if surrounded by another world entirely.
The hall they had come from was gone. Inside the flame, there were only the two of them.
The God moved forward, His tone gentle and measured: “Now I will teach you how the many powers of Landenwarren coexist alongside one another.”
Yu Feichen was caught off guard for a moment.
The Chief God was going to… teach him?
——Just as Claros had done.
Claros had taught him purely to stir up chaos. Why was the Chief God doing this?
The structure of power unfolded before the Chief God like an ancient scroll of magic — recording forbidden arts that could not be transcribed, never once revealed to another person in all the ages that had passed.
The Chief God’s Eternal Day was the most radiant and glorious domain in all the Eternal Night. Landenwarren was the most perfect work within the Eternal Day.
If the God was teaching him the composition of Landenwarren, He was teaching him the very nature of the Eternal Day.
The rest of their journey was like this.
At every city they passed through, the God would bring him into the hall housing the power core. Every node was different — just as every type of power had its own nature. Some were chaotic by constitution, some gentle by birth, and some were fated to rule over the rest.
When all the powers had been shown to him within the flames, they returned to the Temple of Dusk.
At the center of the Temple of Dusk there was also such a flame. Unlike the flames below, this one held only the powers that stood at the very pinnacle — the most fundamental constituents, in other words.
Within that flame, Yu Feichen saw the sky and the earth, light and darkness, the passage of time, the continuation of life, and even resurrection and death.
The God was not a person of many words, and explaining these things required volumes upon volumes.
And so, having understood that Yu Feichen’s capacity for comprehension far exceeded expectation, He chose to pour the knowledge directly into Yu Feichen’s mind through sheer will.
Of all the times before, Yu Feichen had never felt overwhelmed. Only this time — the sheer volume of knowledge was so vast that it left him momentarily unable to distinguish the world’s essence from its surface, uncertain of where he even was.
Being unable to distinguish anything was fine, really. He was led through the temple by the Chief God’s hand.
In a daze, they arrived again at that grand hall with the long staircase and crystal divine throne, which they had visited once before. They sat together at the center of the steps.
The last time they had been here was when Yu Feichen had just learned the Chief God’s true identity. Between them had been prejudices and misunderstandings on both sides, and they had parted on bad terms. This time they arrived having traveled together — like old friends of many years.
…Not that any analogy was of use right now; Yu Feichen was still buffering.
The Chief God turned slightly, looking at Yu Feichen.
A faint, unfamiliar expression of confusion had appeared on that young, handsome face. His pupils, already dim at the best of times, had grown even more unfocused — finally shedding the cold and distant look he always carried.
“Little Yu?” His voice carried a suppressed note of amusement — the first time He had ever used that name.
Yu Feichen pressed his fingers to his brow. “…I’m here.”
Through his hazy vision, the Chief God’s smile was more alive than it had ever been before — leaving Yu Feichen to wonder whether something had gone wrong with his own eyes.
The Chief God said: “Rest for a bit.”
There was no particular place or means to rest on the broad staircase. Yu Feichen first shifted closer to the God, and was gently steadied by a hand on his shoulder.
In the end, Yu Feichen lay with his head in His lap.
Since leaving Yoran Town, they had not been this close in quite some time.
Once the world before him sharpened back into clarity, Yu Feichen still didn’t get up.
The Chief God spoke first: “Do you know the origin of the Tower of Creation’s name?”
“No.”
“When I founded the Paradise, I already held the authority of many gods, which I delegated to the divine officials who each govern their domain.”
Struggle, conquest, slaughter — however brutal or grand, these were the deeds of mortals.
Commanding time, space, life, and even the intangible threads of fate — this was what set the gods apart from ordinary people.
“And yet there are things I have never been able to do.” His voice drifted as if from somewhere far away. “Such as creating a life. That is why I once told you I cannot make living things. In those flames, you must have seen where I fall short.”
Life had always seemed to arise of its own accord rather than by deliberate creation. Yet in ancient legend, there was always some deity who had fashioned humanity into being.
If creation was itself a form of divine authority — where would one go to obtain it?
Yu Feichen said: “Do you want to be able to do it?”
The Chief God only looked down at him, His smile faint.
Getting no answer, Yu Feichen changed his question: “Why teach me all this?”
“As thanks for accompanying me through Landenwarren.”
Yu Feichen looked at Him in silence. His expression plainly said: I don’t believe that.
He gave a quiet sigh, and His fingers moved through Yu Feichen’s hair. “As the God who brought you to the Paradise, I wanted to teach you all the world’s virtue and kindness, to let you see glory and the possibility of dreams. I wished you to possess great strength, and the courage and resolve to match it.”
“…But when I met you, I knew that those qualities had long been carried deep within your soul, and needed no instruction.”
Yu Feichen: “…?”
Was the Chief God actually talking about him?
“At this time, I know well that your will is firm and your longing for freedom is deep.” The Chief God’s voice was very quiet. “And so I have taught you the order and rules of all power — in the hope that when you leave the Paradise and walk the Eternal Night alone, you may do so safely.”
The moment those words landed, Yu Feichen understood that his intentions had been discovered.
He had shown his hand on the airship, or Claros had reported him, or He had known all along.
And so the Chief God would also know: that he wanted to reclaim his own power, and that he wanted to leave the Paradise.
The Chief God continued: “But I still wish to tell you — even free of the Paradise’s constraints, you must always act in accordance with the principles of justice. For the path to divinity is sacred.”
Yu Feichen looked into His eyes.
——The path to divinity had been paved in rivers of blood.
In the silence, the God’s fingers moved through his hair — a perfectly natural gesture.
On the window frame, the glow of the setting sun flickered once. The laughter of children drifted through from far beyond the temple’s great doors.
He had never agreed with the people of the Paradise and their unwavering devotion to the Chief God.
Yet the God’s fingers moved gently through his hair, the way one might soothe a drowsy child to sleep — and in this brief passage of time, he felt as though he could willingly give voice to an oath of loyalty.
In the light of the setting sun, he closed his eyes.
It was already different. He knew that clearly.
The urge to chase after freedom had been receding further and further away. In its place was a different kind of longing.
“I never said I was going to leave,” he said.
The Chief God gave a quiet laugh. “Your fortress-world suggested otherwise.”
Yu Feichen, having long since given up any pretense, felt not the slightest ripple at those words.
“That was before,” he said.
——A before when he had been adrift and alone, like a wandering ghost.
The Chief God’s voice seemed to carry from somewhere very far away: “And now?”
And now? Yu Feichen asked himself the same thing.
But the answer was already there. It had always been there.
Yu Feichen slowly opened his eyes, meeting a pair of deep, quietly still ones.
For an instant, he felt as though he too had found stillness.
The Chief God’s fingers were still moving softly through his hair. Yu Feichen reached up and took hold of that wrist — the one that inexplicably moved something in him — and sat up.
His voice was so calm. Only the most tranquil of words could carry such solemnity — solemn as a formal vow.
“I have faith in you,” he said.
The world’s people gave their faith to the God when they received His mercy and grace.
He gave his faith to Him having known everything of the God — past and present, strength and fragility, sanctity and sin.
The light of dusk fell on the corners of the Chief God’s eyes and the ends of His hair.
He had just given a parting admonition — and in return received a vow of faith. On His face there was not the slightest trace of surprise. Instead, something melted away — as if this had all been within the God’s reckoning, as if this was precisely what He had been waiting to hear.
But Yu Feichen didn’t mind, because that look of tender joy was entirely real — and he knew that everything had long been destined. From the moment he had first heard the Chief God’s name and the spark of rebellion had stirred within him, he had been fated to face this God rather than run from Him.
He had faced Him.
And then he had lingered.
And then he had been tamed.
All the thorns that had once covered him had been quietly smoothed away without his noticing. As if a lifetime of fate had been leading to this single moment — his formless, wandering soul settling, at last, into place.
In the lingering light of dusk, in the same place as before, Yu Feichen once again asked those words, one by one: “What do you want to do?”
The question was the same as before. The meaning was entirely different now.
The Chief God rose and walked toward the far end of the steps.
The sky stretched on without limit. At dusk, the brilliant canopy had hung above the Paradise for a thousand hundred eras. No one any longer remembered that it had once had mornings when dawn first broke, or noons when the sun blazed overhead.
So long.
So long that even He had nearly forgotten why He had come here at all.
“I have walked roads strewn with thorns and blood. I have lingered in the peace and tranquility of the Paradise. And I have once thought… of stopping here.”
“But today, the time has come. For this moment, I have waited very long.”
Facing the wind, the God suddenly raised His hand.
Before Him, the faceless divine statue slowly mirrored the gesture — tilting its scepter and lifting its right hand.
The wind rose.
Crack.
A thunderous tremor passed through every inch of the divine realm, and through every blade of grass and tree in the Paradise.
The gods in the Tower of Creation all looked up at the same moment toward the dusk sky.
In the Paradise, people lifted their eyes.
“Look…” a trembling voice rang out. “It’s getting dark.”
Night rose slowly from one edge of the horizon. The dusk that had stood unchanged for countless thousands of years finally drew to a close.
Festive garlands, white doves like snow, the discount signs in the taverns along Sunset Street… everything was swallowed by the dark.
A more unsettled voice arose from the crowd: “Look… the Tower of Creation.”
The gleaming white tower that had stood in solemn majesty at the center of the Radiant Ice Stone plaza was growing more and more translucent, fading into nothing, until only a faint dark shadow remained.
In its place rose a massive gate of purple-grey, as tall as the Tower of Creation had been. The gate was carved with every sacred emblem of faith that existed in the world, surrounded by drifting motes of deep violet light.
Oppressive. Terrifying. Still as death.
The same thing was happening everywhere across the divine realm.
Before all eyes, every temple was vanishing — and in each one’s place, another such gate of deathly silence appeared.
No one knew what any of this meant.
Yet everyone felt with an overwhelming certainty: one age had ended.
In the next moment, a mysterious voice suddenly rang out simultaneously from within the countless gates — carrying a strange note of cheerfulness.
“Welcome to the Gate of Eternal Night. I am Claros, the Gatekeeper.”
“Though I too find myself rather caught off guard, I must nonetheless welcome our guests from the Paradise and the divine realm. If you ask me, this is how the Gate of Eternal Night was always meant to be opened.”
“Do not be afraid. The God knows each of you, and has selected beyond the Gate of Eternal Night the path of fate suited to each of you.”
“The duration of your journey through the Gate of Eternal Night is: one era.”
In the Radiant Ice Stone plaza, the hourglass finally let fall its first grain of sand.
The Temple of Dusk.
In the dark of night, the God’s face was cool and still as ice.
“You asked what I want to do.” The God said slowly. “I want every power in this world to be mine. I want no Eternal Night left in this world — only the Eternal Day. I want to save all living beings from the shattered deep.”
“And you——” He said. “I want you to go somewhere. There, you will find the most powerful enemy I have faced in all my existence.”
Standing in the God’s dwelling, Yu Feichen watched everything that had unfolded in the Paradise and the divine realm.
The God had, one by one, smoothed down every rebellious spine he carried.
And now He stood above it all, lighting another kind of flame — one entirely mad.
Yu Feichen’s lips curved.
“What will you give me in return?” he said.