Leo stood on the deck, focused on training his Gravity Trap enchantment spell. Since he still wasn't entirely sure if using his domain for practice was safe, he chose to train in the real world instead. His concentration was broken by the sharp call of Arthur's voice cutting through the air.
"Raise the anchor!" Arthur commanded.
"Aye, aye, Captain!" Laid responded. After a brief pause, he said to the crew. "Hoist the sails!"
Leo watched as the crew sprang into motion, running from one side of the deck to the other, quickly and efficiently carrying out the captain's and co-captain's orders.
Arthur made his way over to Leo. "As a B-rank, do you have any particular needs or requirements?"
"I just spend part of the night praying to my god," Leo answered casually.
"I'll have Laid prepare a room for you," Arthur replied with a nod before turning back toward the main deck to resume giving orders.
Leo watched him go for a moment, then found his thoughts drifting back to what he'd just said.
'Praying... What if I tried praying to myself? Could that create a connection from the domain to this world?'
The idea was intriguing. If he could bridge the gap in that way, it might be the key he needed. But first, he needed a private room. And second, he'd have to come up with a proper prayer.
The prayer needed to align with the description he'd created for himself. The Creator — an eternal presence, neither good nor evil, bearer of both light and shadow, who forged balance from chaos and gave form to the formless.
He had already read about the prayers of other gods—each one distinct, shaped by the nature and authority of the deity it honored. A proper prayer wasn't just words; it had to reflect the essence of the god it was meant for, invoking their domain, power, and identity.
Leo pondered this deeply, letting the fragments of thought form and drift like stars waiting to align. Slowly, the words began to come together in his mind, one by one. A rhythm. A meaning. A declaration.
And just as the ship began to move, its hull slicing through the waves, a gentle sea breeze swept across his face. He knew then the prayer was complete.
He whispered it under his breath.
From nothing, You spoke.
From chaos, You sculpted stars.
In shadow, You placed the seed of light;
In light, the promise of shadow.
The Creator, who sees without eyes,
Whose voice echoes in silence—
Guide me as You Guide all.
After settling on the structure of his prayer, Leo knew that creating a stable connection between it and his domain wasn't going to be simple. The prayer itself was powerful, but raw. He also understood the risk—if a powerful entity ever discovered the connection, it could be used as a gateway to breach his domain. He couldn't let that happen. The prayer had to remain hidden, its link secured and untraceable. But for that, he needed privacy—something he wouldn't have until nightfall.
The rest of the day passed with a peaceful rhythm. The sea was calm, the air warm, and Leo used the time to train his two newest spells—refining their mechanics, stretching their limits—and to speak with more of the crew. Gradually, he got to know their personalities, quirks, and humor. They laughed, swapped stories, and joked with each other in a way that reminded Leo of a distant life—one that sometimes felt like a dream. Here, on this ship, he didn't feel like a stranger anymore.
By the time dusk fell and the sky dimmed to a cool shade of violet, Laid came to him and led him to a small room below deck. It was tucked away near the rear of the ship, plain and narrow, with a wooden bed pushed against one wall and a small, round porthole facing the sea. It wasn't much, but it was all Leo needed.
Once inside, he briefly considered laying down a protective trap at the door—just in case. But it wasn't worth the risk. If one of the crew accidentally triggered it, things could get messy. Instead, he activated his vision spells, scanning the area for any presence. When he was sure no one was nearby, he shifted instantly into his domain.
The transition was smooth, almost comforting. In that infinite white expanse, the familiar silence welcomed him. He seated himself on the massive throne in the center of the space. Now came the real challenge—creating a link between the prayer and this place.
He began by speaking it aloud in the domain, letting each line roll off his tongue, slowly and clearly. But nothing happened. The silence remained unbroken. He tried again, altering his tone and cadence, but the result was the same.
For a long while, he sat still, thinking. He realized most of the domain's responses had always come from one thing—his imagination. It had been his will, his mental imagery, that shaped this place. So, he tried again—this time, visualizing the prayer in his mind.
Line by line, word by word, he imagined it taking form. And then—something shifted.
Golden words began to materialize in the air before him, each glowing with soft, divine light. They floated in front of him, suspended, forming the complete prayer in a vertical spiral. As he imagined the final line, the entire prayer pulsed once, then slowly dissolved, the light drawn into the fabric of the domain.
Leo opened his eyes in the real world, his heart steady, and began to speak the prayer outside of his domain.
The moment he finished, he felt it: a subtle pull, like a thread wrapping gently around his spirit. It felt familiar, almost welcoming—like an invisible hand reaching from his domain. Without hesitation, he shifted back.
Now, floating in front of the throne, was a small, white orb. It pulsed softly, resonating with the same rhythm as his breath. He reached forward and touched it.
Instantly, the orb dissolved into the Mirror of Truth, and an image formed on the surface. It was he, himself, praying, whispering the words with quiet reverence. The image remained—anchored there.
To test the link, Leo gathered a small stream of his domain's energy—cool white and faintly shimmering—and pushed it into the image, directing it toward his real body. He then pulled more of the cloudlike essence and used it to trace a single word in the air above his sleeping self.
Leo.
Uncertain if it worked, he transitioned back into his body. As he opened his eyes, he caught the last traces of the glowing word fading in front of him, its wisps disappearing like smoke on the wind. But even as it vanished, he could feel it—the divine mana in the air and deep within himself. It wasn't like the usual flow of power he received from his domain. This time it felt cleaner, stronger, purer. Almost… sacred.
A small smile spread across Leo's face. This was only the beginning. Only time would reveal the true reach of a simple prayer—and the power it could bring.
The prayer had succeeded in linking a worshipper's voice to Leo's domain. Through the Mirror of Truth, he could observe the one who invoked it—watching their image form. But a critical question lingered. How much influence did he hold over a person without the prayer? Could he reach into the world and bring someone into his domain without their active invocation?
If he wanted to pull the three individuals he'd marked into his domain, he needed a method to contact them first, something that didn't rely on worship or prayer. The possibilities opened before him were many, but vague. It was clear that this was only the beginning. Answers would come, but only through testing, observation, and time.
For now, though, those questions had to wait. Tonight was for something else entirely. His secret meeting.
Leo exited his domain with practiced ease, his consciousness returning to his body in the small ship's cabin. He pulled the blanket over himself, lying still on the creaking bed, feigning sleep; no one would disturb him—especially not Arthur. Leo already knew Arthur's secret identity was Mr. Light.
As his breathing slowed, reality shifted. The familiar sensation of his body dissolving returned—not painful, but cold and weightless. His vision dimmed, blurred, and then settled once again in a shadowed realm thick with swirling mist.
He had arrived in the secret chamber. Dimly lit, a space that resembled an ancient hall buried in timeless fog. Shadows clung to the edges, and the circular-shaped stone table at its center seemed to exist halfway between substance and thought. This place—whether a dream, a domain, or a higher plane—felt like a whispering secret.
Leo suspected it belonged to Mr. Sage. The control of space, the way time seemed to stretch and compress—none of it felt accidental.
"Welcome, my friends, to another conclave of our order," came the deep, steady voice of Mr. Sage. "As is our custom, let us commence with the fulfillment of promises made at our last gathering."
One by one, hooded figures passed objects across the table. Magical pacts were honored, debts settled, secrets traded.
When the ceremonial exchange ended, the room fell still. Then, without preamble, Mr. Light—Arthur—spoke.
"Has anyone here ever heard of a being named the Creator?"
Leo's eyes widened slightly.
'So direct? I thought he'd be curious, but not this much.'
For a moment, the chamber was frozen in surprise. Even the mists around the table seemed to hesitate.
"Creator?" Mr. Crow echoed, his voice sharp and skeptical. "What is that? A god?"
"I've never heard of him," said Mr. King, his tone flat.
The others slowly shook their heads. No recognition, no alarm. Just confusion.
But it was the subtle reaction of Mr. Sage that caught Leo's attention. The usually unreadable figure tilted his head slightly—not in disagreement, but in interest. A flicker of curiosity. As if he, too, was trying to assess whether the Creator was a name he had somehow overlooked in all his ancient knowledge.
From now on, Leo knew the game had changed. There was now a very real chance that beings—divine or otherwise—might begin to seek him out. The moment he introduced The Creator into the world's narrative, it was as if he lit a beacon in the dark. A symbol of power, a threat, a myth in the making.
He would have to tread more carefully than ever before.
"Where did you hear that name?" asked Mr. King, his voice sharp with suspicion, eyes narrowing under his hood.
Arthur—Mr. Light—remained calm. "It was on the wall of an island ruin. It only said that the people there had worshiped him."
Leo suppressed a smile. It was a lie, of course, a smooth one. But now that they were speaking of his creation, he couldn't resist stirring the pot a little more.
"I've never heard that name," Leo said, his voice thoughtful, casual—but measured, "but the name itself can carry meaning."
All heads turned toward him in unison, as if a silent signal had passed between them.
"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Immortal, leaning slightly forward, his tone half-skeptical, half-intrigued.
Leo let the silence hang for a second before answering. "For anyone in A rank or above, the question of higher beings—of true gods—is always there. But we rarely speak of it, let alone search for answers."
He paused, his gaze slowly sweeping the chamber, letting his words settle.
"We already know about the old gods."
"You're saying this Creator was an old god?" Mr. Immortal asked, his voice quieter now.
Leo lifted his chin slightly, letting the weight of his next words fall carefully. "Maybe even older." And then, with a subtle gravity in his voice, he added, "The name is The Creator. That means—the one who created everything."
A heavy silence blanketed the mist-filled chamber.
"You are suggesting," said Mr. Crow, slow and disbelieving, "that the Creator is the god that created everything? The god of gods?"
Leo shrugged, as if tossing a casual idea into the void. "Just a conclusion."
Mr. Immortal scoffed. "God of gods? That's idiotic."
There were nods all around, but Leo wasn't fooled. Deep inside, beneath the bravado and cynicism, he knew he had planted something. A seed of doubt. A question none of them had dared to ask aloud before. And like all seeds, it only needed time and pressure to grow.
He sat in silence as the mist curled around the chamber's edges, smiling inwardly.
This was only the beginning.