A great silence swept across the multiverse.
Elder, seated upon the throne of light suspended high above all worlds, said nothing. His golden eyes were open, yet his mind drifted deep beyond the veil of the present.
His students, gathered like stars beneath him, looked up with concern—but not one dared to speak. They had learned to respect the weight of silence when it came from Elder.
Moments passed.
Then, at last, Elder stirred.
His voice rose—soft, yet filled with a presence that reached every soul, every being across creation.
"I apologize... for my silence."
His words fell gently, like a breeze after a long storm.
"I did not speak, not because I had nothing to say, but because I do not know how to say it..."
Again, he paused. The silence this time was not empty—it was sacred.
Elder's gaze grew distant, as if looking through the walls of time.
"The promise I once gave you—the promise of eternal peace, a life untouched by darkness—that promise..."
He exhaled slowly.
"...I can no longer fulfill it."
A quiet murmur passed through many hearts, but none dared speak aloud.
"It is not because I lack the strength. I still hold the power to bring that peace, even now. But if I use it—if I force peace into the fabric of this universe—then evil will not be undone..."
His golden eyes dimmed slightly, not in power, but in sorrow.
"...it will thrive beneath the illusion of light."
He let those words sink in, allowing the truth to speak louder than the sound of his voice.
Across the multiverse, confusion bloomed. The people, though wise in law and life, had only learned how to live correctly—not how to hear the weight of a cosmic truth. They knew how to speak with eloquence, but not how to read between the lines of divinity.
They looked to Elder, seeking more.
Elder's voice, still calm yet carrying the weight of stars, continued.
"I will explain to you," he said, raising both hands gently into the air, "why I cannot fulfill the promise of eternal peace... not in the way you expected."
As his hands rose, a radiant bridge began to form in the space between them—a bridge made entirely of pure, flowing light. It stretched across the sky like a thread connecting infinity.
"This bridge," Elder said, "is the multiverse. It is the reality in which we all live."
Suddenly, a blinding flash of light burst forth from both ends of the bridge. The brilliance was so intense that people across countless worlds instinctively shielded their faces. And then, as the light faded, two golden orbs hovered at either side of the bridge—shimmering and alive.
"These two lights," Elder explained, "represent the eternal forces of Good and Evil."
The multiverse was advanced. The people, his students, had long been taught the difference between good and evil. Yet Elder was not here to teach what they already knew—but to show them something deeper.
He extended his right hand to the very center of the bridge. There, a cluster of small light-beings appeared. They were playful, innocent—laughing as they stood between the orbs of Good and Evil.
"These beings," Elder said softly, "are you."
He paused, letting the vision speak for itself.
"So long as Good and Evil remain in balance—equal in weight, equal in force—the bridge remains stable, and the lives of these beings remain safe. But..."
He moved his hand, and the image changed.
One of the golden orbs began to swell—first subtly, then violently. The bridge began to tremble. The balance was broken. The small light-beings cried out as they slipped from the center—falling into the vastness below. Silence followed.
"If either force—whether good or evil—outgrows the other, the bridge collapses. Harmony is lost. And those who live upon it will fall... and perish."
He looked at them, his gaze filled with both sorrow and love.
"This is why I cannot give you eternal peace, not by force. Because to do so would tip the balance toward good unnaturally. And in doing that, I would break the bridge myself. I would become the very cause of destruction."
Silence again cloaked the multiverse.
Then Elder spoke, his voice gentler now, like a whisper from beyond time.
"But do not despair. There is still a path... There is still a way to receive the eternal life of peace I once promised."
Hope stirred.
"This time," he said, his voice growing firmer, "it will not come from me. It will come from you."
His hands lowered. The bridge faded. But the truth lingered in the air like the scent of rain after fire.
"There are two realms beyond this multiverse. Realms I did not create—but that I've seen, the realms that i made a deal for you."
He turned his gaze to the stars.
"They are known as The Life Realm and The Death Realm."
A hush of divine awe spread through every world as those words echoed into the heart of the infinite.
"If you choose to walk the path of good—if you lift one another up, heal, give, grow, and love—then when your time in this multiverse ends, your spirit will journey to a place called Paradise... the heart of the Life Realm."
He paused. The warmth of that name—Paradise—touched every soul.
"But if evil is what you choose—if your life becomes a chain of harm, cruelty, and destruction—then you will awaken in Hell, the abyss of the Death Realm."
His words were not a threat, but a revelation. A choice.
"You now hold the power. You decide what becomes of you. The promise of peace is no longer a gift... it is a path. And every step you take builds the bridge beneath your feet."
Elder lowered his eyes to the multitudes below.
And once more, all was still.
The vast multiverse stood in stunned silence.
The revelation of the other realms—Paradise and Hell, Life and Death—shook the hearts of all who heard. The choice was clear, the path laid bare before them.
And yet... fear crept in.
Though they understood the two roads—good and evil—they also understood something far more terrifying: themselves.
A quiet unease swept through the gathered souls, carried on the invisible winds of thought.
We all want to choose the good path…But what if we fail?What if evil rises again?What if it tempts us, tricks us, or breaks us?What if the evil of the world is too strong?
The fear now rising across the multiverse was not new.
It was ancient.
It had lived within them long before Elder's arrival—rooted deep in the era when evil reigned freely. Back then, fear was not a moment. It was a way of life.
In those dark times, the people had bowed their heads not out of reverence, but out of terror. The evildoers had seized power, and with it, they spread pain like wildfire. Innocents—though gifted with power of their own—never used it. Not because they lacked strength, but because they had learned to associate power with cruelty.
They had seen too much.
They had witnessed power twisted into a weapon—light turned into lashes, energy into chains. Their hearts had been branded with a silent trauma: the fear of power itself.
So, generation after generation, the innocent lived small. Quiet. Afraid.
But then Elder came.
Not with armies, not with wrath, but with a voice—gentle, steady, and impossibly kind.
And that voice gave the multiverse something it had never known before: hope.
Through his words and wisdom, and through the loving guidance of his students, the innocent began to rise again. Slowly, they reached toward their own power—not as a weapon, but as a gift. They learned to wield it, not in fear, but in love. The trauma that had once caged their hearts began to dissolve.
Elder's light had led them home.
But now...
Now, that very same light—the light that had healed their wounds, opened their eyes, and raised them from despair—was saying it could no longer protect them.
And that light... was Elder.
The moment those words left his lips, hearts across the cosmos beat louder, faster—some in disbelief, others in grief.
He had always been their anchor. Their protector. Their god. His strength was not just power—it was safety. And now, even as he glowed above them in divine majesty, his voice confessed the one thing they never expected to hear:
"I cannot save you anymore."
Not because he lacked strength.
But because saving them would break the balance... and destroy the very peace they longed for.
That was the truth.
And the truth pierced deeper than any blade.
They were not afraid of fighting evil—not truly. What terrified them now... was walking forward without Elder's shield. What shook their souls was not darkness itself, but the fading warmth of the light that had once promised to banish it.
Among the sea of countless worlds, from the gathered millions who stood beneath the light of Elder's gaze, a cry rang out.
It came from a young woman—her voice cracked, raw with anguish. She screamed, trembling as the truth crashed down upon her like a tidal wave. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
Fear had broken free from her soul.
The very thought of losing Elder's protection—the light that had saved her, that had taught her to live again—was too much. And through her scream, the collective dread of the multiverse found its voice.
Elder, watching from above, looked upon her not with sorrow, but with a soft understanding.
He lifted his right hand and made a subtle gesture.
One of his students, a woman clad in white light and unshakable calm, stepped forward and knelt beside the weeping girl. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. The girl gasped as warmth flooded her body—a warmth not of fire, but of pure comfort.
And then, something miraculous happened.
Elder's golden eyes blazed.
In that moment, the young woman's body shimmered. Her eyes—began to glow, turning into the same radiant gold as Elder's. Her breath slowed. Her posture steadied. And then... her voice changed.
It was no longer her voice, but his.
Elder spoke through her—not just to those near, but to the entire multiverse.
His voice echoed like sacred thunder, yet it carried the tenderness of a father's promise:
"Never believe that I will not protect you."
A stillness fell across all worlds.
"But understand this: the time has changed. Protection no longer comes from power... it comes from responsibility."
The people listened, eyes wide, hearts pounding.
"And I will take that responsibility. I will carry it with all my being. But I alone am not enough."
The golden eyes of the girl swept across the crowds, as if seeing each soul individually.
"I need you to take this responsibility too. Each and every one of you. Not as a burden... but as a bond."
"When we all carry this responsibility together... when we choose to protect one another—not through force, but through choice—then we will no longer need power."
"We will become the protection we once waited for."
The girl's body slowly floated above the ground, her golden eyes still glowing, her hands raised as if to hold the multiverse itself.
And then, with Elder's voice still resonating from within her, she spoke once more:
"Together, we will build a future where no one bows to fear again."
The golden light still radiated from the young woman's body, and Elder's voice—calm yet unshakably firm—continued to echo through her.
"For our future generations..."
"Let us build a world where evil can be faced—not with fear, but with unshakable courage. Let us create a world where no one will ever need to bow their head to darkness again."
The multiverse listened in reverent silence. Every child, every elder, every soul across planets and realms leaned into his words as if their hearts were open scrolls, being written upon.
"Do not take this responsibility just to protect yourselves. No..."
"Carry it as a torch, blazing the path forward—for your children, and your children's children."
"Let the world you create become the soil where future generations can grow in peace, not in fear. Let it be a place where trauma does not pass from parent to child, but is stopped—right here, in your time."
The girl's hands, still glowing, stretched toward the sky—toward the infinite above.
"One day, when the children of the future sit beside their mothers, may they hear a story—a true story—of how you stood against evil."
"Of how you made a better world for them to live in."
"A world where no soul must kneel in terror, where no light must flicker alone in the dark."
"Let that be your legacy—not fear, but faith. Not silence, but story."
After Elder's words echoed through the soul of every world, silence once again descended upon the multiverse.
But it did not last long.
The silence cracked—no, it burst—under the weight of pure emotion. Across every planet, every realm, every sky, a sound erupted:
A cry of awe.
People shouted with voices that shook the very air. Not in fear, not in confusion—but in overwhelming reverence. Their hearts could no longer contain what they had heard. The truth Elder had spoken—about legacy, about courage, about a future free from fear—struck something deep within them all.
And in that moment, tears flooded the eyes of every being—young and old, mortal and immortal. Tears that weren't just of sorrow… but of goosebumps, of purpose, of awakening.
For the first time in all of creation's memory, the multiverse felt unified—not by command, but by compassion.
Hovering above them, Elder opened his mouth once more, his voice steady and radiant.
"To bring this future into being…""I must now tell you the grand plan I have conceived."
But before he could utter another word, something extraordinary happened.
He looked down.
And there they were.
All of them.
From the smallest beings of light to towering giants of distant galaxies… from children with glowing eyes to the ancient ones who had seen stars born and die… from every race, every shape, every soul—they all bowed their heads to him.
In perfect unison.
Not out of obligation.
But from the heart.
And then—just as if one breath ran through countless lungs—they spoke.
They shouted the same words, as if carried by one voice, one heartbeat stretched across the multiverse:
"WHATEVER THE LIGHT SAYS… WE WILL FOLLOW!"
Their voices did not simply echo—they resounded. Through the mountains and oceans, through the void and stars, the declaration thundered across reality itself.
Elder stood still.
For the first time in an eternity, even he was moved.
Not because they worshiped him—no. But because they understood.
They had embraced the path.
Not as followers of power.
But as bearers of the light.
In the Realm of Death…
A shadow moved through the deepest chasms of Hell.
Black flames licked the stone walls of the endless abyss. The screams of the condemned whispered through the air like wind through broken glass.
And in the heart of it all, upon a throne carved from obsidian bone, sat King Abythos.
His eyes, like hollow stars, watched the unfolding events of the multiverse through a great mirror of dark flame. He had seen it all—Elder's speech, the fear, the hope, the unity.
And then… he laughed.
A thunderous, cavernous laugh that shook the very structure of Hell itself. The walls trembled. Rivers of ash rippled. Even the damned paused, for something darker than pain now stirred in the air.
"I knew it!" Abythos bellowed."You are a perfect leader, Elder."
His voice dripped with admiration—but it was not admiration of purity. It was the satisfaction of one who had waited patiently, knowing the shape the story would take.
Then, his smile shifted. His expression darkened like an eclipse.
His voice turned low, deliberate, laced with ancient hunger.
"No matter how heroic your speech… no matter how bright the light you offer them…"
"The evil will come."
He rose from his throne, arms outstretched, as if welcoming an invisible tide.
"And as you promised—by the ancient pact you made in exchange for my guidance—the souls of the wicked shall belong to me."
He grinned, and the fires of Hell rose behind him.
"And when they come… oh, when they come…""I shall prepare a feast…for these eyes"
He leaned forward, whispering now, voice like dry bone sliding across steel:
"A feast for the eyes."
Then, again, he laughed.
A roar of darkness and delight that echoed through every corridor of the underworld—his laugh not of madness, but of certainty.
The light may lead many.
But Abythos knew: there would always be those who chose the dark.
And when they did…
They would be his.
The fires had settled, the laughter had faded, and a new voice echoed in the obsidian halls.
"Father," said a young voice—calm, deep, and dark as the void."It is time. The meeting arranged by the man is upon us. We must go… to the Realm of Life."
From the throne, King Abythos tilted his head ever so slightly, his hollow gaze sharpening.
"Ah… I expected this," he muttered with a grin."That man… he has a way of echoing back what we whisper to him. A curious creature."
His firstborn, cloaked in a robe of shadowfire, stepped forward. The air warped subtly around him, as if the world struggled to hold his shape.
"Did you watch the time, son?" Abythos asked."Because if his time in the River of Books exceeded its flow, then... IT will not be calmed."
The firstborn nodded with eerie composure.
"I did, Father. I watched both the time and the man."
He paused for a moment, as if weighing his words.
"But when he read the book he was searching for… something happened. He looked into its final pages and became frightened—so frightened he began to fear the sound of his own breath.""And when I called out to him... he recoiled in terror and collapsed to the ground."
Abythos chuckled, his voice rough as rusted iron.
"Don't worry, son. He's just a fool. His fear was inevitable."
Then, the king stood, shadows bending unnaturally at his feet. His crown, forged from sorrow and silence, caught the dim glow of distant flames.
"But now, my son… you must pay attention."
"This meeting—this gathering in the Realm of Life—it is not merely an exchange of words. There is someone you must meet."
The silence that followed his words was cold and absolute.
"Be ready."
To be continued…