Three years had slipped by in the blink of an eye—every moment spent shadowing the Ezmelral lookalike's journey, absorbing the lessons alongside her. While the girl in the past honed her skills under the GodKing's watchful eye, Ezmelral mirrored it all, devouring the knowledge like a starving scholar. As a natural bookworm, this was her domain—every technique, every incantation etched into her mind with unyielding precision.
Now, in the sprawling Garden of Eden, the lookalike danced through a gauntlet of writhing roots erupting from the ground like vengeful serpents. She flipped into the air with effortless grace, her sword slicing and dicing each tendril that lunged at her—blades of wind trailing her strikes, leaving severed stumps in her wake. Landing nimbly, she sensed the ambush—a root bursting behind her. She crouched low, slamming her palm to the earth, channeling Earth Essence to summon a protective dome that burst upward, blocking the sneak attack with a resounding crack.
Without hesitation, she seized control of the dome—Essence rippling through its structure as a circular opening tore open above her. She launched herself upward, bursting through the gap. For a heartbeat she drifted weightless, then gathered Air Essence beneath her feet, halting her momentum to hover in the open sky.
The ground below quaked. Four massive roots erupted skyward, piercing the air like jagged spears. The dome trembled violently, its surface fracturing in a cascade of dust and shards—until the illusion collapsed entirely, revealing the trap beneath: a hidden Lightning Formation etched into its crumbling surface—runes crackling with pent-up energy. She held her right hand steady with her left, aiming at the glowing array as she evoked the incantation:
"LIGHTNING ESSENCE—STATIC SCYTHE!"
Static erupted from the formation in a blinding surge, coalescing into a massive scythe of pure electricity—its blade humming with lethal hunger. With a sweeping arc, it cleaved through the four roots lunging skyward, severing them in a shower of sparks and splintered wood.
Pivoting midair, she planted her feet on the broken stumps, using each one as a stepping stone. One light step after another carried her downward in perfect rhythm, until she leapt from the final root and landed with a graceful flourish.
She spun toward her master—the GodKing—who lounged casually against the Sacred Tree's massive trunk, gourd in hand, sipping as though the clash were nothing more than passing entertainment.
"Did you see that, Master?" she called, racing toward him with a grin that nearly split her face. "I'm not that weak girl anymore!"
Without waiting for a reply, she swiped the gourd from his hand mid-bow, took a bold swig, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Gotta cleanse the impurities after a session like that," she joked, handing it back with a cheeky tilt before spinning on her heel.
"I'll go make dinner!" she shouted over her shoulder, darting toward the Great Temple, her boundless energy trailing behind like sparks in her wake.
The Sacred Tree's leaves rustled in amusement, its voice a deep, resonant hum. "If the other Entities could witness this... their jaws would drop to the ground."
The GodKing paused, staring at the empty space where she'd been. When did I start letting her take my gourd... drink from it without a word? In his pursuit to taunt Raiking into a confrontation, he'd let so much slide these past few years—small concessions that had woven into habits, softening edges he hadn't meant to dull.
"Are you coming?" the lookalike's voice echoed from inside the temple, impatient and lively.
"Yes, yes," he called back, rising to his feet and striding toward the hall, leaving his fleeting thoughts buried in the past as he stepped into an uncertain future.
Once inside the newly made dinner hall—a room the GodKing had casually transformed from an empty chamber into a cozy kitchen and dining space, complete with a hearth that crackled with eternal flames and tables carved from star-wood—another familiar ritual unfolded. It was one Ezmelral and Raiking had witnessed a hundred times over the years, a quiet taunt from the GodKing aimed squarely at Raiking, though the exact nature of the jab remained a mystery only he could unravel.
The lookalike Ezmelral—now a vibrant young woman, her once-childish features sharpened by time and training—devoured her large portion with gusto, flavors bursting across her tongue like captured sunsets. Then, as always, she reached across the table, snatching the GodKing's untouched plate with a playful grin. "You never eat anyway, Master," she teased, digging in without a second thought.
Ezmelral, observing from the shadows, turned to Raiking with wide eyes. "Why doesn't the GodKing ever eat? He's just... sitting there."
Raiking's gaze remained fixed on the scene, his voice a low murmur. "Entities require no intake. Sustenance is a mortal chain they've long broken."
She nodded slowly, but curiosity lingered. "Then why do they keep doing this? The whole ritual—cooking, sitting together... it seems so pointless."
He paused, his crimson eyes softening with a rare flicker of melancholy. "Perhaps they both yearn for something lost, something they can't reclaim. In these quiet moments, they grasp at echoes of what once was."
Ezmelral fell silent, her thoughts drifting to their own fishing outing—the simple joy of shared effort, the warmth of companionship amid the wilds. She understood, in that unspoken way, how such rituals anchored the soul against the void. No words passed between them; the silence spoke volumes, heavy with shared understanding.
After the "meal," the lookalike and the GodKing would retreat to the study—a vast library of floating tomes and glowing scrolls—poring over ancient wisdom for hours before retiring to bed.
The pattern held for another five years, the lookalike blossoming into a young woman of breathtaking poise. She knelt in the grand hall with a stillness that felt almost sacred, her presence as serene as moonlight on still waters. Midnight hair cascaded down her back in silken waves, bound at the crown in a traditional knot secured by a golden hairpin that glinted with restrained elegance. A single crimson mark rested sharp and deliberate upon her brow—like a flame etched against porcelain—lending her an air of quiet divinity.
Her robe, pure white and flowing, seemed to defy the world's gravity, cinched at the waist with a dark sash that accentuated her slender frame. The fabric bore no ornament, no excess—only the refined simplicity of discipline, its folds whispering of tradition and unyielding resolve.
Her eyes, framed by dark lashes, were both gentle and commanding—deep pools that invited trust yet warned of folly. They held centuries of patience, the gaze of one who had witnessed the fragility of mortals and the hubris of gods.
When her lips curved—whether in warmth or judgment—the shift was subtle, yet enough to bend the very atmosphere around her. She was beauty honed to clarity: ethereal yet undeniable, like a blade concealed in silk.
Ezmelral couldn't believe her eyes. Her possible future self was somehow even more beautiful than the Keeper of Time and Fate. Her gaze shifted to Raiking, his handsome features growing ever more striking with the passage of time, those crimson eyes—star-like and infinite—locked onto the lookalike's allure, drawn like a planet in inexorable orbit around a sun. Ezmelral glanced back at her counterpart, then closed her eyes tightly, whispering a fervent prayer: Please, let me grow to look like her...
Interrupting her childish fantasies, the GodKing raised his hand with deliberate slowness, as if summoning a star from the void. From his palm bloomed the Orb of Reincarnation—its glow pulsing like a captive heart, threads of life and fate swirling in hypnotic spirals within its crystalline depths, casting an otherworldly radiance that bathed the hall in ethereal light. The Orb's power hummed through the air, a siren call that tugged at Ezmelral's soul, drawing her eyes irresistibly to its mesmerizing core. Her breath caught, heart pounding as if the Orb itself whispered secrets of rebirth and ruin, pulling her toward an abyss she couldn't yet fathom.
The GodKing turned toward the lookalike, his voice steady, resonant, carrying both command and promise.
"It is time," he declared, the words rolling through the vast hall like thunder. His crimson gaze softened, if only slightly. "Now, resurrect your world."
The orb pulsed brighter, casting its light across marble and starlight, until the Great Hall itself seemed to bow beneath the weight of what was about to unfold.