The halls of the gods lit up again, one by one, like constellations awakening.
The sacred air trembled—not out of reverence, but out of sheer curiosity.
At the center, a vast liquid surface stretched like a mirror.
And within it, a window into the mortal world.
Tronn, the God of War, leaned over the portal, eyes gleaming.
"He actually did it. Kaos really sent the human down there."
Aertha, the Goddess of Fate, sighed. "No warning, no blessing, no guide… he just threw him."
Kaos, sitting cross-legged on the floor, lazily shook the bells of his own necklace, pleased with himself.
"He'll manage. Humans are good at that. And this one in particular… he's stubborn. I want to see how long it takes before he admits he's in another world."
Verion, the God of Justice, huffed. "This is irresponsibility, even for you."
"Call it irresponsibility, I call it empirical research," Kaos replied with a lazy smile. "Divine science."
Yndra, the Goddess of Knowledge, snapped her floating tome shut, exasperated. "The last time you said that, an entire continent started speaking backwards."
"Details."
"Quiet," said the Goddess of Fate. "He's arrived."
The lights of the portal intensified.
The reflection showed a grassy field under a lilac sky, distant mountains, and a small village beyond.
And in the middle of it all stood Gideon Valehart—calm, unbothered, wearing his usual clothes and wearing an expression somewhere between confusion and mild irritation.
The God of War squinted. "...He doesn't look surprised."
"Maybe the shock broke him," suggested the God of Justice.
"No," Kaos answered, grinning. "He's just processing."
In the reflection, Gideon looked around, adjusted his glasses, and murmured, "Purple sky… either I died, or I'm in a very well-produced psychotic episode."
The Goddess of Knowledge allowed herself a faint smile. "Even outside his own world, he analyzes everything like an accountant."
Kaos spun a finger, shifting the portal's view to a nearby road where a man and a child were facing off against a small green creature with pointed ears—a goblin.
The man, a sturdy villager, held a short spear. "Come on, son! Aim for the chest—quick and firm!"
The child obeyed. One strike, a brief struggle, and the goblin collapsed.
The father grinned proudly. "See? Not all monsters are scary once you know what you're doing."
The gods watched the scene with divine boredom, until Kaos pointed with a mischievous smile.
"Look, it's my human's turn."
Gideon, observing from afar, saw another goblin emerge from the woods.
The creature spotted him, widened its eyes, and let out a low growl.
The gods leaned in.
"Now we'll see," said the God of War, excited. "What the 'great destiny' does when facing danger."
The goblin brandished a stick.
Gideon stared at it silently for one second.
Then sighed.
"Oh, great. A hostile creature with a sickly complexion, possibly armed, and I don't have interdimensional health insurance. Perfect."
He stepped back.
Then back again.
And without ceremony, turned around and began walking away briskly.
The goblin ran after him.
The gods exchanged confused looks.
"He… is he running?" asked the God of Justice, incredulous.
Gideon, now jogging, muttered to himself: "I don't have a sword, I don't have a shield, and I definitely don't want to die on my first day in another world."
The goblin snarled behind him. Gideon dodged branches, tripped over roots, and kept running.
Just as the creature was about to reach him, a childish shout echoed:
"Father! There's another one!"
The same child from before appeared with his father's spear, sprinted toward the goblin, and stabbed it straight in the chest.
The creature fell with a wet thud and didn't get up again.
Gideon stopped, panting, watching the scene.
The child smiled proudly as the father laughed and praised him.
The gods waited for some sign of shame, regret, humility—anything.
But Gideon simply adjusted his glasses, sighed, and said calmly:
"Good for him. I would've died."
Then he turned around and walked in the opposite direction of the village.
Kaos burst into laughter, literally rolling on the ethereal floor. "I LOVE THIS MAN!"
Tronn looked offended. "He ran from a goblin and let a child handle it?!"
"And survived," Kaos countered, satisfied. "Excellent strategy."
Yndra watched the reflection closely. "Interesting… he avoids death not out of fear, but out of calculation. He genuinely believes the risk isn't worth it."
"Or that destiny is a terrible investment," Aertha added ironically.
Kaos crossed his arms, smiling wide. "And that's why he's going to change the world—one cowardly step at a time."
In the mirror, Gideon walked alone down the road, the lilac sun sinking on the horizon, murmuring softly: "If there's a system, I hope it has a refund button."
The gods observed in silence.
And for the first time in millennia, they all felt the same thing—
genuine curiosity.
...
The village appeared after a long walk—the kind of place that looked built more out of stubbornness than planning. Wooden houses, dirt streets, the smell of bread and smoke in the air. The sort of civilization where the greatest technological advancement seemed to be "hinged doors."
Gideon stopped at the entrance, assessing the environment like someone reviewing the report of an incompetent coworker. "Okay. Normal people, nothing trying to kill me, and no one glowing gold. Good start."
He passed by some merchants, playing children, and even a guy selling amulets that "warded off evil spirits." Gideon answered with a tired look and a mutter: "If they worked, you wouldn't be seeing me right now."
As he walked, he noticed a small stone building at the end of the main street. It had a wooden sign with ancient lettering: "Eltgard Archives and Library."
He stopped in front of the door, silent for a moment. "A library… finally, someone in this world with priorities."
The gods, still watching from above through the ethereal mirror, followed quietly.
Kaos leaned back, curious. "Ah, there he goes. A hero who flees monsters but storms libraries."
The God of War snorted. "Of all places to seek power, he chooses… shelves?"
"Power is relative," Kaos replied with a grin. "Some prefer swords. Others, synapses."
...
Inside, the library was quiet and dusty, the scent of old paper hanging in the air like incense for scholars. An old man slept behind the counter, his face half-buried in an open book.
Gideon cleared his throat.
"Excuse me."
The old man jolted awake, nearly dropping the book.
"Ah! By Eltgard's bones! Young man, are you trying to kill me?"
"That depends," Gideon replied blankly. "Do you lend books?"
The man blinked several times, unsure if it was sarcasm or an honest question.
"Yes, yes, this is a library. Though no one comes here very often…"
"Perfect," Gideon said, already scanning the shelves. "I need to learn the basics of this world. Language, geography, politics, maybe religion—if there's anything less… fanatic."
The old man observed him with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "You… are a scholar?"
"Sort of. In my world, they'd call it unemployed with internet access."
The man frowned. "...World?"
Gideon offered a small smile. "Long story. Short version: I was abducted by a deity with questionable humor."
The librarian decided it wasn't worth understanding.
"Well… if you're looking for somewhere to stay, I could use some help. I'm too old to catalogue all this alone. If you help organize things, you can read as much as you want."
Gideon crossed his arms, pretending to think, though the choice was obvious.
"Unlimited reading in exchange for labor? That's my dream contract. Deal."
"Wonderful!" said the old man, cheerful. "I'm Orven, keeper of this library. And you, young traveler?"
"Gideon," he replied, shaking his hand. "Independent researcher of how not to die in a new world."
Orven laughed, assuming it was a joke. Gideon, however, didn't smile. "No, seriously. If you have books on that, set aside a few."
...
Above, the gods watched silently.
The Goddess of Knowledge seemed delighted.
"He seeks knowledge before power. Intriguing."
"Intriguing?" the God of War scoffed. "He should be training, not reading!"
"Training what? Cowardice?" Kaos snorted. "He knows the mind wins battles the body avoids. I told you he'd be interesting."
In the portal, Gideon was already sweeping the floor with one hand and holding an ancient tome with the other, muttering:
"Magic system… arcane spells… all in meter. Which medieval nerd invented this?"
Orven looked up. "What was that?"
"Nothing. Just admiring the centuries-long collective effort of organized superstition."
...
Hours later, the library felt more alive. Gideon stacked books, took notes, and occasionally muttered to himself:
"If this language has thirty-seven conjunctions, someone needed an editor, not a god."
"Oh sure, magical circles drawn in blood. Completely safe."
"At least there are no elves singing. Yet."
In the celestial realm, the gods stared with baffled expressions.
The God of Justice asked, "Does he grasp the danger he's in? He's in a new world, no power, no weapons… and he's reading?"
Kaos smiled, eyes gleaming like cracks in chaos.
"Yes. And he's still the only one who seems to understand what's actually happening."
...
Down in the library, Orven closed the windows and put out the lamps.
"Time to rest, Gideon. Tomorrow I can show you the old archives, if you'd like."
"Perfect. I need to understand the political and magical structure before… well, before the next goblin shows up."
The old man chuckled. "You have a strange way of talking, boy."
"It's the trauma," Gideon replied matter-of-factly. "Comes with the reality transplant."
While Orven climbed the stairs, Gideon remained alone in the quiet, surrounded by books and the distant sound of the wind.
He looked at the shelves and murmured softly:
"If I'm going to survive here, it'll be with information. Not prophecies."
And far above, Kaos smiled like someone hearing a prayer—
one even he didn't expect to answer.