Whoosh! Whoosh!
The wind from the raging storm outside the temple echoed loudly.
In contrast, Lumian stood frozen, gripped by fear, unsure of what to do in this situation. He almost felt the urge to kneel and pray to the god, uttering the three familiar words—
Please. Thank you. Excuse me.
But he couldn't move.
Through the entrance, he saw a tree being torn apart by the storm outside, far beyond the temple's calm.
He gulped and turned his gaze back.
The figure before the statue was still crying, unceasingly.
Tears dripped onto the statue's feet at an astonishing rate, while the blue-haired figure scratched his head frantically, as if on the verge of breaking.
...
Oh, Lord Skywalker, save me… Lumian prayed inwardly, bringing his hand to his chest before raising it slightly toward the sky.
But I thought this god was affected by the Hakli whispers… how is he still here? he wondered, trying to think of a way out of the situation.
In the next instant, a gust of wind suddenly blew into the temple.
Oh shit… why is the wind entering here now?
He looked ahead and saw a tornado forming in the distance.
Lumian shook his head and let out a quiet sigh.
…And so this is how my journey ends.
But then—
Another gust of wind swept past him.
His vision shifted.
The howling storm and raging winds vanished, replaced by the gentle chirping of birds.
Before him lay a lush, vibrant garden.
Around him bloomed countless flowers, bathed under the crimson sun.
In the distance, he saw a woman walking with two boys beside her. They pointed at the tall, vibrant yellow flowers as they moved along.
"You know, I like this one better. It gives the kingdom a little more brightness," the woman said with a soft chuckle, her yellow, glittering hair catching the light.
"But why do you like yellow while Dad likes black?" one of the boys, short, with blue hair, asked thoughtfully. "I thought couples were supposed to like each other's preferences."
The woman smiled and paused beside a flower, gently plucking it and twirling it between her fingers.
"My dear, everyone has their own preferences."
The younger boy, with yellow hair and a slightly rebellious look, grinned.
"So… can preferences apply to partners too? Was Dad your preference?"
The woman's lips twitched slightly as she continued admiring the garden, offering no reply.
At that moment—
A faint metallic sound echoed in the distance.
Clank! Clank!
After a while, a man riding a horse approached.
He wore a white vest beneath a brown coat, his posture upright despite the fatigue on his face. As he drew closer, he dismounted.
The two children immediately ran toward him.
"Father!"
He smiled as they embraced him, placing a hand on each of their heads.
Looking up, he met the woman's gaze with a playful expression.
"You didn't answer our son," he said. "Don't think I didn't hear. Am I not your preference?"
The woman simply rolled her eyes, offering no reply.
The man chuckled softly before continuing, his tone growing heavier.
"To be honest, I'm very tired. My father and I have been monitoring the God of Death—his alliances and movements."
Lumian, unseen, watched in shock. Wait… this is the war between the God of Death and the God of Storms… Then this… this must be the Son of Storms, this is his memory.
The woman smiled gently. "My dear husband, you should get some rest."
"I will, dear."
At that moment, a tall figure with blue, curly hair suddenly flew across the sky. The man's gaze followed him, steady and thoughtful.
I really want to be like Father.
...
With those thoughts, the Son of Storms departed.
Lumian was left completely stunned.
He turned his gaze toward the vast kingdom before him, its structure both sturdy and elegant. What shocked him even more was that, even within someone else's memory, he could still activate his mystic eyes.
Focusing, he examined the walls. They were… at least four thousand years old.
Wait… four thousand years?
That realization struck him immediately.
Does that mean my mystic eyes are showing the present state of objects, even within this memory?
From his perception, the walls appeared broken and scattered, as if in ruins, matching what had been written in the book about their remains in Persyvile.
He exhaled slowly.
His gaze shifted back to the woman and the children, still admiring the yellow flowers, unaware of what was to come.
What terrible fate befell them…?
Lifting his eyes, he looked toward a balcony of the kingdom.
There stood a man with tightly curled hair and a distinct mark along his cheek. His face was rough, carrying a hardened look despite his youth.
Lumian recognized him instantly.
He had read about him in numerous historical records, though those accounts described him with white hair.
Pallas Quinky.
The creator of the Diviner Order.
How…? I thought humans only began using mysticism during the Age of Steampunk… but this is the Age of Kingdoms…
Does that mean he somehow lived for thousands of years… all the way to the era when humans finally learned mysticism?
From what I understand, the Creator formed ideas which were Orders—and those ideas manifested in the real world. But humans couldn't comprehend mysticism back then… because they weren't created by the Creator, but by the God of Beginnings.
Those creations who were created by the Creator, awoke from the His fragments and were given attributes of those ideas, according to how he envisioned them—that's how angels, gods, and other entities came to exist with mysticsm.
But humans… we only began to understand it through the works of St. Mary.
So what exactly happened during this age…?
...
He let out a slow breath and turned his attention back to the woman.
She was laughing softly, placing a yellow flower onto one of her son's hair.
Lumian focused on the child.
And what he saw made his heart sink.
Beneath the image before him, he perceived a bloodied, mutilated corpse, lying inside a coffin.
A wave of sorrow washed over him.
He shifted his gaze to the other child.
This time, he saw a figure consumed by fear, as if driven into madness. But the image was unclear, his mystic eyes couldn't fully perceive it.
The little boy was clearly stronger than him now in Lumian's era.
Finally, he looked at the mother, but quickly froze.
She was no longer the gentle woman in the garden, she was the Angel of Will.
...
The Angel of Will… The creator of the ancient language of Pteron… Was actually the wife of the Son of Storms.
Lumian stood there, stunned as he stared at the scene before him.
How is that even possible? Could it be that after losing her sons… she advanced, reaching the level of an angel?
But then something didn't add up.
I've heard that the Angel of Will is one of the angels under the God of Storms… but the God of Storms is already dead…
Could she have consumed the God of Storms' characteristics… alongside with the God of Death, occuring in the elapse of the war?
Because if I can remember, after the Son of Storms died… she became an angel… and continued serving the name of the God of Storms.
But as Mr. Revenger said, for a god, belief is power, that means she's making the dead god powerful, which could probably awaken Him through that belief, but I don't think her goal is to awaken the God of Storms, it should be to awaken her husband through the God of Storm characteristics that had been created through those beliefs.
Maybe she spread the teachings and faith of the God of Storms through coincidences… nurturing belief…
Waiting for a chance…
If the Storm's characteristics awaken through that belief, and using a somewhat myth about her husband... maybe she could bring her husband back, through those characteristics, but will that not mean the awakening of the original user.
...
At that moment, Lumian suddenly formed a tragic love story in his mind.
And yet, he couldn't dismiss the thought.
Even though he wasn't particularly fond of reading, he had tried his best to learn. The history, the ages, the fragments of stories scattered across books.
And the love story, he had just pieced together, matched everything perfectly.
...
Lumian simply looked at them after those thoughts, surprised and feeling many surge of emotions.
If the man crying before the statue was truly the Son of Storms… then it could only mean one thing, Her plan had already succeeded.
At that moment, someone passed straight through Lumian's translucent body.
The man carried an old-model typewriter as he walked toward the kingdom, briefly waving at the woman.
A typewriter…? So they had already begun creating tools of the Steam Age…
This must be the late Kingdom Era.
Which means… with the rise of belief in technology… the God of Creation's reign likely began around this time.
Before he could think further, a man clad in armor came sprinting toward the woman.
She looked at him, confusion filling her eyes.
"My lady, we have to go inside," he said urgently.
"What happened?" she asked, startled.
"It's the troops of the God of Death. They're approaching… much sooner than expected."
As his words fell, the sky began to shift.
Clouds rolled in, swallowing the crimson sun, casting the land into a dim, premature dusk.
The woman's expression tightened with worry. Without hesitation, she gathered her children and rushed into the kingdom.
Lumian watched silently.
A deep sorrow settled in his chest.
So this is how it began…
It had been such a peaceful moment—nothing about it hinted that war was already at their doorstep.
He watched as the massive doors of the kingdom closed behind them.
And he knew—
Everything they did from this point on would be futile.
There was only one ending awaiting them.
Whoosh!
Another gust of wind swept past him.
And in the next instant, Lumian was back in the temple.
...
At that moment, Lumian could still see the Son of Storms, crying uncontrollably.
"Dad… I'm so sorry. I never wanted that to happen. I wish I could go back… to those times before…"
Lumian froze. He was shocked that he could actually hear him.
A quiet sigh escaped his lips as a sense of pity welled up inside him.
After a while, the crying god slowly turned his head, and looked straight at Lumian.
Lumian immediately shivered on the spot.
In that gaze, he saw pain… sorrow… and deep confusion.
Then, without warning, the god suddenly vanished from sight.
At the same time, the raging storm disappeared with him.
The thunder fell silent, the heavy rain fading into soft droplets.
Everything became calm, peaceful and silent.