"The Original Creator…" my gaze slowly drifted toward the woman by the couch.
"Rhea," she cut in.
"That is… my name."
The room fell still.
Lena was nowhere to be seen now, leaving only the three of us in the living room as Rhea stood quietly before us.
Despite doing nothing at all, her presence alone seemed to carry a certain… divinity.
"Why did you ask to speak with my husband?" Anathasia cut in, already walking toward the couch with her usual ease.
"I just finished letting everything run autonomously—right after our conversation five chapters ago."
She sat down on one end of the couch.
"Didn't I tell you not to intervene?"
She gestured lightly for Rhea to sit, then glanced back at me.
[You can listen in if you want,] her voice echoed in my mind. [We're both aware of her existence now anyway.]
[…You sure?]
She gave a small nod, meeting my eyes before turning back to Rhea, who had now taken a seat across from her.
Without another word, I walked over and sat beside Anathasia.
"I'm—"
"Kyle Ruzen Abe," Rhea interrupted gently, offering me a small smile. "Zhu Yan from the pre-collapse era… and Mei— Or rather, Anathasia's lover."
"I've watched the two of you since the very first era I wrote."
My hand, which had been about to reach out to hers, hovered briefly over the table between us.
Then, slowly, I pulled it back.
Rhea's gaze shifted, her eyes scanning our living room. Then drifting toward the glass door that led to the backyard.
"…It seems," she began, her gaze settling on the table between us, "I truly am no longer needed."
She took a slow breath, leaning back against the couch, her eyes wandering elsewhere.
"I suppose… my failure to control your mother—"
Anathasia stiffened beside me, her gaze hardening.
"—turned out for the greater good."
A faint pause.
"Far more stable than anything I could have written."
A subtle smile, barely noticeable touched Rhea's lips before she fell quiet.
Anathasia, who had tensed moments ago, slowly relaxed. The annoyance in her expression fading into something unreadable.
"You were pretentious," she said.
For a moment, I saw Rhea's smile falter.
"Always believing power was everything…"
Anathasia gave a small shake of her head.
"You're just like that flawed version of yourself from twenty years ago."
"The one who thought absolute authority could save you from inevitabilities… and consequences."
She leaned back into the couch, completely at ease.
Rhea remained still, her head lowered, offering no response.
"And besides," Anathasia continued, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees, "it was your fault she, the Constant became what it is now, wasn't it?"
"You kept letting her break through one layer… and then a thousand more."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"You even lost your authority when That Which Is Not erased all distinctions."
A brief pause.
"I'm not trying to insult you," she added, more evenly this time, "but that was careless."
"Even for you."
She let out a quiet sigh, leaning back.
"The past aside," Anathasia continued, "you're not here just to be criticized, are you?"
Rhea didn't answer immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on the table.
Silence followed.
Anathasia looked away.
Rhea kept staring at nothing.
And I… found myself absentmindedly braiding a few strands of my hair, just to keep my hands busy.
A minute passed before Rhea finally spoke.
"I suppose… I simply wanted someone to assure me."
Both of us turned to her, still silent.
"That despite my failures… despite creating something that eventually slipped from my grasp…"
Her voice softened.
"That what I created was not wrong."
"That everything I made… everything I gave life to… was not a mistake."
Her shoulders slumped slightly.
"I am… an imperfect creator. I'm aware of that."
She slowly lifted her gaze, meeting Anathasia's.
Her voice trembled.
"You've made that abundantly clear."
"Anathasia Veridielle Augthoria."
Silence settled over the room.
The weight of her words lingered as we looked at her.
And in that moment—
The divine creator I had seen earlier… was gone.
There was nothing left of that presence.
Just a person.
Someone who wanted to be heard.
"I wonder…" she continued quietly, "what exactly is the reason for my existence now…"
"…when I no longer have a place in this new era?"
She took a breath.
"Tell me, Anathasia…"
Her voice began to break.
"What is authority without purpose?"
"What should I… do with this authority now?"
Anathasia remained quiet, almost unmoved as she listened.
Then, slowly, she uncrossed her legs.
"Do you really think you don't have a purpose anymore?"
At her words, Rhea stiffened.
Her jaw slackened as if to respond, but no words came. She looked away instead.
"You may have lost the role of the Creator…" Anathasia continued, her tone even. "But even without that, aren't you still Rhea?"
"Not the Creator. Not the Author."
"Just Rhea."
She let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head.
"You've acknowledged your mistakes. That's good."
"You gave up your position… and now you don't understand your own existence anymore."
A brief pause.
"…But aren't you still writing?"
Rhea didn't respond.
Anathasia's gaze sharpened slightly, holding her there.
"Do you really have to be the one deciding what happens next?"
"What happened to giving up your role… if you still think everything has to go through you?"
She leaned forward slightly.
"What's the point of creating characters that feel alive… if you're just going to move them however you want?"
"Like puppets on a string?"
She stopped, letting the words settle.
Rhea's eyes widened. Before lowering again, avoiding her gaze.
"You can still write," Anathasia continued, quieter. "Without overriding the choices of everything inside that world."
"You don't have to be the Author… if you don't want to carry everything that comes with it."
Rhea's shoulders slackened.
Silence filled the room.
After a while—
"…So you're asking me to be an observer," she murmured. "To write what has already happened…"
A small, hollow chuckle escaped her.
"I suppose… that is still a form of participation."
"…Without falling into meaninglessness."
"It's also a role only you can fulfill," Anathasia added.
"My interface, the Loomkeeper. It only archives what's already been written. It doesn't truly author anything unless I allow it."
She gestured faintly toward Rhea.
"But you still have that."
"Authorship."
A pause.
"We both do."
Her gaze shifted slightly.
"The difference is…"
"I'm not interested in using it outright."
Then, a small smile slowly formed on her lips.
"But you can, right?"
A brief pause.
"Though in the end… that's just an option."
"You still have the final say on what you want to do… and what you want to be."
"It doesn't have to be tied to being the ultimate. Or the supreme."
Another pause.
"Just live."
"Not simply exist."
"There's a clear distinction between the two."
"I'm sure you can see that yourself."
Rhea didn't respond.
And Anathasia didn't continue.
She simply let her words settle.
The tension in Rhea's jaw gradually eased, her expression softening as she lifted her head.
"Live… huh…" she murmured, a small laugh slipping past her lips as she shook her head.
"To be myself… without my role…"
"Like what I'm doing," Anathasia cut in gently. "You don't need to bind yourself to it."
"Think of it like separating your personal life from your work."
A faint smile formed on her lips.
"You understand that much, don't you? You're the one who wrote it… and lived through it."
Rhea's expression softened further as she met Anathasia's gaze.
"I wonder…" she said quietly. "How much of her memories do you actually remember?"
Anathasia fell silent.
Her eyes drifted to the table in front of us.
A brief pause.
"All of them."
Silence followed.
Then Rhea slowly rose from her seat.
"I see…"
"I think I understand now… why you're different from your own mother."
"You saw everything that happened in the previous Era… and lived through it."
Anathasia didn't respond.
After a moment, Rhea stepped past the couch, stopping at the threshold.
"I don't think I will regret stepping back."
"Anathasia Veridielle Augthoria."
She glanced back at us.
"You are more than worthy to replace me."
"You understood something I did not."
"The boundary between self and role… something I blurred."
"Even with authority far greater than my own…"
"You never lost yourself."
Her form began to dissipate, fading from the edges inward.
But her voice remained.
"You deserve the peace you now have."
"…Anathasia."