“People are like this: after long companionship, parting makes the days feel heavy, like rain-laden clouds,” Eli said, smiling at the room emptied like a shell.

He swung the door shut with a soft thud, then drifted to the bedside like a slow stream, quietly waiting for a guest.

He sat cross-legged on the bed; the wooden door clamped tight like his heart—after that person left, he locked it with a heavy bolt.

Who knows how long flowed by; Eli’s eyes stayed sealed like night, then opened, galaxies pooling with quiet sorrow.

“You finally came,” Eli lifted his gaze to the figure by the bed, voice calm as moonlight.

The man nodded, eyes measuring Eli like a blade. “From the future?”

“Yes,” Eli smiled, a ripple across still water.

“Can you tell me what the future looks like?” The man’s light smile felt like a neighbor boy’s, plain and warm.

“No,” Eli said, face cool as frost on stone.

“What?” The youth stared, surprise snapping like sparks; he’d come from far away for this?

Eli tugged a corner of his mouth. “Help me up first. I sat cross-legged too long—my legs… they’re numb. Ow—”

“...” The youth said nothing, air hanging like a held breath.

After a bit of fuss, they faced each other like two chess pieces set on a quiet board.

Eli smiled. “Hard to believe the you who becomes a menace later looks so harmless now.”

“Harmless?” He frowned like a crease in paper, then nodded in sudden clarity. “So, you’re not of this world.”

Eli’s brows lifted; surprise flickered like a moth. “You’re sharper than I thought.”

He shook his head with a rueful smile. “What’s the use? Even if the universe bows to my power, that power means nothing to me.”

He slid to the low table like a river finding stone and brewed tea; steam curled up like pale ghosts.

“The creator of your world is a model for us primal founders,” he said, envy flickering like green fire.

“Life that grows on its own, beyond gods’ control—that’s a wonder,” he murmured, head shaking like a slow bell.

Eli kept that surprised look, studying him as if reading cloud-script. “So this is how you think at this time.”

“What, future-me isn’t the same?” he asked, curiosity padding forward like a cat.

“Mm… future you… I can’t find the words,” Eli sighed, eyes threading with complex light.

He nodded knowingly, like someone reading rain. “So future me brings a catastrophic disaster to all life, right?”

“Mm.” Eli frowned; it was all he could say, a knot in his chest like tangled roots.

“Ha, relax. It’s inevitable,” the man laughed, sound like pebbles dancing in a stream.

“How so?” Eli studied his still-young face; it was hard to see a maker there, like a blade hidden in bark.

“We’re the starting spark, but the universe has no finish line,” he said, fingers tracing the air like a calligrapher.

Golden motes bloomed in the air, then gathered under his hand into living scenes like tapestries.

“If we ourselves hinder the universe’s growth, we’ll offer our lives,” he smiled. “The cosmos doesn’t stop; it runs till its true aim is done.”

“And the lead role isn’t us creators; it’s you—beings born from us,” he added, finger drawing; countless lives flashed like fish in a sea.

“You’re our evolution, just too weak at first, so you need ages of growth to catch the gear.”

“We may fall in that stage, abandon the cosmic mission; then you must stand up and replace us.”

Eli rubbed a rueful smile, words stuck like thorns. “You’re losing me; it sounds far-fetched.”

He chuckled. “Then take it this way: if future me moves against you, it means you’ve grown enough to shoulder the cosmic task.”

“The will of the cosmos will leave us. Maybe my mind isn’t steady; when it departs, I feel pain and refusal.”

“That breeds other emotions, opens me to outside-of-cosmos influence, and I hurt you.”

“...You mean influenced by something beyond the universe?” Eli blinked, thought catching like a hook.

“Yes,” he smiled, easy as wind over grass.

Eli frowned, thinking a while, then asked, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll know too much?” His doubt hung like mist.

Even Abyss wouldn’t tell him more; there had to be taboos as thick as chains.

“Transmigrator, you’re too weak,” he said, casual as a breeze. “You’re not chosen by the cosmic will—I can feel it.”

“So your knowing won’t sway much; you’re basically a mouthpiece to carry this warning to the future will.”

“I see,” Eli shook his head, a flicker of loss like a dim lamp, then braced himself like a tree.

That meant none of this was his burden; his heart lightened like a kite tugging skyward.

He thought that simple thought, and happiness rose like sunlight on snow.

But the man eyed Eli again, up and down, tongue wetting his lips like a hunting beast. “I can feel this: your bloodline has an eighty percent chance to inherit the cosmic will.”

Eli froze, suspicion scraping over the man like claws. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”

He paused, confused like a startled deer. “Why would I joke about that?”

“Damn!” Eli pictured himself flipping a table, curses flying like knives.

“Father… You mean I’ll become like the Celestial God?” Edlyn bit her lip; her face tasted bitterness like unripe fruit.

“...I can’t be sure, but…” Abyss’s words stalled like waves held back by rock.

Seeing Abyss bite back speech, Edlyn understood, and silence settled like ash.

She lowered her head, hands clasped over her chest like a folded bird at roost.

On her right hand sat Eli’s ring, a small moon resting on her finger.

She shut her eyes tight like the most devout nun, holding that pose a long, windless while.

At last, tears slid from her eyes, beads falling like soft rain that never stops.

“He didn’t need to do this… I’m not worth it,” she wept, anger salted into sorrow like brine.

Abyss sighed; he didn’t comfort her. He didn’t know how; he was the one most scarred, and the Celestial God still hated him like fire hates oil.

Edlyn knelt on the floor, hands wiping at tears that wouldn’t end, waves breaking and breaking.

Suddenly, she remembered the Celestial God’s gaze on Abyss: disgust, fear, and heavy hatred, dark as a storm.

In that instant, her mind showed the last battlefield: the god’s hateful face, Abyss always yielding, and those lethal strikes like falling meteors.

Slowly, the god’s face became hers; Abyss’s face became Eli’s, the image staining her heart like ink.

In the end, it turned into the two of them battling; she drove a longsword through Eli’s heart, pinning his body to the ground like a stake.

Her face was cold with loathing; Eli’s showed gentle sorrow, a smile like dusk light.

Thinking of that scene, Edlyn trembled hard, a leaf in a storm.

“So that’s his choice? To give me endless years to hate him?” After long crying, Edlyn stood, pain stiff as iron.

Abyss sighed. “Or else what? Let him watch you get erased in a few decades?” His voice fell like a stone in water.

He’d made the same choice as Eli; he couldn’t help speaking for him now, warmth under ice.

Edlyn fell silent, staring at the Sea of Time like frozen glass, lost in its shine.

For a while, countless thoughts flashed, all urging her not to walk the darkest path, like lanterns in fog.

She even wanted to throw the ring, then run back and guard the remaining hours with Eli, two hands against the tide.

Abyss watched her hesitate and could only sigh at the side, breath like winter wind through pines.

He wished he’d let Edlyn finish absorbing the power before speaking; he just couldn’t hold back, a flood breaking a dam.

Edlyn thought of Janus in her own timeline, a name ringing like a bell in snow.

What choice had Janus made? She stared, dazed, like a bird at a mirror.

Did she resist it all and find love again? The question hung like a pale moon.

Or…? She didn’t dare imagine; she sat hollow as a corpse, spirit gone and cold.

Abyss didn’t press her; he just watched and kept sighing, patience like a worn stone.

Many days passed. Abyss had his eyes closed, resting like a mountain, when Edlyn stepped forward and gently tugged his sleeve.

“Father. I’ve decided,” she said, face calm as still water.

“Then… your decision?” Abyss asked carefully, heart sinking like a stone through deep lake.

“I’ll merge,” Edlyn said, her face only calm, no waves.

“I see.” Abyss’s expression grew complicated, neither joy nor worry finding a place, clouds crossing sun.

Edlyn said, “You said I won’t reach that stage right away, so I’ll need time to raise my power.”

“Then, Father, I beg you for something,” she added, voice steady like a drawn bow.

“Say it,” Abyss felt a jolt; he already knew his daughter’s choice, dread like a shadow.

“Eli went back to train to face Zero; he alone might not match Zero,” Edlyn said, words firm as stone.

“I can’t just leave. I have to help him,” she said, a flame lighting in her eyes.

“Leaving him to face danger alone? Never. When he’s in peril, I’ll stand at his side, be his support, be his arm.” She smiled, bright as dawn.

“But, Father, I ask you: after we defeat Zero, kill me. Once I finish my mission… I’ll go.”

“I don’t want to become like the Celestial God. I don’t.” Her smile was sweet; her tears burned like drops of fire.

“I must help him, but I can’t turn into the Celestial God. If it’s Eli, he’ll never do it—just like you back then.”

“You couldn’t strike down the Celestial God; but now it’s different. You can end me,” Edlyn smiled, courage like a sword wrapped in silk.

“Father, this is my choice. Please.” Her plea rose like a prayer, soft and unyielding.