Time here held its breath, and every shape hung in the air like motes caught in a sunbeam.

Through other eyes, the space showed its bones: laws layered like spiderwebs, strand over strand, wrapping everything like frost.

It felt like those threads pinned the world in place, like nails in ancient wood.

By rights, in the endless sea of hours, this corner should’ve stayed frozen, like a lake under winter glass.

But ripples kept blooming in the air, like a stone dropping into still water and sending rings to the shore.

The laws twisted around that intruder, like reeds bowing around a sinking boulder, warping and flowing.

An instant winked by like a firefly, or ten thousand years crawled past like glaciers.

Silence returned, smooth as calm tide.

Only one stray color stained this dead world, like a wildflower in ash.

A hooded man floated in the void like a leaf on black water; he raised his head toward a massive knot of energy at the center.

He said nothing, and the quiet settled again, heavy as snow.

At last his aura matched this place, like two notes in tune; he opened his eyes, pupils etched with time’s tally marks.

He was the No. 3 clone, crossing the Sea of Time from the archaic age to the center of time—or the idea of time, like a word’s core. Who knew.

He stretched like a cat and tapped his wristband, a smile flickering like lamplight.

A very cute four‑winged Angel popped into view like a starling from a sleeve, blinking in a daze.

She glanced around, scratched her head like a puzzled sparrow. “Lord Three? Where are we?”

“Mm. This is the Breath of Time,” No. 3 said, a breeze of humor in his voice. “Not that the words will help.” He ruffled her hair like wind over wheat.

The little Angel hugged her knees, drifting like a dandelion seed, staring at the world for a long beat. Then wonder ripened in her voice. “It’s beautiful.”

While she watched, No. 3 kept scavenging like a beachcomber—star‑ore here, cosmic dust there, odds and ends like shells.

“Damn. What a mess,” he muttered, scratching his head like a fox with burrs. “How am I supposed to master all this in three years?”

He finally got why the main body ran back to the super‑ancient era, split into nine clones, and gave them real lives and souls like sparks.

He looked out at the cosmos and sighed, the sound thin as mist. “So… in the end, only myself is safe to trust?”

In the end, No. 3 gathered what he needed, like a mason with bricks.

Spells to forge stars, and shards from a thousand constellations like broken glass.

How they slipped through the Sea of Time’s wall and washed up here was anyone’s guess, like driftwood on a barren shore.

But they were here. That was enough.

He wiped sweat from his brow like dew from a leaf, then froze, a beat of shock ringing like a struck bell.

He stared at his hands, as if they were strangers. “…Sweat?”

Wrongness prickled like thorns. He shot back to where the little Angel had stayed, a streak through still air.

There sat the girl who looked a lot like Edlyn, hugged around her knees, gazing up at the empty sky like a bored cat.

He let out the breath he’d been holding, like a man surfacing.

He opened Judge Mode; his eyes went flat and monochrome, like slate.

The laws lit up to him like ink in water—yet they slid around the little Angel like shy fish, never touching.

Around him, though, they swarmed like ants of sigils, crawling over skin and bone, siphoning power back into the world like roots drinking rain.

Cold sweat beaded again, a chill rain under his collar. He steadied himself and drifted to her side like a quiet tide.

“Oh. You’re back, Lord Three,” she said, popping to her feet and fluttering over like a swallow.

He rubbed her head, gentle as palm over silk. “Mm. From now on, call me Luxiao. That’s my name.”

“Is that so? Okay.” She pondered for a beat, then let the thought float off like a bubble.

Back then, most folks didn’t have proper names; hers was probably just a string of numbers, like a tag.

He watched her and sighed, the sound thin as thread. “How about this. From now on, I’ll call you… Elune. How’s that?”

She frowned and thought, brows knitting like stitches. “No. I think 1048426 sounds fine. Why give me another name? Also, Lord Three, what does ‘get married’ mean?”

Luxiao stared, speechless, then laid his hand on her head like shade on a sapling. A pure current flowed in, clean as spring water.

He searched her make sheet, page by hidden page, like riffling an archive.

He found what he needed and tweaked a setting, a key turned in a lock.

Her intellect—no, her sensitivity to the world—matched a human child of six, like a sprout just breaking soil.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned, a hand to his face like a visor.

Great. The main body had that kink—picked a Demon King with a baby face.

This clone went further and picked a six‑year‑old Angel.

Gods. Someone end me now.

They fell into silence, two stones in one pond, ripples touching.

Luxiao noticed something else: when he stayed within the little Angel’s orbit, the laws couldn’t lay a finger on him, like rain missing the eaves.

With that pure breath as clue, he guessed the first Angels carried special laws gifted by the Celestial God, like seals on jade.

The later mass‑made ones were a different clay entirely.

So he talked to her, soft and steady, like a hand warming tea.

He told her how big their mission was, how it steered the universe’s rivers, how every star would feel its tide.

Then he sweetened the lesson with a bribe of a few candies, bright as marbles.

Only then did she agree to sit still and listen, reluctantly, like a cat tolerating a ribbon.

There was no yardstick here, so time had no meaning, like wind with no chimes.

For Luxiao, it still felt like a decade or two, long as winter.

The little Angel grew, a flower from bud to bloom, standing graceful as willow.

She always pouted as she watched the man who held her hand every day, like a moon following its star.

Luxiao kept tinkering day after day, working at things she couldn’t parse, like constellations in a cipher.

“Xiaoxiao… how much longer do we have to stay here?” Elune sighed, then gently bit his arm like a playful fox.

Luxiao shook his head, calm as a stone in a stream. “Not long. It should be soon.”

“Tch. You said that five years ago,” Elune muttered, mouth slanted like a sulky petal.

“Then why keep asking, silly girl?” Luxiao laughed and flicked her nose, a light tap like a dragonfly kiss.

“But I want to see the outside world so badly,” Elune said, eyes bright as dawn, then sighed again. “Sigh~”

“The main body is fending off an outside universe and dealing with Zero’s rebellion,” Luxiao said, rubbing her hair like petting a cloud. “He’s busier than we are.”

“Be good. Give me a few more days, and I should finally untangle this knot.”

“The dull days are ending, right? The outside work will wrap soon too. When it’s done, I’ll take you everywhere, like fireflies in summer.”

“Huh?”