In the inner plaza of Miracle City, Ouyang meant to personally carve open a massive spatial gate—a bright wound in the air for tomorrow’s passage into the Heretic Gods’ world. Loyin and Bai, two small shadows, clung to him like ivy, and he had no real way to shake them.

“Loyin, Bai, tell me—did I forget something?” The itch of unease ran under his scalp as he tugged his hair. He remembered an important thread, but after meeting Morris his focus had been hooked by the Heretic Gods’ world and the gods-and-demons pilgrimage. Whatever mattered before had slipped like mist.

Ouyang couldn’t recall. Bai and Loyin weren’t inside his head; they had no clue what he’d lost.

“Forget it. If I could forget it, it wasn’t vital. Let’s get this gate open.” He dropped the worry like a pebble into a pond and moved on.

If he had looked at the mark on the back of his left hand, the lost thread might have flared up like a sleeping ember. He’d meant to wait for Xi to finish her meeting, then ask about the mark and the dream. But the Heretic Gods’ world had snagged most of his attention, and the rest fell into shadow.

Opening a gate was child’s play for him. With Jiangxue as a local anchor, he pinned the coordinates like a needle biting silk.

Space tore slowly like cloth. From the rent, Jiangxue felt a familiar breath spill—her homeland’s scent, warm as sun on old stone.

This side of the “Source” world lay in night, while the Heretic Gods’ world shone in day. The circular gate, over ten meters across, poured blinding white light like dawn spilling through a wound, bathing the square in radiance.

“Who?” A voice from the far side rippled like cold water. Ouyang’s work had roused an Evil God, who descended to the threshold and tried to meddle with the opening.

“Scram, weakling. It’s not your scene.” Ouyang snapped his fingers; the Evil God shot away like a leaf in a squall. Then he draped the gate in a dark veil, a night curtain swallowing the glare. “Done. Now we wait for tomorrow’s march.”

As he dusted his hands, Loyin tugged lightly at his hem.

“Brother… I just felt her aura from that world.”

“Her?”

“Sin.”

“Original and Sin.” Without Loyin’s prompt, Ouyang might have let that thread go. He had little to say about Sin. “It’s fine. Our side has masters gathered like stars in a winter sky. That thing can’t stir much of a wave.”

It sounded true. Loyin still had questions fluttering like moths, but the gap between sides was a mountain. On Ouyang’s roster—Kanofia, Moon Goddess, Aurora, Litian, Dongze, Agas… with that ridge of power, worry seemed needless. Yet a thin thorn of dread pressed under her heart.

Left hand holding Loyin, right hand holding Bai, Ouyang walked in silence, fog pooling between steps. He remembered an old note from the Mist Illusion: If Sin devours Original, the fallout is unthinkable.

“That thing won’t get the chance.” His grip on Loyin’s hand tightened like a promise drawn taut.

Night came. As always, after dinner he stood on the balcony, watching the stars pour like frost. Since Loyin’s news about Sin, unease had swelled like a storm tide. He remembered that dream: Loyin turning into a black butterfly, vanishing under the star-washed sky. It had been only a blurred dream, yet recalling that fragment left him with a deep, hollow helplessness.

Fear. Helplessness. Urgency.

While his heart churned, a soft body wrapped him from behind; orange hair swayed like flame in wind, carrying a familiar scent.

“I can feel it—your heart’s completely tangled…” Xi held him closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Her voice was warm as lamplight. There wasn’t a flicker of blame, and he sank into that gentleness like a ship into calm.

He trembled. The little dam of composure cracked and gave way.

“The more I gain, the more I fear losing it… I really don’t want to lose you. Do you know—when I recall Loyin’s ruined face from that dream, how much it hurts?”

Dreams, for gods, aren’t whimsy—they’re a taste of the future, bitter or sweet.

“It took so much to build this, so everyone could laugh with careless hearts each day…”

Life stings most when it swings between grief and joy. At the very start, waking from that long seal, he thought he’d been abandoned; the gods of the Other Shore had returned to the First Universe, leaving him alone like a stone on an empty road.

Later, messages reached him like feathers on the wind, and he learned he wasn’t discarded—he’d stayed for a greater charge.

After sorrow and after joy, the world had finally entered their era: Demon King friends, old faces from the Other Shore, and the one who loved him like spring sunlight…

And then that dream shattered the glaze over all those hopes like a dropped cup.

“Life… is theater, but we don’t bow to fate’s script. Once you give up the first time, you’ll give up the second, the third…” Xi kept her head on his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, feeling the warmth rising from him. She hadn’t spent long stretches at his side, hadn’t shared many words; real heart-to-heart had been rare. But she had always waited in quiet, like back in the Starry Citadel—watching, waiting, without a sound.

She didn’t want to steal his light. In handling so many matters, she stayed low, never flexing too hard. If she could, she wanted only to follow the man she loved, watching him shield her from wind and rain, watching him carve a road flooded with sun.

But Ouyang hadn’t yet grown enough to shoulder every storm alone. In heart and in power, his road still stretched long. So Xi stepped up to help, and she did it in Ouyang’s name, not in the name of Aurora the Goddess of Aurora.

“It’s okay. Whatever the trouble, we’ll walk through it with you.” She comforted him softly, still holding him, and her lips brushed his neck with a quick kiss, like a chick pecking grain. “Tell me all you remember of that dream—anything at all—and I’ll help you parse it.”

The night wind ran wild; her pink nightdress swayed like a small sail.

Ouyang had calmed. He dug back through the dream, but aside from the fractured shard with Loyin, the rest was fog he couldn’t grasp.

“It’s fine…” Xi patted his head lightly, soothing him like a child. “If it’s about Loyin, then she shouldn’t join tomorrow’s expedition. As long as she stays in this world, with Litian, the Moon Goddess, and Kanofia here, Loyin won’t come to harm.”

“Mm…” His voice sank low, heavy as rain. He felt more useless with each day—power rising, deeds lagging. When he learned of the Chaos Demon God, he hurt for a long, long time… Xi’s gentleness had smoothed that wound. And now, at his lowest, it was still that girl—quiet, steadfast—keeping watch at his side.

“Sleep well. Fall deep and forget all your worries…” Her voice faded like dusk, and by the time it disappeared, Ouyang was asleep.

Cradled in Xi’s arms, eyes closed, his face looked as peaceful as a sleeping child, soft enough to melt the night.

Inside the room, a barrier shimmered with drifting aurora, a dome of light sealing the space. “Little Loyin, Bai—how about you lend me Ouyang tonight?” Xi tucked the blanket over him and caught the two sneaking in. The words were polite, but her tone brooked no debate.

Bai was simple-hearted. She had all the time in the world to cling to Ouyang later, so she slipped back to her room without fuss. Loyin was harder to budge.

“I’m not leaving. Fine, don’t let me sleep with him—but why put up a barrier that blocks everything? You’re plotting something, and I’m not going!”

Loyin clutched Ouyang’s hem, refusing to let go.

“Little Loyin, be good. Your brother’s upset—let him sleep.” Xi’s voice stayed soft as rain.

“I’ll just sit and watch. I won’t disturb him!”

“…”

“Little Loyin, your brother dreamed some bad futures. Don’t join tomorrow’s trip to the other world, or he’ll worry.” Xi’s resolve settled like stone. Loyin heard and nodded, thoughtful, as if she too felt a tug from beyond.

“In that case… see you tomorrow. And don’t be naughty, okay~”

The moment she heard it, Loyin knew something was off. In a blink, she was back in her room. Ouyang’s house was sealed under a powerful barrier, and Loyin could only stomp her foot, helpless as a sparrow in wind.

“Ugh—hey—give my brother back!” She knocked on the barrier, which shone with lavish color like a frozen waterfall. She knocked and knocked, but Xi never opened it. Loyin kicked it once, anger puffing like steam, then trudged back to her room to sleep.

In a hazed dream, Ouyang saw face after familiar face. In the Starry Citadel, Jiling, his personal ATM, still loaned him coin with a sigh. At Starry College, Mapleleaf popped up, dragging Ouyang into schemes that set the Citadel in uproar. And Kaimedi, always old-souled, stood like a mentor at life’s crossroads…

It wasn’t only the Starry Citadel. He saw members of the First Epoch’s Crimson Night Star. They gathered as one, palms to their chests, swearing solemnly beneath a banner painted with a broken star and moon.

Cynthia looked just as in memory. She sat in a chair before a small table; a cup of red tea steamed on the stand. Around her, a sea of flowers swayed. Her pleated skirt lifted in the breeze, golden hair rippling, and her smile made time itself hold its breath.

Luo stood on a grassland, sword cradled in his arms, gazing at blue sky and white cloud. His robe was snow, his hair ink, like a swordsman walking out of an ancient scroll.

So many faces. So many people.