“This part’s still from the village. That man, Itel Lot—probably her childhood friend? If we want the Purification Deity, we should flip ahead.” Xiu turned pages like dry leaves.

“Yeah, but don’t skip too far. The path matters, so we don’t miss threads, and it sketches the First Epoch like an old mural.”

“Alright.” Xiu nodded, a pebble of assent rippling a quiet pond, and kept reading.

—Time: Year 206, April 5. Clear.

—Homesickness tugged like a thin thread. I’ve studied at the Academy three years. I kept dreaming up a Flight Spell, wings stitched from mana.

—Persistence finally bore fruit like late plum blossoms. I made the Flight Spell. The cost is heavy, a winter wind on the lungs. It still needs work.

—Teachers and Archmages praised me like bells in a hall. They learned it from me and want it for the front-line mage corps.

—Mages lack mobility, like cranes with bound feet. With this spell, they can fight the Dark Deity and Evil Entities with borrowed wings.

—Oh, right. The Royal Capital holds against Dark Deities because the Church stands like a lighthouse. I only learned that now.

—It’s the Purification Deity, a true god, like clear water against ink. There are Dark and true gods. That feels reasonable to me.

—They wield Authority Power, bright as a brand. Believers can use something called a Blessing, like a seal on the heart.

—They said they’ll recommend me to the Church, a door opening in a quiet wall. I’m happy like spring after frost.

—If I gain power to fight Dark Deities, I’ll sweep them out like a hard north wind, so my village won’t live under shadow.

“Looks like the creator of the Flight Spell really was Olivya,” Xiu said, voice steady as a drawn line.

“Mm.” Alvis nodded, a small tilt like a reed in breeze.

—Time: Year 206, December 9. Snow.

—The Royal Capital lies in the north, so winter pours down heaps of snow like feathers. It’s lovely; if only the cold didn’t bite.

—I sat by the window, studying while watching the snowfall, time pooling like thaw, until the dorm matron climbed up to tell me.

—A boy was at the Academy gate, making a scene to see me, saying he’s my good friend. Outsiders aren’t let in, so he was stopped.

—After she told me, a name surfaced like a fish. Beyond the Academy, my only friend is Itel.

—I was shocked, a bell struck in my chest. Did he come to see me? How did he travel that river of roads?

—The Royal Capital is north; Anding Village is south, a map split like sky and earth. He’d cross half the land and its teeth.

—On the way are monsters, Evil Entities, Dark Deities, like thorns on a path. How did he do it?

—After stewing in worry, I dressed, left the dorm, and followed the matron to the gate. Soldiers were blocking a boy like a dam.

—One glance, and I knew it was Itel, a familiar face surfacing from snow. He really came?

—How did he manage? Only the Royal Capital has shelter, a roof of light. Elsewhere, only sweep teams sometimes clear Evil Entities.

—I ran up. Itel recognized me, eyes thawing. Seeing that, the soldiers loosened their grips like ropes slackening.

—Three years apart, he’d grown tall but thin, a drawn bow. Rough linen clung to him. He was covered in wounds, still bleeding.

—His cloth shoes were gone. His toes were purple like bruised plums, frozen hard as stones.

—“You’ve gotten really pretty, and your clothes look nice.” That was his first line, tossed like a pebble into snow.

—I glanced down at myself: thick coat, skirt, black cotton tights, and warm boots, a small hearth against the wind.

—I didn’t know what to say, a tongue caught in frost. I changed the subject like turning a stream.

—I asked how he came, how he got hurt, why he came. Questions fluttered like sparrows.

—He shook his head, lips sealed like ice, and asked a strange question: “If I became a Dark Deity, would you kill me?”

—It felt absurd, a corkscrew in the heart. He came all this way just to ask that? I said humans can’t be Dark Deities.

—He fell silent, a shadow on snow, then changed it: “How do you think one can defeat a Dark Deity?”

—I hesitated like a hand over flame, then said: apart from the Purification Deity Itself, maybe by becoming Its follower.

—He stayed silent. He didn’t ask what the Purification Deity was. He just waved like a drifting leaf and turned to leave.

—How could I let him go? I grabbed his arm, intending to buy him clothes or at least shoes, a bit of warmth against the cold.

—He snapped free, breath sawing like a bellows. He clicked his tongue and left one line like a knife.

—He told me not to become a follower of the Purification Deity. He said I should become my own follower. Then he ran.

—I felt he was so strange, like a river running backward.

“From this we can see the First Epoch’s rough shape,” Xiu said, thoughts laid out like a map. “Maybe no nations yet.

“Only the Royal Capital under the Purification Deity’s shelter, a lone citadel of light. The rest ravaged by Dark Deities.

“The Church likely expanded step by step, like lanterns pushing back night, claiming ground.”

“Mm. And why did Itel ask that kind of question?” Alvis’s brow creased like folded paper. “What does ‘if I became a Dark Deity’ even mean?

“He warned Olivya not to become a follower of the Purification Deity. Did he already know then the Purification Deity is a Dark Deity?

“I want to see what he lived through these years. Shame this isn’t his diary.”

“Don’t know… maybe it’s tied to how Dark Deities are born,” Xiu said, a cloud passing the sun.

“Keep reading,” Alvis said, voice like a thread pulling forward.

—Time: Year 206, December 10. Snow.

—I heard that overnight, the files hidden in the Church were all stolen, like a hand sweeping a table. Not only that.

—Everyone lost something. Food shops lost food, clothiers lost fabric, the Holy Knights’ weapons vanished, friends lost belongings, even classmates lost underwear.

—I searched my whole body and my things, turning pockets like empty shells, but I’d lost nothing. So strange.

—Time: Year 206, December 11. Snow.

—Terrifying news blew in like a cold gust. A mage suddenly couldn’t use magic. His mana vanished.

—Even his mana circuit couldn’t hold a drop, a dry well in winter.

—Time: Year 206, December 15. Snow.

—These days, losses kept coming like steady drizzle. No, not objects. They lost their mana, their memories, their craft.

—Time: Year 206, December 20. Overcast.

—The items lost before were found, piled like a cairn in a forest outside the city, even the Church’s files.

—But those who lost mana didn’t get it back, a candle snuffed for good. Very strange. I still haven’t lost anything.

—Time: Year 207, February 1. Clear.

—Two months passed like slow ice. After people reclaimed their things, nothing else went missing in the Royal Capital.

—No one else lost mana. The Church judged a Dark Deity with the Authority Power [Theft] did this, a shadow gathering sparks.

—It looked like it was absorbing energy, a newborn ember. They sent a Judicator to track it, a hound on a cold trail.

—Hearing “theft” and “newborn,” a chill traced Itel’s name like a fingertip on glass. He’d asked if I’d kill him if he became a Dark Deity.

—These things happened the next day. Could he be the Dark Deity of Theft? That would explain his safe journey, a road that opened.

—But how could a human become a Dark Deity? Too strange. If that’s so, then what about the Purification Deity?