Legend said he had ten thousand arms and a thousand bone-wings, a storm of limbs that could tear the earth and pluck down stars. Just standing, he blotted out sun, moon, and constellations, and even the greatest Divine Being would die here.

Legend said he was the sum of all wickedness, the sink of every sin. His visage was too monstrous; a single look shattered minds. Even the toughest Hero would go mad.

Legend said they called him the Endless Demon King. No one knew what “Endless” meant. They only knew he brought the ending of all things, and even thinking his name was taboo.

Andreas let out a dry, hollow roar. The venom in his voice drank rivers empty and split great stones, like frost cracking a mountain at dawn.

His clouded eyes burned with hysterical savagery. A single stare made the sky drop like a curtain and space buckle like ice.

He never created, only threw himself into ruin, like a moth that knows only fire.

Haydon lay before him, his chest ripped clean open. Above, the last star hung dim and trembling, yet a stubborn light still lived in his eyes.

The Starry Sky Divine Kingdom had fallen. Godly corpses lay everywhere like wreckage after a moonless tide.

One of the Primordial Deities, the Twin God of Strength, Bell (Power), had fallen. His body was torn neatly in two, like a log split by an axe.

One of the Primordial Deities, the Twin God of Strength, Fizz (Force), had fallen. His remains were dust across three thousand kilometers, like ash in the wind.

One of the Primordial Deities, Tim (Time), had fallen. Only his robe remained on the ground, unburned, like a flag clinging to a mast in storm.

Of the twelve Primordial Deities, all but Haydon had died. None survived; it was a forest after wildfire.

“Is this what you wanted, Andreas?”

He stared at that unspeakable mass. The answer was another hollow noise, like a cave breathing.

“I forgot. You’ve lost your mind.”

Andreas slid forward, or rather wriggled, like a centipede in rotten leaves.

“Don’t rush to kill me. Try, just try. Look at the end of the world we spent ten thousand years building, and you spent ten thousand years breaking. See the last road of the Silver Era.”

Haydon peered into those things that weren’t eyes. He saw only chaos and savagery, no intellect at all, like a storm with no shore.

“Then at least look up. The first hidden star of the Creator, the Eternal God Feriel. We all owe her. I hope, at the land of endings, you’ll pay her something back.”

In the far east, that star flickered with the Silver Era’s final glory. It fell as a shaft of light, straight into the world, a song and a lament, like rain reciting poetry.

Andreas roared one last time. Every notion of darkness and chaos gathered to him like a night tide, but it was useless. The light-arrow peeled away layer after layer of foulness, pierced his chest, and nailed him into the earth, burying him deep, like a root.

The sky brightened again. A new sun rose, weaker than the Silver Era’s blaze, but light returned like dawn after long winter.

The Sea of Light had mingled with the Ocean of Darkness in the mortal world. Miasma ran wild, demons danced like locust swarms, but—

“But someone lived. Now comes the Bronze Era. May the hordes show some mercy, heh… cough… heh.”

A newly born lesser demon peered around, greedy for the blood Haydon spilled. It met Haydon’s gaze and shrank back, shivering, then fled, like a stray dog from thunder.

“Don’t go. If you want it, then have it all.”

The last gleam flowed out of his body, lighting sky and earth like dawn on wet fields. In the lesser demon’s head, hunger and chaos parted a little, and sparks of wisdom flashed like fireflies.

“Then from now on, return ‘wisdom’ to the world. Return ‘authority’ to mortals. Good… good…”

“I wish I could see the starry sky of the Age of Clay. That endless sea of stars… so beautiful…”

He reached toward the highest vault, then let his hand fall. The last stars hid behind the sun’s light, and melted into its brightness, like snow into river.

One of the Primordial Deities, Wisdom God Haydon (Head), fell here.

From then on, no living thing rose to root-level. Order and concept sank into the world’s foundations, and only scattered fragments of authority fell to living beings. The second generation of Divine Beings appeared.

The Bronze Era, also called the Age of Hordes, began—

—

“What’s wrong? Playing drunk? For the record, I didn’t bring cash.”

Stini, eyes hazy, downed a big glass of straight rum. No money, but she ordered the pricey stuff—like a magpie stealing silver.

“Huh? Andor, you’re not paying?”

Raven sipped her tequila in little tastes, like a cat testing rain. She always took a small glass, tried it, then swapped to a new flavor.

“I didn’t say that. I was just remembering. But I’m low on funds. Lemme see… my shadow ledger says… just over fifty Colonna gold coins…”

“That’s enough for drinks.”

“Problem is, it’s all I’ve got for the year.”

“Oh, bankruptcy incoming. Pfft.” Her laugh popped like a bubble.

You’re awfully happy to gloat. You dragged me here and stuck me with the tab, like tossing a net over a fish.

“Let’s see. I’ve got two maids at home… and one more coming soon. Make that four. If we’re frugal, we’ll survive the year. Stini, don’t get smug. We signed a five-year contract. If I can’t pay wages, you’ll be eating air with us.”

“I thought you only had Vega as a maid?”

Raven finally noticed, her head swaying like a reed.

“The Hero with zero sense of image is also my maid. Didn’t I say?”

Stini really was in a maid uniform—black and white, lace trim, plus white stockings courtesy of Vega’s tastes—but she moved like an adventurer who wore armor for years. Her posture hit like iron, and it made you overlook the frills, like a swordswoman in silk.

Not a maid at all. I’ll ask Vega to give her maid training… guidance. Said the wrong thing.

“Worthy of a Hero, but… why isn’t… the meat… here yet.”

Gloria banged the table again and again, her impatience thudding like a pile driver.

And we aren’t that close, are we, Princess Golia? Why did you just show up on your own, like a hawk dropping into a pond?

“Isn’t your persona the ‘three-no’ type? So bluntly asking for meat—really okay? You’ll break a lot of good impressions.”

“Don’t snap at a girl over spare change. The students say you and Princess Golia fought side by side in the Ironwood Forest, moving like you rehearsed for years. Looks like you two get along.”

That’s because we killed each other for a long time in a past life. Better not.

Raven explained in a tone with zero jealousy, cool as shade. How do I even win her over?

“Not really. We each… did our own… thing.”

At most, I asked Gloria to hold the line. I’d rather not get tangled with her, like a foot in river weed.

Mm. Vega said a straight pitch works best on Raven. Let’s try.

“Raven, marry me.”

“Ha. Get lost. Boss, one brandy, thanks.”

She breezed past it like wind over glass. What gives?

“I like you. Really. Marry me. Think it through. If you joke again, I’m not paying.”

The table went cold, like embers under ash.

“Uh, boss, hold the brandy.”

So you do know that’s pricey. Not on your tab, it’s off the menu.

Raven folded her arms and thought quietly, like moonlight on still water. Stini swept every empty bottle off the table to the floor, clinking like hail. Gloria swallowed her roast and, rare for her, let her mouth go empty.

Everyone waited for the final verdict, like a court under stormlight.

“Listen… you’re a good person…”

That hit hard. You’re all paying tonight.

“No, no, I mean it. I think you’re great, but… how to say… there’s no feeling of romance.”

“I don’t get it. I’ve sacrificed a lot for love.”

At least, I sacrificed my chance to claim a demon’s boon, like throwing away a flame.

“I’m wrestling with that too. I know you give for love—my love. But you yourself… it feels like ‘loveless giving’.”

Loveless… huh?

She smiled, helpless as mist. Hands open, she said:

“If this were a game with dialogue options, I think you’ve won. But it’s off. You feel like a player—cold in your investment, cold in your giving.”

“But I didn’t…” My protest was weak and hollow, like wind in a bottle, and Raven stopped it with ease.

“Ha, it’s just a feeling, Andor. Just that feeling. I don’t see you as someone to date. We’re still good friends, okay?”

“Alright… then, as friends, I’ll still pay the tab.”

“Oh!”

Everyone chimed in, voices stumbling like drunk sparrows. Raven was tipsy; her words slurred, so she spoke this plainly, like rain straight from the cloud.

Or maybe…

I turned, hand ready to tap his shoulder to say we’re done, but my body balked. The hand froze mid-air, like a branch in frost.

“Haydon, enough. Erase their memory of tonight.”

“That’s all you’re asking? I said I’d help you fully this time. Don’t worry. They’ll forget everything about today.”

“Even so, asking can’t guarantee truth. Raven could’ve just refused, but she explained. Feels like you gave her a nudge.”

I held a dead-man’s face and met Haydon’s too-bright eyes, like staring into noon.

“I didn’t. I only let her speak her own thoughts.”

“What’s the difference? If you can touch her thoughts to let them out, you can twist them too. Your domain is ‘thought.’ It’s easy.”

Wisdom God Haydon, a root of the world, had that kind of power, like a tide moving moons.

He scratched his cheek, awkward as a cat, then nodded to me.

“I can do it. Still, I’d like you to trust the gods’ credibility.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Gods obey contracts.”

“Demons value contracts more than life, and they never lie. Trading with them beats trading with you.”

“If we don’t trust each other, we can’t talk.”

His tone stayed warm, like spring sun, but his fingers tapped the table, a polite drum of impatience.

“Even without trust, we still cooperate under the threat of betrayal. That’s how I lived in the Demon Realm. Besides, this probe on Raven is just a sweetener to our deal. Not important. Honestly, a confession this solemn should be in the final chapter. You first test impressions, then choose your move—this is the most underhanded of underhanded tricks in fiction.”

So I’ll treat tonight like it never happened. The info is useless, as bare as sand.

I explained.

“Interesting.”

He shrugged lightly. His face stayed warm; no cracks showing, like lacquer on wood.

Watertight guy. Not a drop leaked.

“Don’t you want to ask more? Like whether I know you come from the future? Or how I found you?”

“No. Pointless questions.”

“Like… whether I can read your thoughts?”

“…No. Done yet?”

I hesitated, a stone in my throat, then said it anyway. I didn’t know what verbal cue Haydon might spring, like a hook in riverweed.

“The retainer’s paid. I look forward to your next move.”

He clapped lazily, an actor bowing to empty seats. Then he turned his chair back, lifted his bottle, and posed like a man about to drink, a moon before it sets.

“Heh. You know, a hesitating person can have more resolve than a decisive one. And be scarier.”

He saw my hesitation. I wanted that point back, like snatching a hat in wind.

“Ah, wait. One last question.”

“Speak; I’m listening—ears open like sails.”

He lowered the bottle, waiting with a gentle face like dusk over a quiet shore.

“Does your authority field need a finger snap to trigger, like flint sparking, or is that just for show?”

He snapped—snap—like struck flint, then went still, a statue cut from breathless time.

“Take a guess, Andreas.” Those words drifted like smoke, his last trace in the room.

“I’m Andor now.” Defiance rose like a flare in fog, and I said it though he was gone.

Patience settled like frost, and I kept waiting in the tavern where everyone was frozen, like flies in amber.

Wisdom God Haydon is terrifying; his domain is Wisdom, and Thought and Memory sit under his throne like chained stars.

So he took the body of the man behind me, and through that borrowed mouth offered me a deal, like a puppeteer behind a curtain.

He even pressed pause on every mind present. Even nonhuman Gloria, Raven with her mind-ward amulet, even Stini with her Immunity Privilege, were caught like birds in a net.

To read memory and alter thought is basic for Haydon. He’s kind by nature, sunward in heart, and he spares feelings—but that doesn’t mean he can’t wield that blade.

He’s one of the Primordial Deities, which means mortals of the Ocean of Light and demonfolk of the Ocean of Darkness all lie under his tide. Maybe only slimes and ghouls, mindless as driftwood, slip his net.

“Ruling Thought itself—yeah, that’s terrifying,” I murmured, the words like ash on my tongue.

Thirst flickered like sand, and I raised the glass, drained it in one pull; huh—gone, like a well sucked dry.

I stole Stini’s glass from her hand. She gripped hard, fingers like clamps—but fine, I pried it free.

“If you don’t speak, I’ll take that as a yes,” I said, voice light as a thrown coin.

Still no response, the room a pond without ripples.

I sipped rum’s bite and sugar alone, yet it tasted flat, like rain without thunder.

The crucial knot now: what does Haydon want done by me with “that task,” and—

Can he see my thoughts and my memories, like lanterns laid bare in the dark?

Worse, Haydon knows I want that answer, like a hunter reading tracks in fresh snow.

After all, Andreas stands for the Ocean of Darkness itself, equal to or above Haydon. But whether that ocean can shield my mind is fog no one can part.

He might read me clear and herd me like sheep; or he might not, and bluff with painted thunder.

I don’t know, and the not-knowing sits like a stone in my stomach.

I can’t tell, like staring at ripples and guessing the wind.

Too many paths, and none clear, a forest of mirrors.

I can’t read him. I probed, but nothing bit; maybe Haydon fed me haze on purpose, to keep me wandering like a moth in smoke.

I’ve met him only once, yet I know his terror. His wisdom sits on the highest peak, holding the Silver Era in his palm, closing fingers till it gives what he wants.

He would cut with clean steel to birth a greater good, a surgeon with a bandit’s resolve.

“So today amounts to nothing—nudges and hidden answers. I can’t match the all-seeing, all-wise; spare me, please,” I breathed, words falling like dull coins.

I set the empty glass back into Stini’s hand and curled her fingers around it, like closing a book.

“Forget it. Forget this useless debate. Remember only the deal I still have to honor,” I said, letting the thought blur like ink in water.

I folded onto the table, worn out by bout after bout of mindplay, and chose to feign drunk, like a soldier dropping his shield.

But… no love here?

The question drifted like a moth’s wingbeat.

That static jammed my head, proof I wasn’t untouched, like radio snow over a song.

Let it go, I told myself, like tossing a pebble into a well.

Resigned, I did the math for the tab, set the bills plus tip on the table, and then the frozen tavern hit play—everyone moved again like gears catching.

The sun blazed high, and outside it felt like everyone was blessing this calm, lovely day, petals falling in invisible prayer.

A day that seemed smooth as glass, with no ripples of surprise.