Above the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom, within the ring of Twelve Thrones, lay the chamber of thought, still as a lake of starlight.

No matter how many ages drifted like sand, Wisdom God Haydon sat upon his throne, unmoving like a mountain at dawn.

His eyes held light too sacred, a sun you couldn’t face; his mind rose vast as sky, so no one dared meet his gaze.

His face was beautiful, lit like moon on water; that visage slipped past man or woman, old or young, becoming a greater hue.

His form was pure, stainless as fresh snow; that shape stepped beyond matter’s borders, revealing itself as a higher idea.

His mouth was usually sealed, a quiet gate of stone; whoever questioned him got almost no answer, yet today he murmured without a question.

“Dis, is it? You know it’s meaningless, ineffective; we all know it. Perhaps because it’s meaningless, you, the absolute bystander, can say it, right?”

“What is it? Did something happen, Haydon? I heard your sigh.”

Element pushed the door open like wind through leaves and asked.

Among the gods, Element was one of the few who met Haydon’s eyes, entering that light like a swimmer into a cold river.

In mortal realms, he wore the plain shape of a man who stared straight ahead, spine like a spear.

Among Primordial Deities, lofty and veiled like distant peaks, he was a rare one who spoke clean and direct.

“No, just something meaningless. Dis offered a proposal that does nothing, a leaf falling on stone.”

“He can speak? After the pre-Accord, when rules were chaos, I haven’t heard him speak since.”

“Because Death demands absolute equality, not the twisted equality of the devil of ‘Equality’, but a levelness with no up, no down, no right, no wrong.”

“He must say nothing and do nothing, a silent river without ripples.”

“Then how did you know he proposed anything?”

“Because he thought, and he sealed his domain, lowered his rank, and for a brief breath spoke with another, a candle in fog.”

“So I knew it happened, like a bell struck in a quiet temple.”

“This can’t be. Death must never change, or the world will go wild like fire in dry grass.”

Though Element blazed with anger like gold in flame, he could do nothing; Death is unshakable, beyond punishment or blame.

“Element, don’t flare. Dis still keeps his oath. Do you remember how the Son of the Demon King of Slaughter meddled in Death’s field at his first descent?”

“I remember. Through that one crack, Slaughter shoved the Endless Demon King toward Death, yet the Endless Demon King did not die.”

“The Day of Ending seems truly real, a shadow at noon.”

“Dis is only mending the tilted rules of Death, leveling a scale, and he spoke a few words with that Endless Demon King unrelated to Death.”

“That guy dared that? The other side would slay all gods, a storm that eats light!”

“Easy. First, our enemy isn’t the Endless Demon King, but the world itself whose date is coming due, a fruit about to fall.”

“Also, Dis hopes we all survive into the new world. Even if we hand authority back to the world and mortals, we can still watch the Creator’s youngest child craft new civilization.”

Haydon paused, his breath like mist before sunrise.

“He paid three deaths outside fate, coins on a dark altar. He asked the Endless Demon King to find a way to turn us into mortals.”

“In that way, we won’t die with the Silver Era, candles spared by the same wind.”

Element’s face, bright as gold leaf, gathered a bitter shade like rain on metal.

“That guy is still naïve, a spring sparrow in winter. How is this possible?”

“As time flows like the river of stars, we watched new-age gods grow and die, and our old-era companions fall like autumn leaves.”

“The world became a shape unknown to us, a landscape unrecognizable; the child we should guard turned ugly like our enemy.”

“How could we crawl onward like weeds, clinging to frost?”

“Yes; that’s why I call it meaningless, a lantern in daylight.”

Behind Haydon, the great light spread evenly like warm rain, and he fixed it so with that calm tone.

Element mourned for a breath, then recalled the urgent matter; his face hardened like iron.

“Haydon, the Time Ruins are in trouble.”

“I know. Fiz is suppressing with all his strength, hands on a cracking dam, but even then…”

Haydon hesitated, rare as a falcon missing a beat.

“They are unnameable beings. The lower ranks still have thought; even twisted, I can read them like bent script.”

“But those of higher rank have no wisdom at all, only impulse and chaos, wild seas without stars.”

“Those that lack wisdom—I don’t know, a blind spot at dusk.”

“Then Bel and I will help suppress them, hammer and wave, whatever they are, crush them into ruins.”

“No. Bel cannot go, like a lamp kept from storm.”

“Why—no, I know. You saw something you can’t tell me, a closed scroll.”

“I understand. Then I’ll go alone to support the Time Ruins, a lone rider into the gale.”

Element nodded with stern calm, then turned and left, footfalls like steady drums.

“Wait,” Haydon stopped him, a hand lifted like a branch. “Don’t you want to ask more, like counting a beast’s teeth?”

“For example, what those monsters are? For example, how many they number?”

“If it’s necessary, you’ll tell me, like a bell before a quake.”

“If you don’t wish to say it, why should I ask, a net cast on dry ground?”

He fell silent, a pause like snow between words.

“I trust you, Haydon. No matter what, even if it kills me like the last winter.”

“I’m the one who absolutely believes you, absolutely trusts that all you do is for the future of the human world.”

“Doubt me more, like Sun does. Question me, oppose me, keep watch from a spot I count safe.”

“In that way, even if I slip, the world won’t shatter, a vase held by many hands.”

“You make mistakes? You, who watch all possible futures, would fail?”

“Even if Fiz loses a contest of strength, I still don’t believe you would err, a lighthouse in constant fog.”

“Your trust in me is too high, a bridge over thin ice.”

“It’s necessary. There’s a god like Fiz who doubts you, a god like Sun who opposes you, gods like Bel and Liv who stay neutral.”

“And there must be a god like me who trusts you without shadow.”

“Thus every position has a deity standing, stones around a fire, and the world won’t collapse from a one-sided mistake.”

“This is the rightness I choose and hold to this day, Haydon. You know that, don’t you? After all, that too is thought.”

“No, I don’t know. As I said, I never peer into your thoughts, a sealed garden.”

“Though I can be omniscient and omnipotent, I refuse to look into that part. I only watch the future, a horizon always ahead.”

“Still clinging to that baffling ‘free will’? For the world, survival comes first, breathing before singing.”

“If the world ends, there’s nothing left, and no talk of free thought, only ash.”

“So we let heroes who won’t change die, falling stars; and we let sages who change for the world’s continuance live, banked fires.”

“Honestly, that choice is too cruel, a knife under velvet.”

“I’ve always held that free thought is greater than life, a sky wider than a field.”

“If we reshape the Creator’s youngest child into a fixed form, strip away free thought, and turn those souls into beasts, that’s another kind of world’s end.”

“After the new age, wouldn’t it be better to let them create new civilization and new thought, spring after winter?”

“The dead cannot return, burnt seeds; a civilization with its root cut can never revive, only create anew within chaos.”

“I don’t understand. Such a world would still be a world, wouldn’t it? At least it exists, a shadow at noon.”

“Not the same, not the same. Even if someone again holds the Creator’s authority, I could no longer kiss her cheek, lips on glass.”

“Can you grasp such stubbornness, a thorn held in the palm?”

Haydon shook his head, and the great light behind him wavered like wheat in wind, closing the conversation.

“Then I should leave,” Element said, a bird taking off at dusk.

He lowered his lashes, turned, and walked away; behind him, many-colored light spun and burst like fireworks.

Particles of countless hues on his body began to leap, wrapping him like vines.

They shifted into the most basic form that underlies all things of this world—elements.

Later ages call them particles, rain turned to seeds.

In the Silver Era, even formless “concepts” were composed of elements, clouds woven from grains.

Element, the Elemental God, his existence was the world’s framework itself, bones under the sky.

“They are called Dominators, chaos and the unnameable; between our gods and them, strength bears no meaning of comparison.”

“Their number is infinite, sand without end.”

He heard the voice behind him, nodded to show he understood like a lantern dipping once, and pushed the door wide to depart.

On the throne, the one seated remained, with the great light behind him rolling and radiating like a slow wheel.

He kept thinking about things mortals can’t fathom, deep as oceans.

As if through ten million years, it had always been so, a pine standing through snow.