He takes time as a single thread, snips it from the loom of the world, then stitches a small current of hours—Head’s usual trick when he drops by to play.

Meaning rides the flow of time like a boat on a river. Stop that current, and the world turns into a hollow shell, an echo with no worth. The great river doesn’t warp or rage; a pause is only a small ripple, and Time God Tim won’t bother to protest.

In this paused world, one is a myriad, and a myriad is one.

“A rare guest, truly rare—Narrow. Did we ever set a date to meet? Look, I’m the busy sort too. A mere Son of the Demon King, not yet promoted; I can’t peel time off the material world. My time is ‘limited,’ at least for now.”

A prickle of wrongness cut through my drowsy calm. I’d just sprawled over the hardwood table to rest, like a cat stealing heat from sun-warmed planks.

Stillness hit first—a glaze on everything, thoughts pinned like moths on a needle. Then I felt my body—not the flesh shell, but the true shape in Shadow, the darkness speaking its own nature.

A finger twitched. Then a palm, then a wrist, like a statue thawing in ice after a hundred winters, yet doomed to freeze again. Waiting to melt wasn’t an option; I had to rip through the frost and shatter the thin, glassy border of nothing.

I broke free—one hand. Enough to reach the cup on the table and claim the coffee, steam coiling like a sigh.

“I saw the future, World Saving Demon King—who you are, and what you intend. So, I have some ideas, too.”

The Divine Being treats her equals with courtesy. She dimmed her station and gathered radiance into a human frame—a young lady in a neat suit, slightly tight at the shoulders, but crisp as morning frost. It’s the guise she wears when she walks among people.

Compared to the time she descended to judge Nagash, head of the Truth Seekers Assembly, her face-sculpting was far more refined today.

She paced along the long table, gave me a small bow, and sat, like moonlight taking a seat.

If you’re asking for help, you come humble. That’s my guess.

“Hmm… looks like Head’s hiding tricks aren’t as mighty as he claims.”

“This isn’t about Him. Any great one who chooses to stand aside gains sight enough to see tomorrow.”

“So, to cut through fog—what do you want, Divine Being? What final gift do you mean to leave humans?”

“A wish. Perhaps everyone should get a single chance to make a wish come true. One wish in a lifetime.”

Speaking with a Divine Being is easy on the ears—excluding Head—because the ones with human-adjacent ‘virtues’ choose words shaped for understanding, lanterns hung at crossroads.

Not like the outer gods, who talk only to peers behind veils; nor the devils, who never lie yet angle every phrase to mislead; nor Demon Kings, who get so thrilled they forget to speak. Divine Beings enjoy dialogue, square and upright, rarely wielding language as a blade for fraud.

They speak plainly. To humans, they often pierce right to the sore spot and offer counsel that stings. It’s their gentleness, though mortals may not read it as such.

“I mulled your proposal a bit, but if humans get one wish in a lifetime, the wish might turn wild.”

I rubbed my chin, dragging my mind out of the frozen honey of halted time. I started from my favorite dark premise—that people bend toward selfishness—and weighed whether Divine wishing could tip society into collapse.

“‘Wish’ is a slippery thing. Let’s define it, Ms. Narrow. Can someone wish for ‘three more wishes’—the kind that breaks the balance?”

“Naturally not. A wish means a heartfelt goal or dream you want realized. It’s not a spigot for greed.”

“What about the classic joke—‘world peace’?”

“Too hollow. It lacks a concrete path.”

“‘Make soul into matter and save all humanity,’ or ‘kill everyone for salvation’—wishes that look clever but stink of idiot cruelty?”

“No. They target others without consent.”

I thumped my palm. A crack like a snapped twig marked the point. My left hand found freedom in the chill air.

“That’s where it gets messy. The world is stitched together. Any change pulls other threads. Say, ‘I’ll kill him for revenge,’ versus ‘I’ll win that girl’s heart.’ Both touch other lives. I bet you’d grant the former but deny the latter.”

“I don’t want to hold the rod that judges correctness of ideals. First, a wish must be sincere. Then we weigh its mass against the masses’ wishes. Compare the weights on the scale, then uphold the side that should be realized.”

“That’s hazy as mist. If I wish for ‘one gold coin,’ a simple material thing, and another wishes for ‘ten billion gold coins,’ which shatters trust in money—sure, the first seems fine and the second not. Where’s the fault line?”

“Only fulfill the true goal of a true prayer—sincerity high enough that you’d die for it. If it’s that fierce, even shifts to the economic balance are acceptable. At the same time, if someone wishes ‘don’t break economic balance,’ the wishes counterweight each other.”

“Uh… doesn’t that just feed dreamers fat?”

“That’s why we limit it. One person, one wish, one lifetime. You must choose where to spend it with care. Does that still count as fattening dreamers?”

I still shook my head.

“Then the world will skew far from now. You say life is priceless, but devils price things clean. The value of an unwished human life will shoot up like a firework. A single lifetime wish could redraw the map. Miracles would become too cheap.”

“Demon King… you mean, if a wish brings change that dwarfs years of effort, it denies the value of ‘effort,’ and people won’t strive or create…”

“Basically, yes. I get that your wishcraft aims for romance. Ah, like a teen from spring-tide onward, brooding on where to spend her one spark—” Another layer of glass peeled; each stretch out of still-time felt like breaking a shell. It made me glance down, half-expecting glittering shards. “—a dramatic girl gazing at the window, wondering if her right hand should hide a sealed black dragon; a high school freshman clutching flowers, not daring to hope the girl he loves will accept him, only wishing for courage to confess. These sugar-sweet, tiny wishes are lovely. But I can design ways to turn that adolescent sour-and-sweet into near-infinite material resource—and if I can, future politicians will, too.”

I don’t care if nations get toppled or parties get voted out, but if we’re talking cooperation, you warn a partner—especially when they’re open to working together.

It’s rare—too rare—for “qualified to work with me” and “willing to work with me” to appear in the same person.

“Also, in the future you saw, you know the world I promised to the gods. I promised freedom without a ceiling, not a world built on wishes.”

Simply put, Ms. Narrow’s gift weighs too heavy. It’s like forcing electric age tools into a stone-age camp. The gift is kind, no doubt. But those who refuse get culled, and those who accept must walk the road the gift sets—losing the will to explore freely.

Don’t break the balance. Existence endures by that fine word—balance of good and evil, balance of right and wrong, balance of gods and demons, balance of staying and striving.

“I’m sorry. I can’t accept your proposal, Ms. Narrow.” I let an executive tone settle, and waved her offer away like smoke. “Maybe lighten the gift. Allow only harmless, as you wish, romantic sorts of wishes. But the snag remains—who judges when a wish crosses the line? I suggest you go consult Head.”