In ancient times, the Troya Continent was a desolate wasteland. Poisonous miasma and gloom choked the sky. Thick fog shrouded the heavens, blocking sunlight and plunging the world into utter darkness.
The land was barren—no blade of grass could grow.
Oceans churned with toxic, murky, foul-smelling water.
No forests existed. No life stirred anywhere.
Countless years passed. Then one day, a pair of colossal hands appeared in the sky. With a gentle sweep, they dispersed the fog. For the first time, the frigid Troya Continent felt the sun’s warmth.
Their owner was the Goddess of Creation. A casual wave cleared the world’s poison and gloom. A single touch made forests sprout, barren soil bloom with flowers, and foul seas turn into clear, rippling azure waves.
Once the continent teemed with life, the Goddess bestowed divine power once more—purifying and strengthening the world. From this emerged a new force: magic.
Magic, divine energy, and the world’s will collided, triggering strange reactions. New substances were born.
These primordial artifacts became known as the Creation Relics.
Forged by heaven and earth, imbued with the world’s will, deeply tied to all existence—they enabled life itself.
Among them, the World Stone—called the Foundation of the World—stabilized reality.
At creation’s dawn, the Goddess’s power overwhelmed the world. It trembled on the brink of collapse.
Earth quaked. Waves surged skyward. Chaos reigned.
Then the World Stone emerged.
The Goddess placed it deep beneath the earth to anchor reality. After millennia, as the world adapted, the Stone’s purpose faded.
Over ten thousand years, a rare few—blessed with luck and power—discovered its location. All failed to break its seal. Many died to magma-dwelling beasts.
A thousand years ago, the last keeper was the founding emperor of the Moshando Empire. Knowing the world still needed the Stone, he erased all records, built the palace beside its site, and whispered the secret only to his heir on his deathbed.
Thus, the truth passed orally through the Severola royal line—until Onid’s great-great-grandfather’s era.
Gravely ill and near death, that emperor recorded everything in a book. He entrusted it to his successor, warning: protect the Stone, or doom the world. He died three hours later.
Generations upheld the duty. Onid, powerful enough to visit the Stone alone, never imagined cultists sought it.
Worse—he never expected his own son-in-law knew of it.
“How do *you* know about the World Stone?!” Onid exclaimed, shock cracking his voice.
The secret was erased. Only a handful across the continent knew. How could Roland?
“I heard the cultists,” Roland shrugged. “They said they came for the World Stone.”
Onid paled. If they’d withdrawn… had they found the ancient text?
“Why didn’t you speak sooner?!” he roared, glaring fiercely.
He hastily dispelled the barrier. If cultists seized the Stone while the world still relied on it—reality would shatter under unstable divine energy. A global catastrophe.
They’d been gone hours. Maybe they’d already located it, stalled only by the seal.
Onid’s dread deepened. The guardian beast was strong—but not against Forbidden Spells. With Grand Sages among the cultists, its death was inevitable.
*Hold on,* he prayed. *Just until I arrive.*
He pulled a rare spatial scroll from his Spatial Bracelet—
—and froze.
“Relax. The World Stone’s in my hands. They won’t find it,” Roland said calmly.
He drew a shimmering, egg-shaped stone from his coat pocket.
*Clatter.*
The scroll slipped from Onid’s fingers.
Eyes wide with fury—not relief—he snarled:
“Don’t you know the world *needs* this Stone?! Why did you take it out?!?!”
Onid was already frantic, like an ant on a hot stove. Now? He nearly choked on panic.
He ignored *how* Roland broke the seal. All he wanted was to slap him and rush the Stone back.
The cultists couldn’t breach the seal quickly. Time remained.
But *now*?
Roland had *taken it out*!
Without its stabilizing power, the world could collapse *any second*!
Were the cultists destroying the world—or *you*, Roland?!
“Don’t panic. The Goddess of Creation gave it to me,” Roland said lightly, utterly calm. “She named me savior. Told me to use it. Don’t you trust her?”
“The *Goddess*?!” Onid exploded, veins bulging. “How could you *meet* her?!”
He snatched the Stone, grabbed the scroll. He knew cultists likely swarmed the site. This might be a one-way trip—but better than global ruin.
“Boy,” he growled, “treat my daughter well. Or even as a ghost, I’ll hunt you down.”
*RRRIP!*
He tore the scroll—but nothing happened. No magic. No transfer.
“What now?! Even this damn scroll mocks me?!” He hurled it down, roaring.
“Patience.”
An ethereal voice echoed—ancient yet intimate.
Holy light pierced the royal library’s ceiling. A single white feather drifted down.
Then more. Feathers fell like snow. A serene zither melody swelled. Within the glow, the Goddess of Creation descended.
Onid stood dumbfounded, staring at her sacred presence.
The continent’s fiercest warlord slowly knelt. Shock melted into reverence. He breathed deeply, voice trembling:
“Goddess illuminating the world… your divine might is boundless…”
“Rise.”
Her words lifted him effortlessly.
She turned to Yenoa, curious. “I’m not surprised *he* didn’t kneel. But why don’t *you*?”
“I don’t believe in you. Why should I?” Yenoa’s hands clenched, nails biting her palms. Her eyes held deeper hatred than when she looked at Roland.
“You resent me for not saving your clan?” The Goddess remained serene. “Gods cannot interfere with mortal paths. Saving them might have shattered the world’s balance—against divine law.”
Yenoa said nothing, gaze lowered.
Unoffended, the Goddess smiled at Roland. “Congratulations on your wedding…”
“Thanks! Join us for dinner?” Roland grinned, rubbing his hands.
“…Too bad it won’t happen.”
Roland: “???”
*Are you here to bless me or ruin everything?*
“Wait—what?” he stammered.
The Goddess shot him a look. “Because of the World Stone in your hands.”
Roland glanced down. Her voice whispered in his mind:
“You knew seekers could *locate* Creation Relics. Taking it out exposed it. Only my intervention spared you… but a *trace* of its aura leaked. Stay here, and this city may suffer Augustine’s fate.”
Cold sweat drenched Roland. *I forgot the barrier…* He wanted to slap his past self.
“What now?” he whispered.
*This unreliable goddess… please have a plan…*
“Take the Stone elsewhere. Get far away—*now*. Don’t return until it’s over. Simple: run.” She patted his shoulder, smiling. “Congrats! Your ‘elope-to-save-the-world’ plan worked beautifully.”
“But the wedding—”
“Life or marriage? If she dies… who’s left to marry?” Another pointed look.
Roland turned to Onid, face pained. The emperor sighed, nodding wearily. “It has to be this way…”
Roland groaned inwardly.
*So… I’m eloping after all.*
