Lucien—Kazuki, as he once was—sat frozen, the faint steam rising from his untouched teacup blurring softly before his eyes. Across from him sat the Goddess herself, Elyssira, radiant and incomprehensibly divine, and beside her, the quiet little girl with leaves clinging to her petite form.
The weight of her last words still echoed in his mind.
"Your awakening… is unlike any that has come before it."
His throat was dry. The air in this strange, breathing forest had turned heavier, like mist laced with invisible pressure.
Kazuki fumbled for words.
"…W-what do you mean by that?" he asked, voice low, hesitant. "That my awakening is… different?"
The warmth in Elyssira's eyes faded gently—like the sun behind a veil of storm clouds.
The atmosphere around them shifted.
Her gaze turned solemn, her lips a firm line of contemplation. Even the forest, alive with gentle breathing moments before, now seemed to hush in anticipation.
Kazuki instinctively straightened.
"I need to ask you something first," Elyssira said, her voice still soft—but lined with gravity. "Have you heard… of the Abyssian King?"
Kazuki blinked. "The… Abyssian King? Yes."
He nodded, recalling a page from an old, dry textbook he had skimmed through during a lazy day in the Velebrandt estate.
"It's said that you created the Abyssians… or rather, allowed their existence. Some scholars say it was to keep balance—to prevent the races from constantly warring with one another. That giving them a common enemy… would unify the world."
Elyssira lifted her porcelain cup without a word and took a slow, thoughtful sip.
The little girl beside her, previously so carefree, now clutched her snack tightly, her chewing slowed. Even her childish smile had dimmed.
The silence stretched.
Kazuki felt a chill.
Then, Elyssira spoke.
And this time, her voice carried something new—dread.
"The Abyssian King… the Six Lords… and the beasts that obey them…"
She placed her cup down slowly, her golden eyes never leaving his.
"…They are not my creation."
Kazuki's eyes widened.
"…What?"
"They never were."
Her words struck like thunder behind a silk curtain.
Her tone deepened—measured, restrained, yet brimming with a quiet, ancient fury.
"I did not create them. I did not allow them. I did not design them as a balance. That lie… that theory…" Her voice faltered for a breath, not from weakness—but from control. "…It is a story, mortals told themselves to make sense of what should have never existed."
The world trembled.
Truly trembled.
The flowers swayed. The vines shivered. The air—so calm only moments ago—tightened as if the earth itself braced for her next words.
Kazuki felt his chest tighten, his heartbeat pounding against his ribs.
"I never forged such darkness," Elyssira continued, voice quieter now—but carved from steel. "The Abyssians came from a place I cannot reach. A place beneath—beneath the laws I laid, beneath the roots of the world, beneath the threads of destiny itself."
She turned her eyes downward.
"…They are an anomaly. A corruption. A crack in the foundation of the world that I made."
The little girl reached for her hand, her tiny fingers curling gently around Elyssira's.
The goddess did not flinch. She simply looked at the child… and then at Kazuki again.
The weight of her expression… was unbearable.
"They were not supposed to exist," she whispered. "And yet they do."
Kazuki felt his breath leave him. A pit formed in his stomach. His hands trembled over his knees.
She didn't create them?
Then who…?
What…?
All at once, the safe illusion of history—the neat fable of balance and divinely calculated war—fractured.
If even the gods didn't know where the Abyssians came from…
Then nothing in this world was as it seemed.
Kazuki swallowed, his throat dry as ash.
He looked at Elyssira, the being of light, life, and law—and saw her gaze clouded not just by wrath, but something colder. Fear.
The air in the forest deepened into a stillness that hummed through the soil itself.
Goddess Elyssira's expression remained unreadable, her golden eyes gazing somewhere far past Kazuki—as though trying to peer through time itself. The teacup in her hand, still half-full, no longer steamed. Even the soft rustling of leaves seemed to hesitate, as if the world was holding its breath to hear her next words.
Then she spoke—quietly, with a calmness that only magnified the gravity of her truth.
"…The only explanation I can arrive at is this:"
She looked at Kazuki once more, her voice clear yet heavy.
"The Abyssians were not born of chaos. Not natural disasters. Not rogue creation. They were forced into this world—implanted—by a god or goddess far above my station."
Kazuki's breath caught.
"…Higher…?" he whispered.
His voice cracked slightly as he leaned forward, heart thudding against his ribs. "You mean… there are other gods and goddesses out there?"
Elyssira gave a slow nod.
"Indeed."
She set her teacup aside gently onto the vine-covered table, her fingers threading together as if to brace herself for the weight of her own admission.
"There are higher beings… above me. Some ancient, some forgotten. Most… silent. And at least one," she said, voice low and laden with a bitter chill, "who bears a grudge deep enough to scar the threads of fate themselves."
Kazuki's eyes widened, pupils dilating.
A cold chill crept down his spine.
"A grudge…?"
"Yes."
Her gaze flicked upward to the sky beyond the vines of the gazebo, the soft filtered light above casting golden patterns on her robes.
"It's a grudge that has lasted more than fifty thousand years."
Kazuki's lips parted slightly.
"…Fifty… thousand…?"
Elyssira exhaled.
"For a god—or goddess—to act upon a grudge for that long, to maintain a persistent force in violation of divine law, they would need to expend a devastating portion of their power… continuously. Just to keep the rift open. Just to let the Abyssians… exist."
She paused, her voice suddenly taut with something unfamiliar—helplessness.
"That alone tells me… how deeply they despise me."
Kazuki felt a leaden weight press into his chest. His breath grew shallow.
The little girl beside the goddess—still holding her hand—lowered her head slightly, her once-lively green eyes dimmed. Her fingers gripped Elyssira's tighter.
Kazuki swallowed hard, voice trembling.
"…Then… you made another god—someone stronger than you—angry?"
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. It wasn't accusation—it was disbelief.
The idea was too much.
But Elyssira didn't flinch.
She looked down at her cup, now quiet and cold, and nodded.
"I suppose I must have," she said softly.
"But…"
She closed her eyes.
"…I don't know what I did."
Kazuki blinked.
"…You… don't?"
"I've crossed paths with many divine beings in the ages before I rooted myself into this world. Every bond I forged… every alliance or shared word I remember… was warm. Kind. Sincere. There was no betrayal. No offense. No trespass that should warrant… this."
The wind returned—slow, uncertain.
Her fingers gently squeezed the child's hand.
Kazuki said nothing.
Neither did the little girl.
The silence that lingered between the three was like a fine veil—gentle, yet suffocating. The distant rustling of trees and the hum of unseen insects surrounded them like a low chant, echoing through the breathing forest that still pulsed with life beyond the vines of the gazebo.
Then, softly—deliberately—Goddess Elyssira broke the stillness.
"I must speak," she said, her voice warmer now, as if she wished to shield them from the creeping dread that had earlier choked the air. "Lest the weight of this truth swallows us whole."
Kazuki looked up, startled.
The goddess's golden gaze returned to him, not with hostility, but with a serene resolve.
"You, Kazuki… are the same as the Abyssians."
Kazuki blinked, as if the words hadn't quite settled into his ears.
"…Huh?"
The sound escaped him involuntarily—caught between confusion, disbelief, and a tremble of fear. His back straightened instinctively, shoulders tensing as if ready to repel whatever followed next.
But Goddess Elyssira remained composed. Her voice, while gentle, carried the force of a truth that could not be denied.
"You were sent here by another god. An unknown one. And not just any—a very powerful one."
Kazuki stared at her, lips slightly parted, unable to find the words. His mind fumbled with the revelation, trying to piece it together. But she didn't wait for him to speak.
"This being," she continued, her hand slowly resting over the child's again, "interfered with my world at a time when it was at its most vulnerable—when I turned back time itself."
Kazuki's breath caught in his throat.
She looked at him again, gaze firm, eyes like blazing suns in a calm dusk sky.
"The day the heroes failed to kill the Abyssian King… I used all that remained of my divinity to reverse the timeline. To give this world one more chance. But as I did so… there was an interference. A force I had never known, never anticipated."
Kazuki's brows drew inward, his confusion mounting like a tide. He opened his mouth to ask, but the goddess lifted her hand slightly—asking for a moment more.
"It wasn't just a ripple," she said. "It was a rewrite. A hand that etched its will across my world."
Her words deepened in tone.
"The household you belong to—the Velebrandt name—it did not exist. Not before. And yet, when the flow of time was restored… it had always existed. In every book. Every memory. Every history… across every race."
Kazuki's eyes widened in shock. A thousand thoughts crashed into him at once—each colliding into the next, overlapping, consuming.
The 16 Heroes.
The Emperors.
The Abyssians.
Every single one of them… remembered Velebrandt as a legacy.
That's when the memory hit him.
That white screen.
The interface.
The moment before it all began.
That text box that hovered, asking him:
Please name your character and household.
His throat ran dry.
He remembered typing the name on a whim, stylized to sound noble, ancient, proud. Velebrandt.
And then—
Pain.
Light.
Awakening.
Cold sweat began to bead at the back of his neck, sliding down his spine in slow rivulets.
The goddess leaned forward slightly, as if she already knew the thoughts running through him.
"And that's not all," she said. "The interference did not just change records and memory… it altered fate."
Her golden eyes darkened—not with malice, but with awe.
"That being—whoever they are—gave you a power that even I cannot identify. A strength that can rival… every mortal being in every corner… of every world."
She lifted her hand slowly and pointed.
Straight at him.
"You are not just a visitor, Kazuki."
Her voice lowered, but it felt louder than thunder.
"You are a weapon. A key. A flaw. A miracle. I do not yet know which."
The child at her side squeezed her hand.
The wind fell silent once more.
And Kazuki…
…was left staring into a future written by a god he had never met, in a world he never meant to change.