Silence fell again after their duel. In the infinite void, only a few trails of violet energy still wandered, remnants of the power Salomi had released.
Sakolomi approached slowly, then placed a gentle hand on his sister's head. His gaze became kind, almost fraternally protective.
— Don't worry… you'll do better next time.
Salomi lifted her head. Her face was still flushed from effort, and her eyes shone with a mixture of frustration and pride.
— Yeah… she sighed. Besides, I still need to improve my Son Goku no Buki.
Sakolomi gave a slight smile.
— The simple fact that this weapon responds to your will and moves according to your emotions is already impressive. As a Deviant, you could, with that, effortlessly bring down the most powerful of great mortals.
He crossed his arms, his gaze drifting into the slowly reawakening constellations around them.
— But you're right. It can still evolve. And if you want, I can help you perfect it.
Salomi's eyes lit up immediately. Without hesitation, she leapt into her brother's arms, bursting with crystalline laughter.
— Thank you, big brother! I love you so much!
Sakolomi laughed in turn and held her tenderly.
— Me too, little sister.
Then he lifted his eyes toward the fractured firmament. His tone became calm, almost dreamy.
— Well… now, it's time to go build that imaginary world I have in mind.
— Oh! Salomi exclaimed, bursting with enthusiasm. Let's go! I have so many ideas, you'll see, you'll like it!
She began to spin in the void, trailing behind her strands of light and shards of mana that were already forming embryonic shapes of new lands and skies. Sakolomi watched her, a discreet smile at the corner of his lips.
Elsewhere, far from the worlds of mortals, Mü Thanatos stood on a lonely mountain, lost in an ocean of silver-colored clouds. The wind made her azure hair dance, and around her, the stars seemed to hold their breath.
Her voice rose, soft but grave, merging into the ether:
— Zeus… do you hear me?
Silence lasted, then a tremor ran through the void. An ancient presence, even prior to the notion of speech, spoke—calm, sovereign, infinitely distant:
— You have finally returned, Mü Thanatos.
It was not a voice. It was the idea of a voice.
Zeus, god of Vishnu, guardian of the Threshold of the First Zone, master of the Primordial Throne where no concept or meta-concept survives. Where he resided, no identity could exist: only pure superexistence, before all fragmentation, before the very birth of Being.
Seated on his immaterial throne, hand resting against his cheek, he observed the goddess through countless layers of reality.
— I do not know, he murmured, if I should apologize for the mistake I once allowed.
Mü Thanatos looked up to the heights, her gaze reflecting the gleams of an endless sky.
— No, she answered calmly. I bear you no grudge, Zeus. Gods have no need for rancor among themselves.
She paused, her lips curling into an almost melancholy smile.
— In truth, I should rather thank you. What you did forced me to remember who I really was.
The wind thickened around her, as if carrying fragments of forgotten memory.
— I always believed myself a goddess among many others, but no… What I found surpasses my own definitions. However, that is not why I call you.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
— Tell me, you who see since the Origin: have you observed this mortal, the one called Sakolomi?
A cosmic silence. Then the answer, heavy with an ancient premonition:
— Obviously… And it is problematic.
The clouds began to swirl around Mü Thanatos.
— And the God-Father? she asked. What does he think?
Zeus remained silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice vibrated as if through a thousand superimposed worlds:
— To tell you the truth… Odin had already warned me. He spoke to me of the arrival of a being—human in appearance—who would shake our certainties.
His eyes narrowed, his tone grew graver.
— He told me he would be born in dimensions and creations stemming from you.
Mü Thanatos felt her heart tighten.
— What?! That's impossible… I have no memory of creating a being like him! Sakolomi is not of my will. He is an anomaly, an existence that should not even be conceivable…
Zeus slowly closed his eyes. Around his throne, universal symbols silently erased and reformed.
— Who knows, he answered. We are still reflecting on what he really is.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze becoming almost human.
— I doubt the God-Father wants to reveal him to us for now. Perhaps he even ignores it himself. Or… he knew it long before his birth, when he perceived an incoherence—something lurking within the structure you embody. A voice, perhaps, that forces everything to recognize itself through him.
He sighed, and in that breath galaxies collapsed.
— It remains a mystery. For now, we can only observe. Watch him, Mü Thanatos. Don't take your eyes off him.
The goddess nodded slowly.
— I had no intention of leaving him. He seems not to know what he is… but I will walk by his side until the end.
A slight smile stretched Zeus's lips, a smile crossing planes of being.
— Then I count on you, he whispered.
And in the silent gleam of that smile, the heavens faded—leaving only the wind and the certainty of a destiny still sealed.
In the world of Myths, Sakolomi remained seated cross-legged, eyes closed, amid a space where the air vibrated with his thought. Around him, silence stretched infinitely, a silence of creation—that which precedes all things.
His mind dove into the depths of himself, where the mist of his dreams extended. And there, he began.
All Deviants possessed the faculty to dream collectively—to shape entire realities within the flow of shared dreams. But this power had limits: no one was absolute master of a shared dream.
The true power, sovereignty over the dream, depended on the transcendental hierarchy: the higher a being stood in the metaphysical order, the more complete their authority over the dream's fabric.
But here, Sakolomi was not dreaming with others—he was dreaming his own world.
And that changed everything.
Because in a single Deviant's dream, the dreamer is the absolute god.
He shapes its laws, its concepts, its causality. He writes the very foundations of existence, and nothing—not even external reality—can contradict his will.
So he set to work.
Maurice and Shaï-Thaêl, his Myophores, were the first sucked into the luminous flow of his consciousness. Salomi followed, amazed, without even trying to understand how.
The void extended before them.
A smooth emptiness, without up or down, without time or matter.
Then, at the center of all, Sakolomi opened his mouth—and spoke.
> His words became laws.
His thoughts became concepts.
And his memory traced the foundations of a new world.
Spheres of light emerged, slowly spinning like germs of future continents. The first laws of causality wove there, stacking in multiple layered levels, mirroring the Delzluhud up to the sibylline worlds.
Each stratum vibrated with its own color: one founded on will, another on memory, the third on fear of forgetting. And the more he built, the more space formed around them—fluid, unreal, in perpetual mutation.
Shaï-Thaêl, eyes wide, watched the spectacle:
— It's magnificent… but too orderly. Too similar to what already exists outside.
Sakolomi reopened one eye, giving a slight tired smile:
— So, tell me. What do you propose, Shaï-Thaêl?
The Myophore stepped forward into the void, hands clasped against her chest:
— Let Maurice and me become masters of it. Let us breathe our own vision into this dream. Let it not be only your world… but ours.
Maurice, floating beside her, nodded slowly.
Their shadow mana intensified, like a silent promise.
Sakolomi remained motionless for a long moment, observing his creations—these fragments of himself endowed with a soul of their own.
Then, in a breath:
— Very well… but remember: this world was born from my consciousness. Everything you do within it will vibrate in me. If you bring light there, I will be soothed. If you bring chaos… I will carry that too.
Shaï-Thaêl smiled.
Maurice closed his eyes.
And the imaginary world truly began to breathe.
Yet, not everything was so simple. Maurice, as a Myophore deviant like Sakolomi and Salomi, should normally have been able to bend, break, or dissolve the laws of the dream world effortlessly. But here… no.
Against all logic, against all principles of the collective dream, Sakolomi held Maurice firmly bound to his causality.
Even the forces of deviation could not pierce the veil of this world.
This paradox awakened in him a troubling intuition: something within him had changed.
Unnoticed, he had crossed a threshold.
Sakolomi's transcendence now surpassed that of Maurice and Salomi.
They could still move freely through the dream structures, but no longer leave so easily.
Their consciousness remained trapped in this dream of which Sakolomi was the living Heart.
Sakolomi's true body—somewhere beyond the dream, on an inaccessible plane—dominated theirs with quiet authority.
He had not gained this power by will alone, but by a silent mutation: that mark, engraved on his body since his meeting with Mü Thanatos, pulsed with a new radiance.
Then, with a sovereign gesture, he severed Shaï-Thaêl's link with the Abyfage.
The original lineage was broken, and the Myophore, freed from all external influence, became his own.
Under his gaze, she transformed: flesh twisted, memory wings unfolded—Shaï-Thaêl was born a second time, as a Deviant.
— From now on, you will reign over this world with Maurice, said Sakolomi in a voice that resonated like a law.
Do with it as you wish. Shape it, overthrow it, burn it if you want. This dream is yours, as long as my consciousness still traces its contours.
Shaï-Thaêl bowed her head, an imperceptible smile on her lips.
Around her, reality vibrated, recomposing according to new harmonies.
Maurice watched the scene with a seriousness tinged with admiration.
He then understood that Sakolomi was no longer just a Deviant among others: he had become a principle, a dreamer whose dream absorbed the others.
Thus began the true birth of the imaginary world—a realm where even the laws of transcendence could be reshaped by the will of one alone.