The next days passed faster than I expected.
Stenvar was getting acclimated to the control room, while Gaia took on the role of his teacher — showing him things as simple and profound as rain, food, or how to melt iron in a fire.
I couldn't help but laugh.
The giants… weren't really giants.
Compared to humans, Gaia, or even the Scalaris, yes — they towered. But on their own continent, surrounded by mountains that could cradle them like hills, they were small.
The thought amused me endlessly: what if they lived and worked like dwarves, only on a colossal scale?
In my last life, I had read of dwarves — masters of the forge, stubborn artisans of stone and steel. So why not let my icy giants walk that path?
Not blacksmiths in deep halls, but under glacial skies; dwarves not short and stocky, but vast and mighty.
The idea made me grin as I worked, finishing the labyrinth tunnels that would lead toward the [Exit].
I created it so, that every of the three exits connects to one, so I used some space materials that they will arrive in the middle of the black Vulcano.
When the time came, Stenvar would be the one to carry out the treasures I requested — the first sparks of his people's craft.
…
Four days had passed since his creation when I shifted my focus away from the control room.
I flew toward Schildegard and Schildbert. They drifted in the endless ocean, asleep, their massive bodies carried gently by the currents.
I hovered above them as a ghostly presence, standing on Schildegard's wide back and watching the curve of her shell.
"Aren't you quite big by now?" I chuckled softly.
She was an island already — large enough that rivers and forests could one day take root across her back.
"Looks like the weather's perfect for your growth," I murmured, brushing my spectral hand through the wind.
Then I blinked back to the control room.
…
The starry dome stretched endlessly above me, a vault of eternal twilight.
Beneath it, Stenvar slept under the roof we had given him. His massive chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, and every snore rolled through the air like the echo of a distant avalanche.
The next morning, his snores had quieted into a low hum.
When I stepped outside, I found him crouched on the grass, a boulder held between his hands. His fingers pressed into the stone, blue light pulsing beneath his skin as he tested its hardness.
With a sharp crack, the rock split.
He turned the shard in his palm, studying it in silence.
Gaia stood nearby, arms crossed, watching with a mix of awe and exasperation.
"He's awake before I am again," she muttered. "He doesn't need me — he's… learning on his own how to craft."
I knelt beside him. "It's instinct. [The First Spark of the Smith]."
Stenvar looked from the shard to me, his voice deep and heavy as shifting ice.
"Stone… fire… tool," he said, each word deliberate — testing the strength of sound as a blacksmith tests a new hammer.
I smiled.
He grunted — not refusal, but focus — and set the shard into the blue embers of the ice flame he'd created. Steam hissed from the frost clinging to it, and his silver eyes narrowed, watching as the stone began to glow.
Gaia shook her head, though I caught the faint twitch of amusement on her lips.
"He's deliberate," I said softly. "Watch him. One day, his kin will shape not just metal, but even the fire itself."
Stenvar lifted the shard and tapped it against the earth. Sparks scattered like stars.
Smiling, I turned toward the terrace and left him to his craft.
⸻
After breakfast, I teleported down to the second floor. I'd found joy in shaping small, hidden ecosystems — places that thrived quietly on their own.
In one cavern, which I named the Mirror Crystal Cave, the walls were covered in living crystal that shimmered with the power of space itself. Four such caves existed across the continent — walk through one, and you might emerge from another.
In the skies, I created air currents strong enough to cradle life — vast, majestic whales that drifted like ancient gods, riding the flow of time and space itself.
When my energy was finally spent, I teleported to the first floor. It had been a long time since I'd visited.
"I think around… four months in control room time," I murmured. "So about eighty months here… six and a half years."
Hovering in the sky, I surveyed the land below.
"How sweet," I whispered.
Compared to the second floor, this one was just an island — but its life fascinated me more. It was stable now, balanced, self-sustaining.
"I can't wait to see the time skip on the second floor," I said with a grin, heart pounding as I opened the system panel.
⸻
[Time Skip (Middle)]
→ In one second, 1000 years pass on the floor.
→ Cost: 10,000 [EC]
→ One-time use: 1,000 [EC]
(Floor 1: N/A)
⸻
But first, I focused on what stood before me.
Six years had passed — and the world had changed.
Vast herds wandered the prairie steppes. The [Big Spring Tree] had grown even taller, its crown catching the light like green fire.
"Looking small compared to the second continent…" I murmured with a chuckle.
Still — satisfaction welled in me. The first floor might not be as poetic or deep as the second, but it worked.
I had made this.
I — like a god — had created this.
When I reached the bay of the Scalaris, I expected the same small village I remembered. Instead, what I saw made me stop mid-air.
What had once been a scattering of huts and campfires had blossomed into something alive.
Stone houses clustered around a market, their rough walls fused together like cooled lava. Terraced farmlands spread out below, golden fields rippling in the wind.
And the market — ah, the market was alive.
Wooden stalls lined a circular square, each shaded by colorful woven roofs. Scalaris bustled everywhere — carrying baskets, bartering, laughing, pulling their children along through the dust.
The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, sweet berries, and fresh earth.
I drifted unseen through the crowd, and yet their joy touched me.
They had thrived.
At the center of the square, I noticed a circle of Scalaris children gathered around an elder — his hair pale, his scales dull silver. His hands moved with slow grace as he spoke, the children's eyes wide with wonder.
I leaned closer, listening.
"…and so it was the Dungeon who gave us the Spring Tree, whose roots drink deep the water of life. He walks unseen, but when the wind shifts, you feel him pass. When the earth trembles, you hear his step. We are never alone, for he shaped the ground beneath our feet and the stars above."
My chest tightened.
A myth — about me.
A smile crept across my face.
"Ah," I murmured. "That reminds me of the old priest."