The view from the balcony of the mansion was breathtaking. It overlooked a world that had been meticulously crafted over eighty years.
Skyscrapers pierced the clouds, forests stretched to the horizon, and billions of simulated lives played out their destinies below.
Sunny and Nyx stood by the railing, their elbows touching, watching the sun set on the empire of their dreams.
Nyx turned to look at Sunny. She studied his face, the unmasked, youthful perfection of a God who had transcended mortality.
It was a face that would never age, never wither, never show the passage of time. And while that was a blessing, a sudden, melancholic thought struck her.
It was also a tragedy. They would never share the intimacy of growing old together.
She smiled, a mischievous glint entering her eyes. She raised her hand, mimicking the gesture Sunny used when he manifested something.
She didn't manifest a physical object. She manifested a concept.
