Aman lifted his eyes toward the palace—the place where the King resided.
Its creation had come from him. The one who had taught the gods what cultivation was. What they were. What they could become. From a distance, the palace did not look like a structure at all. It was an Atom. An ever-changing Atom.
It shifted endlessly—form, surface, presence—never remaining the same for even a single moment. Yet its core never changed. No matter how the outer layers transformed, the essence within remained eternal and unmoving.
Any god could enter this atom. Inside the palace, nothing changed. Outside it, the nature of the world itself bent and flowed. The atom could take the form of a god if needed. It could flee from darkness if the end ever came. This was the safest place in the entire world. More than that—it could even contain a mortal world within itself.
That was why all gods came here to register permits before leaving their realms. When they departed, their worlds were entrusted to this place. And when they returned, those worlds were restored to them, unchanged.
****
All gods were born with a world inside them. A true, living world—where mortals existed. As a god's cultivation rose, so did that inner world. It expanded, nourished by cosmic energy, growing more complex, more vast.
Gods could descend into their own mortal worlds freely. But not with their physical bodies. Their true forms could not enter directly. Instead, they entered inwardly—cultivating, guiding, shaping their worlds slowly, carefully, over time. Within those inner realms, gods were absolute. They could create. Destroy. Modify. Rewrite. Their worlds were reflections of themselves.
Gods left their worlds here for a reason.
If a god were to dissolve within this realm by accident, they could be reborn through it. Their mortal world—preserved within this place—would act as the essence of their soul. From it, they could regain form, identity, and existence.
In that sense, a mortal world was not merely land or life. It was a god's soul made manifest.
****
And there was something even more remarkable about this palace. It did not belong to anyone forever.
As long as someone's cultivation surpassed that of the current King, ownership would change. The other Kings would follow without resistance. When a new King rose, the former King had two choices: accept a new position the new King offered, or decide what they were capable of handling under the new reign.
There was eternal loyalty to their King—but if a god followed that King, their position would be stripped away when a new King rose. The new King would then decide whether that loyal god deserved a better position... The loyal follower would still be respected by all other gods and the new King—their devotion honored, their honor untouched. But their title? That belonged to the old order.
Gods were born with kindness. But they bowed to power.
****
Without hesitation, Aman stepped into the palace. The moment he crossed the threshold, the world transformed.
Cosmic energy flooded the space, shaping itself into a vast, universal panorama. Galaxies spiraled endlessly, stars burned and were reborn, and nebulae drifted like living seas. Aman walked as if upon the cosmos itself, his steps carried across starlight.
He scanned the endless space, turning left, then right—searching.
Then his gaze landed on a couch in the distance. Aeren and Dipti were there.
Aman slowed. Dipti was crying.
Confusion flashed across his face as he took in the scene. Tears traced her cheeks, and her shoulders trembled faintly. Beside her, Aeren sat calmly, gently patting her head—trying to soothe her, to quiet whatever pain she carried.
What is she doing? Aman thought. Why is she crying?
Unease crept into his chest. He began walking toward them, unaware that what he was about to interrupt was far more dangerous than anything he had imagined.
"Hey, Aarav, Dipti," Aman called out as he approached, his tone friendly toward both of them.
Dipti instantly reacted. She lifted her head and noticed him, her expression shifting in an instant. Shock rippled across her face as she stared at him, then—just as quickly—she turned to Aeren, anger flashing in her eyes.
Aeren, however, only smiled and turned toward Aman instead, deliberately ignoring Dipti's reaction. He could sense her displeasure, feel the heat of her gaze burning into his back, but he chose to address Aman first.
"Hm," Aeren said calmly. "Go ahead. We've already registered our permit." He paused briefly. "We can talk later."
Aeren realized that if he engaged with Dipti now, her tears would return—and he had no intention of facing that again. He gestured toward the area where Aman needed to register his world and join them.
"Hm," Aman nodded and turned away, heading toward the registration place where Aeren and Dipti had already completed their process. He sensed that it was not the right time to discuss his letter or the registration itself. Whatever had happened between them before his arrival was still unresolved, and his presence had only made things worse.
Behind him, the air tightened. Dipti and Aeren faced each other.
****
Dipti's gaze bore into him, demanding answers. Aeren avoided her eyes, glancing instead toward Aman's retreating figure.
"Can you explain this to me?" Dipti asked seriously.
Her voice cut through the palace's cosmic grandeur—through galaxies, stars, and endless light.
"What do you mean?" Aeren replied casually, still refusing to meet her eyes.
Aeren could feel her tears from before, when she had cried about Aman. He understood what she wanted: for him to reject Aman, to choose her completely, to make clear that she alone mattered. But she also resented that he had included Aman at all.
"Aarav," Dipti said coldly, each word heavy with restrained anger, "tell me how he knows our location."
Her hand clenched tightly around the stick, knuckles whitening as she waited for his answer.
Aeren went completely still.
Because in this place, her question mattered. Within the palace, encounters were not random. No one could meet anyone else freely. Every being who entered this palace existed in their own isolated axis of reality. Gods who registered here never crossed paths—not unless there was a connection between them, or unless the other party had registered but had not yet fully entered the palace's domain.
Chance did not exist here. Coincidence was impossible.
If Aman was here—if he could see them—then it meant only one thing.
Dipti understood that rule clearly.
Aeren finally lifted his eyes. He knew he could not evade this question. Not here.
"Hm… Dipti," he said softly. "I'm sorry."
Tears welled up and slipped from his eyes as he finally turned to face her.
"He's the only friend I have," Aeren said quietly. "And I wanted to share everything—with you and with him."
He swallowed. This was truth. He had no friend in the world except for Aman.
"I care far less about him than I do about you. But still… I wanted you both to be part of my world."
Aeren reached out, holding her hand gently, meeting her gaze directly. He could see the moment her expression softened, could feel her beginning to sympathize. This was the right moment.
"Can you forgive me—just this once?"
His words placed her above Aman without saying it outright. Aeren had found the right time, when she would accept him.
Dipti didn't pull her hand away. But her eyes searched his face, trying to decide whether what she saw was truth—or something far more dangerous.
****
Dipti stared at him for a long moment.
She searched his face carefully—his eyes, his expression, the smallest shifts in his breath—and found no lie. A faint warmth settled in her chest, yet alongside it came a quiet sadness.
She had believed that Aarav thought only of her. That he had no interest in any god beyond her.
"Aarav," she said slowly, "you knew, didn't you?" Her voice trembled just a little. "That bastard insulted me in front of everyone… and you still wanted him with you." She released Aeren's hand and lifted her fingers to his head, threading them into his hair.
She was angry at Aman—furious, even. He had insulted her in a crowded place, brought her reputation down. In the City of God, reputation was everything. Power itself was reputation. And he had stripped hers away with his words, his casual cruelty.
"And even after all that," she continued softly, her grip tightening, her fingers beginning to twist slowly, deliberately, "you still don't want to leave him behind."
She did not like sharing Aeren with anyone. She was too isolated by herself, too starved for connection. She wanted what belonged to her to never leave her. Wanted to hold it so tightly that it could never slip away. There was no gentleness in her touch now. Only possession. Only control.
"Ahh…" Aeren let out a low, pained sound. "Dipti—it hurts… it hurts. Please stop."
She paused. When she looked at him, she noticed the faint moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. But she did not release her grip. She held him there, her fingers twisted in his hair, her eyes searching his face—not for forgiveness, but for something else entirely. Something that looked like ownership.
"…Now it's perfect," Dipti said calmly at last, releasing him.
She felt satisfied by his tears. They meant he understood her pain, that he had felt something because of Aman. Her tears had come because of him—because Aman had hurt her, humiliated her—and now Aeren's tears confirmed that she mattered. That her suffering mattered.
She pulled him closer and patted his head gently, almost affectionately. The gesture was a mockery of tenderness. A reminder of control.
"Hm," Aeren murmured, studying her face carefully. "Dipti, I didn't know you were like this…"
He paused, then smiled faintly.
"It's kind of cute. You feel more… free. More yourself."
Aeren could see the possessiveness in her clearly. But he accepted it. More than that—he found it beautiful. Possessiveness carried so much noise, so much raw emotion and desperate feeling. And noise was exactly what he needed. Possessiveness had the power to awaken the entire world.
He didn't pull away from her. Instead, Aeren relaxed into her embrace—allowing her to feel his warmth, and letting the moment carry them both forward, unguarded and quiet within the vast, watching cosmos.
Then Aeren sensed something beside him. He glanced to the side—and froze.
Aman was staring at them with open disgust, his face twisted as if he might vomit at any moment.
Aeren instinctively moved to pull away. But Dipti tightened her grip, pressing herself closer to him—holding him in place like a possession that could not be reclaimed.
Aman's eyes widened. He glared at Dipti sharply.
"Hey," Aman said coldly. "Leave him."
"No—" Dipti began.
Before anything could escalate further, Aeren freed himself from her hold and stood up. Dipti froze, shock flashing across her face.
Aman, however, smiled. Satisfied.
"Let's leave this place—the City of God," Aeren said suddenly, his voice bright and decisive.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and began walking ahead of them.
Aman reacted instantly, bursting into laughter as he followed after him.
"Hahahaha—!"
Dipti remained standing where she was, dazed.
She couldn't process what had just happened. Does he not like me anymore? Did I do something wrong? The thought struck hard. Did I misunderstand everything? Or… was it me who liked him more than he liked me?
Frustration and loneliness welled up inside her chest, tightening painfully.
Then—Aeren returned.
He took her hand firmly and pulled her along.
"What are you spacing out for?" he asked lightly, breaking her daze.
Dipti looked up. She saw his smiling face. She felt his hand holding hers.
The tension in her chest eased just a little. But doubt remained, coiled deep within her, whispering questions she couldn't answer.
She nodded dazedly, allowing herself to be led forward—still confused, still uncertain, oscillating between obsession and doubt as the City of God slowly faded behind them.