Author's Note:
This marks the beginning of the Second Arc. Thank you all for the support so far — we've come a long way together. Your Power Stones are the fire that keeps this story alive. Every vote fuels more chapters, more madness, and more revelations to come.
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And those… those are the gods that rule the different domains since ages long gone.
The voice came from an old man, frail and thin, sitting in the shadows of a ruined shrine. His dull ash-colored eyes reflected the dim light of broken constellations. Chains coiled around his neck, clinking softly as he breathed.
Before him stood a child — no older than ten — his eyes bright green, burning with innocent curiosity.
"Really?" the boy asked. "But why do we have so many domains now?"
The old man's lips curled into a bitter smile.
"Wars," he said. "Wars between mortals who played god… wars between the beings of Sheol and the gods themselves. Even wars among the gods. The world split and bled with every battle. And in the chaos, new species rose — some blessed, others cursed. The Domain of Life belongs to the Elves, the Domain of Beasts to the Beastkin, and the Domain of Dragons… to the ancient wyrms that defied even death itself. And there are others — ones hidden deep in the forgotten dark of broken worlds."
The child's eyes widened. "That's scary," he whispered. Then after a pause, his brows furrowed. "But… how do you know all this?"
The man laughed quietly — a dry, hollow sound that didn't touch his eyes. He stared at the ground for a long time before replying.
"Because I was once like them," he said. "A priest of those damned gods. A servant of their will. I was… their puppet."
He looked away, gaze lost in a far-off memory.
"Everything I've told you — all of it was once recorded, written in scriptures now forbidden. The gods buried it in darkness. Even I can't remember all of it anymore. When I try…" He gritted his teeth, trembling slightly. "It feels like something claws at my mind."
The boy shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the words pressing against him.
"If you were a priest," he said hesitantly, "then why are you here… in chains?"
The man went silent. Then, slowly, he laughed — softly, bitterly — the sound echoing like a broken bell.
"Now that," he said, lifting his head toward the cracked sky, "is a question that doesn't need an answer."
His dull eyes caught the faint shimmer of the dying stars.
Above, the constellations shifted — like puppets pulled by invisible strings.