In a realm far beyond mortal comprehension, known as the Land of the Gods, countless divine beings dwelled among radiant mountains and endless skies. Each god ruled a sacred dominion — some over the heavens, others over the depths where stars never shone.
Among the many divine regions lay a vast land called Alphataria, a kingdom of brilliance and light. Towering golden citadels pierced the heavens, rivers of divine energy flowed like living veins, and the air shimmered with songs of creation. Yet, deep in its farthest forest, hidden beneath centuries of silence, there existed a place untouched by time.
There stood a small, lonely house, swallowed by mist and vines of silver. The windows were sealed, the walls draped in dust, and the air was thick with stillness so profound that even time itself seemed afraid to move.
Within that silent dwelling lay Sentrie, the God of Hope.
His long, silver-white hair cascaded to his shoulders; his golden eyes, now closed, held the last fragments of divine warmth. The robe he wore shimmered faintly with threads of gold, flowing like morning fog. Around him, a soft light pulsed slowly — the lingering breath of hope itself.
For ages uncounted, he had remained in slumber, forgotten by gods and mortals alike. Once, he inspired empires and lifted broken hearts. Now, only silence kept him company.
Then, without warning, a faint sound disturbed the stillness.
"Ding…"
A soft chime, delicate yet impossibly clear, drifted through the house. It was foreign — something out of place in this eternal calm.
Sentrie stirred. Slowly, his eyes opened, revealing a glimmer of ancient gold. "A bell...?" he murmured, his voice echoing softly through the hall.
He rose, moving gracefully, each step resonating faintly with divine energy. As he walked, his surroundings shifted subtly — the interior of the house expanding like a dream. The halls were filled with relics of forgotten faiths: a chalice of light, a sword made of starlight, and a statue that glowed with the memories of prayers long past.
Though the house seemed small from the outside, it was vast within — a sanctuary crafted from the god's own power, both refuge and prison.
At last, he reached the old wooden door. The faint scent of earth greeted him as he opened it, revealing a single white envelope lying quietly on the stone step.
No markings. No divine seal. Only a strange purple insignia in the shape of a clown's smiling face.
"A jest…?" he whispered. The image seemed to grin mockingly in the soft glow of the moon.
He turned it in his hand, curiosity flickering through his calm expression, then carefully broke the seal. The paper rustled like a sigh.
"To the God of Hope, Sentrie,
I have watched you for some time. You grow weary of your own silence, don't you?
The forest of stillness, your lonely sanctuary—how amusing, that the god of hope lives in despair.
I offer you something far more… interesting.
A world of laughter, chaos, and unending delight. My world.
If you wish to leave behind this dull eternity, simply burn this letter with your own divine power.
That is the only key you'll need.
— Funny Man"
Sentrie's lips curved into a faint smile, though no joy reached his eyes. "A clown dares tempt a god…" His tone carried both irony and fatigue.
He set the letter aside upon the table, letting it rest beside a dying candle. The golden flame flickered weakly, bending toward the paper as if curious.
Stepping outside, Sentrie looked up at the starlit sky. The air was cold yet gentle. Each breath of wind seemed to carry whispers of ages long past. "Perhaps," he said softly, "perhaps I have grown tired indeed."
He lay beneath an ancient tree, its roots entwined with light itself, and closed his eyes once more.
Inside the house, the letter began to tremble.
A faint violet light seeped from the edges, spreading like ink through water. The parchment warped, and reality itself shuddered.
Then, from within the folds of the paper, a figure emerged — a man with short purple hair, bright green eyes gleaming with delight, and a smile too sharp to be innocent.
"You think you can ignore me?" he whispered, laughter bubbling behind every word.
He snapped his fingers.
A surge of violet fire erupted, consuming the letter. The flames coiled upward, vanishing with a sound like distant laughter.
And then, silence.
But this was no longer peaceful silence — it was a void.
The light within the halls dimmed, relics ceased to glow, and even time's heartbeat faltered.
The garden where the god of hope had once lain beneath the stars… was gone.
Only emptiness remained — vast, cold, and eternal.
A faint echo of laughter drifted through the air, fading into the void, until nothing was left but stillness.