The faint, broken sound of sobbing echoed through a vast hall with walls made of gold.
The golden walls shimmered faintly under the brilliant, bedazzling clusters of colorful light that rained from the transparent roof.
The roof was made of glass, and they overlooked a starry sky responsible for the shimmering light.
But it couldn't be called a 'sky,' because the hall itself floated in the infinite expanse of space. And those stars were not at all far from the hall.
In the hall, a large, long table crafted from the same transparent material as the roof stretched.
Glass.
Various golden seats were perfectly arranged and tucked inside the table.
And on the northern end of the table, a figure sat, scrunched on one of the largest golden seats with his head rested on the table.
For him, at that moment, it was like all the heavy weight that rested on his shoulder had melted.
The brilliantly crafted mask that he had worn for eons slowly crumbled, for at that moment, he was no longer one of the ten guardians of the Cacosphere — the ones who protected the enclosed collection of various multiverses.
He became a.. simple man. A man who had known loss, and a man who mourned because his heart yearned for a love that he could never recover. A love that was lost as a result of his rage-inducing naivety.
A love that — even with all his prowess as the guardian of all that was liquid — he could never bring back.
At that moment, he was just Maxwell.
The fool.
"It... it hurts, Rita.." The mourning continued with that same thick and hoarse voice.
The sad god clenched the chest area of his green robe tightly, his fingers almost digging holes in it. And through the thick layer of the cloth, he felt his beating heart thrum wildly against his chest.
Maxwell had fought so hard and for so long to suppress that feeling he felt. But it grew stronger by the day, and as the feeling grew, the memories that came with them played through his mind at every given moment.
These memories were precious to him, as they were the only gifts that she had left him with. But — as precious as these memories were — they were still a curse because they haunted him, and they caused his mind to spiral on days when he tried hard to concentrate.
"I was a fool.." Maxwell sighed deeply. "Forgive me, Rita.."
Tears trailed down from the corners of his eyes, and found their way to his widened lips.
"For years, I tried… I really tried, Rita, but your soul... it had already.. argh!!" As he spoke between sobs, he looked upward, toward the stars.
Those colorful lights fell directly on Maxwell's face. The lights were warm — almost like his heart — except to him, his heart was hotter than the stars at that moment.
The sad god's wrinkled face was oval in shape, and his now pursed lips trembled, touched slightly by the long strands of faded blue hair that rested over his forehead, brushing the narrow, blue eyes that peeked through openings in his bangs, and the colorful light reflected on them.
At that moment, the god of liquid's mind was far away from the stars or the universes, the multiverses or the Cacosphere. He had explored them over and over again during his prime, facing off against interstellar and godly threats. Now, his mind could only slowly digest one fact:
'My end is near.'
It wasn't like Maxwell had never thought about it before. He had. But this was the first time he had verbalized those thoughts. And the weights of those four words pressed down on his mind.
His already triggered heart pulsed sharply with pure, poignant fright.
No, it wasn't quite fright. It was something else. It was fear. The fear of truth and of understanding.
Maxwell didn't fear death. And the reason for this wasn't because death carried no accompanying pain, or that death was sweet.
No, it was simply because he had lived.
The god's name was etched on the very fabric of reality. And his imprint on the Cacosphere wasn't one to be scoffed at.
He had built a legacy. He could die happy.
And the very understanding of that made him fear. It made his bones ache, his wrinkly body shiver, and his spine tingle.
He opened his mouth for a second. Maybe he wanted to apologize to Rita again for the millionth time, maybe he wanted to curse himself for understanding, or maybe he just wanted to sigh.
But whatever he wanted to do, he couldn't do it because his lips remained suspended. Frozen in place. And the tears froze on his widened eyes.
'I do know,' He thought, 'Every being — no matter the height that they have achieved, and no matter the status they have risen to — must return to the mother tree's embrace.'
"But, I don't want to go yet.. I still need to find a way to hold her hands again.. I.. I know that if I keep searching for a way, I'll find it.. I know that–"
The creaking sound of an opening door bellowed.
Maxwell's eyes widened slightly. And from just thinking about it, his tears disappeared.
Tak–Tak–!
Light footsteps echoed.
The air that blew against Maxwell's skin turned stale, and the atmosphere stirred under the force of a dark divinity.
"Maxwell, when would you give up?" A chilling, deep voice rang through the halls.
The sad god turned his head, gazing at the source of that deep voice.
Said voice had a tone much different from Maxwell's. It oozed with something that hung on a thin rope made between the boundaries of confidence and... arrogance.
Maxwell's lips pressed together. And they widened, forming a deep, fake smile. A bitter smile.
Currently, the Cacospheric guardian gazed at a 'man' whose body was hidden by a deep, dark coat.
The material from which the coat was made was one that Maxwell knew all too well. It pulsed through the cracked spaces of the Cacosphere.
It was darkness.
The 'man' was dressed in a garment of darkness.
The darkness, flowing in liquid form, trailed behind this 'man' on the crystal floor as he majestically walked from the entrance of the hall toward Maxwell.
Maxwell's gaze deviated from the man's coat, ascending to meet his eyes.
Two deep orbs of swirling black mist were what rested on the man's eye sockets.
Maxwell's gaze softened, and he turned away from the him, staring up at the stars once more.
"You ask me that while knowing very well what kind of being I am. I will never give up." Maxwell responded with an undertone that carried a soft mixture of spite and vulnerability.
As this darkness enshrouded entity arrived at Maxwell's side, he placed a palm on the sad god's shoulder as he, too, looked up at the stars.
"Why? Does she really mean that much to you? Even after so much time has passed?" The entity asked.
"Your question is… it makes no sense, Malin. You have known me far longer than anyone else in this council has. We have been friends ever since we were mortals. You knew Rit–"
"She perished twenty centuries ago, Maxwell. Her soul never returned to The Mother Tree's embrace. We both searched. Her soul must have..."
"I know, Malin! I know! It might have disintegrated, but still.. it.. it doesn't hurt to try, does it? If I keep searching hard enough, I will find it, will I not? Surely, it must be possible, isn't it?"
"..."
Malin remained silent. He lowered his dark gaze, staring straight into Maxwell's blue eyes.
The dull blue pupils of the mourning guardian trembled.
Through his trembling eyes, Malin could feel the depth of Maxwell's pitiful pain; he always had. Ever since the day of that accident.
"Answer me, Malin! It's possible, right?" Maxwell asked again. This time, his throat trembled, and his jaws followed suit.
Malin, the dark entity, sighed, closing his eyes.
"We both know the answer to this, my friend."
Maxwell's face crumbled, his cheeks trembling as those tears that squirmed within his eyes fought to swim out. He let out a forced, shaky exhale, extending his palms to lay his face on them.
Malin crouched, leaning toward Maxwell as he rested Maxwell's head on his shoulder.
The dark entity's lush skin grew pale as he comforted Maxwell. He bit his lips, and his gaze lightened as he seemed to be heavily contemplating something.
Eventually, he resigned himself with a soft sigh.
At that moment, Malin, who, for centuries had witnessed the pain of his friend with whom he walked through life and death with, could no longer hide what he knew.
The entity furrowed his brows, lips parting as his breath became more tender.
"Maxwell… there is.. one way."
Maxwell raised his head, eyes narrowing slightly.
"What?"
The Celestial God of Darkness gazed into Maxwell's blue eyes. Then, with a hushed voice, he spoke:
"Your time is near. And so is mine. It means we have nothing to lose. Why don't we break one of the ten absolute rules proffered by the Celestial King?"
Maxwell widened his eyes, bewildered.
He blinked, hesitating to ask 'what?' because he very much knew the consequences of breaking even one of the ten absolute rules. But still, the sad god couldn't swallow his curiosity, and he asked with a low voice:
"What… What rule might that be?"
Malin's gaze eased, and his lips widened into a warm smile.
"The rule of time manipulation."