"This is a bummer."
Wilhelm sighed as he tumbled through yet another wormhole of mydriadic color. Realities peeled past him in layers—countless worlds folding and unfolding like pages in an infinite book, each flashing its own laws, its own skies, its own impossible geometry.
The multiverse was beautiful in a way only liminal spaces could be: a kaleidoscope of hues and shapes that existed solely between destinations.
He really should have thought godhood through more carefully.
But no.
He had known better—or thought he did.
Now he was running. Or retreating.
Behind him, far beyond mortal perception, Alaya watched. And where Alaya watched, Counter-Guardians followed—executioners forged from desperate souls and sharpened into tools. She unleashed them whenever humanity drew too close to True Magic, or to anything resembling an Authority of the World.
The irony burned.
True Magic—the very thing that had damned him—was also the only reason he was still alive.
How long had he been falling? Minutes? Years? Decades?
Time had lost meaning in this spiraling lattice of limbo. Only one thing mattered: escape. He needed a world far enough away—far enough beyond Alaya's reach—to disappear.
Then he saw it.
A small, ordinary green planet drifting quietly among the infinite. No scars of industry. No artificial lights. Just forests, oceans, mountains, and open sky.
Young. Untouched.
Perfect.
"She's perfect," Wilhelm whispered.
He raised his hand.
At his core, something ignited—divinity braided with True Magic, miracle and impossibility fused into a single, coherent will. Power surged outward, bending the multiverse around his intent.
The rushing worlds slowed.
The infinite narrowed.
With a sharp, blinding flash, the corridors of reality collapsed inward—and a doorway snapped open.
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Wilhelm opened his eyes, raising a hand to shield them from the harsh sunlight. Brushing his white hair from his face, he stood and looked around.
He was in the middle of a scorched field—the charred earth still smoldering from his arrival. The once-clear sky was cracked open like glass, revealing the rainbow void beyond the world and casting a deathly hue over the land. Life had been sucked from the nearby animals, their bodies lying still against the blackened ground.
"Damn," he muttered.
He really needed to work on his landings—and his entrances—next time.
But first—the field.
Raising his hand, Wilhelm summoned recovery magic. The blackened soil lightened to a rich brown, and a lush carpet of grass unfurled across the ground, soon dotted with vibrant flowers swaying in the gentle breeze.
"Damn, I'm good," he muttered. "Thank you, Paracelsus, for alchemy."
He exhaled, scanning the horizon. "Now… where am I? There have to be people around here. Hopefully."
A sudden chill brushed his skin.
"Hm. Quite a breeze—wait." He glanced down. "Oh… I'm naked."
His arrival must have incinerated his clothes.
With a snap of his fingers, a red shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of sleek shoes materialized, covering his lean, brown-skinned frame.
"Next time," he said quietly, "I really need to stick that landing."
"Now—onward to civilization."
He took one step.
Thunder cracked.
The world detonated sideways, and Wilhelm was flung across the field like a broken doll. Darkness claimed him before he hit the ground.
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The night was young.
Two figures sat facing one another in a study warmed by a crackling fireplace. Shelves bowed beneath the weight of old books, their pages steeped in dust and leather. Firelight danced across polished wood and soft cushions, turning the room into an island of amber amid the surrounding dark.
Wilhelm sat straight despite the cushion beneath him, hands folded in his lap. Across from him, his father occupied a simple wooden chair, posture relaxed, eyes sharp with patience earned over decades.
"Welcome back," his father said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Ready for another quiz?"
Wilhelm nodded.
"What is magecraft?"
He answered without hesitation.
"The artificial reenactment of Mystery—something ordinarily possible only for inhuman beings. A false miracle."
His father inclined his head. "Correct."
Rising, he stepped closer to the fire, its glow reflecting in his eyes.
"Magecraft is closer to science than magic, despite what outsiders believe. Most magi dedicate their entire lives to it. They abandon families, names, futures—everything—for the chance to touch Mystery." He paused. "And most of them fail."
Wilhelm lowered his gaze.
"It is a truth of this world," his father continued calmly, "that no one is born equal. True Magic is hated by the world itself. When it appears, the world tries to erase it. The same is true for magi who draw too close."
His eyes returned to Wilhelm.
"And it is especially dangerous for you."
Wilhelm clenched his fists. "Because I was born able to touch what others would call godhood."
His father did not deny it.
Silence settled between them, broken only by the fire.
"Then what am I supposed to do with this power?" Wilhelm asked softly. "You'll be leaving me soon. I'll be alone."
"No," his father said gently. "You won't."
He knelt, meeting Wilhelm's eyes.
"Be true to yourself. Be the kind—stubbornly helpful—man I know you are. The rest will take care of itself." His hand rested on Wilhelm's shoulder. "And when you find a place that feels like home, protect it."
Wilhelm swallowed.
"When someone threatens you," his father went on, voice steady, "no matter who they are… you fight. With all your strength. With all your heart."
"And they'll stand with me?" Wilhelm asked.
"Always," his father said.
"And forever."
"Always and forever," Wilhelm repeated.
His father stood, his shadow stretching long across the room.
"Now," he said, voice hard as iron, "it's time for you to wake up."
The fire flared violently.
"And fight," he continued, "even if it kills you. A man dies on his feet—standing in front of his enemy."
The study shattered.
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"What… just happened?"
Wilhelm gasped as consciousness slammed back into him. He reached behind his neck, fingers brushing scorched skin. His body refused to respond properly—every nerve screaming, limbs heavy with numbness.
Lightning.
Or thunder.
He couldn't tell which had struck him—only that the force behind it had been obscene.
That attack hadn't come from a distant divine spirit. It had weight. Intent.
A god like himself.
With a body.
"This won't be easy," he muttered.
He forced himself upright, teeth clenched as residual electricity crawled through his muscles. The world around him was unrecognizable.
The field he had restored earlier now burned openly, flames devouring the ground in chaotic patterns. The sky had turned hostile—blue crushed beneath roiling black clouds. Lightning tore through the heavens, thunder shaking the air as hurricanes twisted in the distance.
Tornadoes formed and collapsed as if the world itself couldn't decide how to kill him.
The sun was gone.
Wilhelm steadied his breathing.
Whatever was coming…
It had already chosen to fight.