Ethan was deeply satisfied with their reactions.
He hadn't expected them to take his grandiose claims so seriously—but that was the point.
His goal had never been truth, but inspiration.
He bore no responsibility for what they did with the knowledge. All he had done was plant a dream in their minds—a dream so vast and shining that they could not help but chase it. Whether it was real or not didn't matter. What mattered was belief.
It was enough to give them direction.
Something sacred to pursue.
A path toward a glorious, impossible future.
For Ethan, wizards represented discipline. They were bound by the law of equivalent exchange, driven by their thirst for truth, and obsessed with unraveling the mysteries of the cosmos. He needed such minds to shape the foundations of a magical civilization—one that would reach toward the heavens with knowledge as its flame.
"A path is not something given," he thought, "it is made—step by step, by those who dare walk it. I'm just showing them the way. If they fail, it's not because I lied, but because they lacked the strength to grasp a god's wisdom."
"Great god of wisdom, Hermes… how does the power of Gilgamesh, mankind's Hero King, compare to yours?" Medea asked with hushed reverence.
Ethan, still perched like a divine omen in the tree branches, replied calmly:
"Gilgamesh may have touched the realm of demigods… but before me, his power is as dust before the wind."
The witches fell into awed silence.
Ethan then began his true work.
From his avian vessel, he imparted to them the meditation techniques of Earth—an ancient art shaped by both Eastern breathwork and Western contemplation. These would become the foundation for their path toward the divine.
He followed with alchemy—drawing directly from forgotten doctrines and sacred texts, obscure to the modern world but rich with meaning. Whether they could comprehend or apply these secrets was now in their hands.
And when he was finished, he quietly withdrew his consciousness.
His time as the crow was done.
After all, the vessel was nothing but a crude shell—a disposable bridge between realities. The creature had served its purpose.
The knowledge he left behind wasn't fictional. It had deep roots in human history. Eastern and Western cultures alike had once cultivated meditation, studied alchemy, and whispered of magic. Perhaps these practices were only discarded because the march of science had overtaken them too soon.
"But maybe," Ethan thought, "there was truth in the old ways. Maybe they were still growing—still incomplete. Maybe this world can finish what ours abandoned."
He smiled faintly.
"I've planted the seeds of knowledge. May they one day blossom into miracles."
---
Snap.
The black-feathered crow suddenly fell from its perch, lifeless. But the witches did not panic.
Even as its body struck the forest floor, they remained reverent, afraid to approach.
Only after long minutes passed did Medea cautiously step forward. The divine presence had vanished.
Hermes was gone.
"What an otherworldly creature…" Medea whispered in awe. "That form—he must be an abstract entity, able to manifest through any living being. Of course! He is the god of Wisdom and Truth—concepts beyond the physical realm."
The three witches returned to the tribe and immediately began practicing the meditation methods he had shared. They also preserved and studied the body of the strange crow.
And what they found astounded them.
This was not a creature of their world.
Its internal structure was entirely alien—its biology unlike anything seen before. It had appeared as if from the void itself.
"Could it be… that it came from somewhere beyond this earth?" Medea murmured.
Even Circe was left speechless. She had, for the time being, set aside her differences with her sisters. Together, they pondered the implications.
"According to the ancient chronicles, Gilgamesh once dispatched armies to map the entirety of the known world. There should be no land left unexplored under the heavens…"
Heaven.
The word suddenly took root in their minds.
They lifted their gazes skyward.
The Great Flood had come from the sky.
Could there be a land above the clouds? A floating continent of divine beasts and forgotten truths? Perhaps, somewhere beyond the firmament, stood the Temple of Genesis—the celestial dwelling place of the gods.
The thought left them breathless.
Awe swallowed them whole.
---
Meanwhile, back in the real world, Ethan removed his VR headset and sighed.
"Finally done. Took me forever to memorize those lines." He rubbed his forehead. "Acting is torture… I'll never be a stage performer. Pretending to be some all-knowing god while staying in character? Not easy."
The truth was simple.
If Gilgamesh had been Ethan's size, the Hero King could have crushed him like an insect. Even the current witches—armed with years of cultivation—were leagues above him in raw ability.
And yet, he had to bluff through it all.
"Just thinking about it gives me a headache," he muttered, heading to the shower.
When he returned, he booted up the Spore Evolution game again.
Moments later, the servers were back online.
"Damn it, Dev! I'll tear you apart for this!"
"You shut down the game without warning, and then bring it back without notice? I lost a whole hour of progress!"
The players raged.
And yet, every one of them logged in again.
Fueled by obsession, they dove back into the game—evolving strange species and testing new strategies, unknowingly advancing Ethan's secret plans.
He ignored their grumbling with the indifference of a god.
"I'm cultivating a magical civilization inside a sandbox… to cure terminal cancer. Who else in the world can say that?" He chuckled bitterly. "Still, this is going to be one hell of a gamble."
Modern science had failed him. And so, he turned to the forgotten ways—meditation, alchemy, and magic.
Of the three, Alchemy was the one he had the most hope for.
A discipline capable of creating elixirs, of transforming matter… and maybe—just maybe—curing the disease inside him.
Of course, there was no guarantee. Alchemy existed only in ancient lore, and turning it into a functional discipline would take a miracle. But the other two?
Meditation and Magic?
Those were different. Techniques like Qigong, breath control, and visualization already existed. And if spiritual energy could be refined and cultivated, then naturally, magic would follow.
He had planted the roots. Now, the world would decide what grew from them.
Still, he sighed wistfully.
"If only there were more supernatural species like the Evil Eye to spark progress… I wanted this world to be strange and wild—filled with powerful, terrifying beings."
He glanced toward the players.
"But nooo, of course not. What do I get instead?"
A group of unmotivated lunatics.
Instead of developing useful species, they spent all their time scheming how to troll him.
"Idiots. Degenerates. How do I wring something useful out of you?"
He was still fuming when Mia called from the gate.
"Ethan, you promised you'd come to the class reunion with me! It's time to go!"
"Huh?" he blinked, pulled from his thoughts.
Well, maybe a walk outside wouldn't hurt.
He changed clothes and stepped out.
---
"Oh no! It's the giant! Run!"
"Earthquake incoming! Get to cover!"
"Ha! I've got six legs—I don't need to outrun the giant, just all of you!"
"You jerk! Next time, I'm evolving eight legs just to spite you!"
On the ground, countless tiny creatures shrieked and scattered. To them, the great being above—the human walking through the yard—was a towering titan of doom.
Their journey to reach land had been long and brutal.
They would not die now… not under the careless footstep of the god they feared.