#4
The peak of the Shattered Crystal Mountain was not a peak in the ordinary sense.
It was a flat field, as wide as a football pitch, formed of clear crystals cracked like glass smashed by a hammer. Each fissure emitted a pale blue light, and from within, whispers could be heard—thousands of voices praying, wailing, or babbling meaninglessly.
At the center of the field stood a building that should not exist at such a height: the Temple of Shattered Hope.
The temple was made of black stone that absorbed light, asymmetrical in form, jarring to the eyes. There was no door—only an empty archway leading into utter darkness. Above the arch, inscriptions were carved in a language that made the head spin just by looking at it.
"The language of gods," Lyra whispered, her wings trembling nervously. "Only those invited—or those carrying a key—can read it without pain."
Ghei approached, eyes scanning the inscription.
And he understood.
"Here stands the guardian of hope that has fractured. Enter, you who are not afraid that all desires ultimately crumble."
"You can read it?" Aelia asked, awestruck.
"Yes."
"Not dizzy?"
"No." Ghei stepped through the arch. "Perhaps because I have no hope left."
The darkness inside the temple was not ordinary darkness.
It was tangible, like wet cloth clinging to the skin. Like being inside a cold womb.
Ghei moved forward. The golden trace on his chest glowed brighter now, pulling him ahead like a compass.
Lyra and Aelia followed, but after a few steps, Lyra stopped.
"I can't," she said, her voice choked. "My Aether… it's suppressed here. Like something rejects my existence."
Aelia also looked pale, but she nodded. "I can continue. Maybe because I am human—or once was."
"Wait outside," Ghei told Lyra. "This is not your battle."
Lyra nodded and retreated outside the temple.
Ghei and Aelia pressed on.
The temple turned out to be far larger inside than it appeared from outside. They walked through seemingly endless corridors, walls covered in strange paintings:
Gods with ever-changing faces, granting the "gift" of second life to weeping figures.
Revived people trapped in crystal, eyes vacant.
A throne in the sky, a lone figure seated—Devaros in his true form.
"He's lonely," Aelia murmured, staring at the last painting.
"All tyrants are lonely," Ghei replied. "They need followers to prove they exist."
"Aren't you afraid of him?"
"I'm just angry. And anger is simpler than fear."
Strangely, here Ghei's Null Echo was calm. No black dust scattered. It was as if his power recognized this as a place where rejection had already become the foundation.
They arrived at the main chamber.
A circular room, ceiling impossibly high. In the center was a pool of pitch-black water, above which floated a frameless mirror, suspended in the air.
The mirror did not reflect their faces.
It reflected memories.
Ghei saw himself—Ning Ruishen—sitting in a hostel room, staring at his laptop. Tears ran down his face, but his expression was blank. Then he took the pill. Fell asleep.
Aelia saw herself trapped in crystal, panicked, knocking from within.
"The Painful Mirror of Truth," a voice echoed in the room. Not human—like rubbing stone.
From behind the mirror, a figure emerged.
But not Devaros.
It was the temple guardian—a being with a human body but a giant hourglass for a head, within which grains of light fell endlessly from top to bottom.
"Time," whispered Aelia.
"Not time," said the creature. "I am Remnant. The forgotten guardian. Devaros created me to guard this door, then forgot me."
Ghei looked at it. "We need to pass."
"For what?"
"To meet Devaros."
"Many wish to meet a god. To ask, to thank, to curse." Remnant turned its hourglass head. The grains fell faster. "But you… you are different. You bring neither hope nor despair. You bring… nothingness."
"Null Echo."
"More than that." Remnant floated half a centimeter above the floor. "You are a hole in the weave of fate. Devaros will be drawn to you. And perhaps… that is what you want."
"Will you stop us?"
Remnant paused. The grains in its head froze mid-fall.
"How long has it been since anyone came here?" it asked, suddenly human. "Hundreds of years? I have forgotten. I merely guard a door never opened. Watch a mirror that only shows suffering."
It looked at Ghei. "If you pass this door and succeed in killing Devaros… what happens to me?"
"I don't know."
"Honest." Remnant nodded. "Fine. I will let you pass. But there is a price."
"What?"
"Take a part of me. So that if the god dies, and I vanish… at least there will be a memory that I existed."
Ghei nodded. "How?"
Remnant extended its hand—glowing, transparent. "Touch. Take the last grain of light from my head. It will be the second key—the key of memory."
Ghei touched the hand.
A flashback—not his, not Remnant's:
He was the temple's first guardian, an ordinary human devoted to a god.
Devaros came, saying: "I need an eternal guardian."
Then he transformed him—took his body, took his memories, leaving only consciousness trapped in an hourglass head.
Centuries guarding.
Passing through the mirror of suffering.
Alone.
Until finally… he forgot his own name.
He was only Remnant.
Ghei drew back his hand. In his palm rested a single grain of light, pulsing gently.
"Now," whispered Remnant, fading, "go. The door will open. And… thank you. For reminding me I once had a choice."
The mirror above the pool cracked.
From the cracks, golden light burst forth—the same light that had shone from Ghei's chest.
A portal opened.
On the other side, a crystal staircase floated in the sky, leading to islands suspended in clouds.
Empyrean.
"Ready?" Aelia asked.
Ghei looked at the grain of light in his hand. Saw the golden trace on his chest.
"I've been ready since I first died," he said. Then stepped into the portal.
Empyrean was silent.
Not the comforting kind—silent like a waiting room before a verdict.
The crystal staircase stretched endlessly, and with every step, Ghei felt heavier. As if Empyrean resisted mortal presence.
Aelia panted behind him. "Seems… this place wasn't made for us."
"Nothing is made for us," Ghei replied. "We just happen to be here."
They reached the top—a floating island with a garden too perfect. Flowers colorful but scentless. Trees bearing fruit, but hollow inside. Fountains flowing silently.
And in the center, a throne.
The throne was made of crystalline bones—not human bones, something older, stranger.
Upon it sat Devaros.
Not a shadow in the Liminal Veil. Not a painting in the temple.
His true form.
His body human in proportion, yet made of cracked living marble. From the cracks flowed golden light—the same that had been in Soren's chest. His face had no eyes, only hollow contours radiating the same light. On his head, a crown of entwined thorns.
"Ghei Niruise," said Devaros, voice like distant thunder, like an underground quake. "You've come."
"Were you expecting me?"
"Expecting? No. But anticipating." Devaros rose from the throne. Three meters tall, imposing yet somber. "You are the most fascinating experiment. A soul truly empty. Most souls, when revived, fill up again—anger, hope, fear. But you… remain empty."
"That's not a compliment."
"I do not mean it as one. Just observation." Devaros stepped closer. Each step shook the ground. "You bring two keys. One from the living door. One from the forgotten guardian. And your Null Echo is the third key."
"I didn't come to talk philosophy."
"Then why?"
"To return what you took."
Devaros paused. Light from his hollow face flickered.
"You want to die."
"Yes."
"And you think by killing me, you can die?"
"You said so yourself."
Devaros laughed—sound like breaking glass. "I lied. Killing me will not let you die. It will only… sever you. Trap you between layers forever."
Ghei was not surprised. He suspected this from the start.
"No matter," he said. "As long as I don't have to live in the world you made."
"Fair." Devaros raised a hand. Images formed on his palm—Neovita, suffering people, people grateful to him. "I gave them a second chance."
"Without consent."
"Consent?" Devaros clenched his fist. The images shattered. "The universe does not ask for consent when creating you. Death does not ask consent when taking you. Why should I be different?"
"Because you are not the universe. You are only a god. And gods can be killed."
Ghei's Null Echo finally surged.
Black dust erupted from his skin, more than ever, forming a dark cloud around him.
Devaros stepped back—a step of fear for the first time.
"Null Echo," he murmured. "Power from Luna Nihil. The power to say 'no' to reality."
"Exactly," said Ghei. "And I have many things to refuse."
He stepped forward.
The battle—if it could be called that—began.
It was not a physical battle.
Devaros did not strike with blows or magic. He struck with concepts.
He threw Hope at Ghei—visions of new life, new purpose, new meaning.
Ghei rejected it. His Null Echo shattered the hope like glass.
Devaros hurled Guilt—the image of people in Neovita who would suffer if he died.
Ghei rejected it. "They are not my responsibility."
Devaros cast Meaning—the offer that Ghei's life could matter if he wanted.
Ghei rejected it. "I don't need meaning. I need an end."
Each rejection weakened Devaros. Each shattered concept widened the cracks in his marble body.
Aelia watched from afar, unable to help—for this battle could only be fought by someone who truly desired nothing.
Finally, Devaros fell before his throne.
The light from his cracked body dimmed.
"Why?" he whispered, weak, human. "Why are you so stubborn to want nothing?"
Ghei stood before him, black dust swirling around.
"Because it is the only thing that truly belongs to me. And you stole it."
"I… only wanted to understand." Devaros extended a hand—cracked, almost destroyed. "What does life mean without desire? I am the god of resurrection, yet I… never lived. I only observed."
Ghei looked at him. And for a moment, he saw—not a god, but a being equally lost.
"Perhaps," Ghei said slowly, "you should have asked those you revived, not forced them to live to answer your questions."
Devaros fell silent.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Perhaps… you are right."
His body began to crumble. Marble shattered into golden dust. Light within him burst forth, then went out.
But before completely vanishing, he spoke one last thing:
"The door to the Liminal Veil… will open if I die. But you cannot die there… for you no longer have a soul to release. You will only… disappear. Is that what you want?"
"Yes," Ghei answered.
"Then… farewell, Ghei Niruise. And… forgive me."
Devaros vanished.
Empyrean shook.
Islands began to collapse. The sky cracked.
Where Devaros had stood, a gray portal now opened—back to the Liminal Veil.
Aelia ran forward. "You did it."
"Yes."
"And now?"
Ghei looked at the portal. Saw the grain of light in his hand—Remnant's memory. Saw the golden trace on his chest—the key from Soren.
He placed the grain of light on the ground.
"The memory that he once existed," he whispered.
Then he looked at Aelia. "You have the choice now. The world will change. The god of resurrection is dead. Perhaps the second life will end. Or perhaps not. But you are free."
"And you?"
"I have a promise with nothingness."
Ghei stepped into the portal.
No drama. No grand farewell.
Just a single step.
And he entered.
The Liminal Veil remained the same.
Gray. Silent. Monoliths still floating.
But now something was different: a door.
A simple wooden door, standing in the void, unsupported by any wall.
Ghei approached. On the door hung a small plaque:
"For those who are finished."
He opened the door.
On the other side—not darkness. Not light.
Just… nothing.
He smiled.
Then stepped in.
The door closed.
And in the Liminal Veil, only the monoliths, the gray, and a single small grain of light flickering slowly before fading remained.
EPILOGUE:
Some time later—or perhaps no time at all—a portal from Empyrean opened again.
Aelia stepped out, followed by Lyra, and then—one by one—the people from Neovita.
They saw the monoliths. Saw the void.
"He's gone," whispered Aelia.
Kael, who came as well, approached where the grain of light had been. It was gone.
"And us?" he asked.
Aelia looked at the portal behind them. Empyrean still crumbling, but the world of Nyania—their world—still existed.
"We're alive," she said. "With our own choices now. Not because a god forced them."
They returned through the portal.
And the Liminal Veil fell silent again.
Except… on one monolith, new writing appeared—not in the language of gods, but in human script:
"Someone once passed here who only wanted to go home.
They left no trace.
They left no legacy.
They simply left.
And perhaps, that is enough."
"I did not win.
I did not lose.
I simply stopped.
And in a world that keeps shouting 'keep fighting,'
sometimes stopping is its own victory."
— Ghei Niruise, before disappearing