It was said the Existences never cared, and the most uncaring, obscure of them created the Realm.

  ….

  Two thousand years before Euth’s establishment.

  Terror came out of nowhere.

  An eye, if that can be called, opened out of the blue as the whisper of those things beyond reality slithered through the city. The mountain-high metallic sparkling citadel of Yel burned in the fire of things beyond the outer space. In the chaotic scent of Realm’s procreation and the so-called gods- Existences- descended, the glory of mankind was no more. The great pillar fell down as it became a staircase for the eldritch twisted ones.

  From the sky, up from the ocean, and in the gaps of nothing, the blind and mindless being appeared out of nowhere, and in the blink of an eye, towers, machinery, and even soldiers implanted with Realm-arts crumbled as they became an unnamed, overgrowing nightmare.

  Creatures humans had never seen emerged from the shadows and lights. The blood-stained sea boiled as the prolonged beings marked this land.

  Most folks didn’t have a chance of dying a human death. But some of them believed that there would be hope- a man-made Existence, to be exact.

  The old scholar was one of those who believed in the project he was working on. He crawled under the falling turret unit but made it right before it crushed his body. Jumped over the almost dead soldiers whose skin is fading away because of the power of those Existences.

  Then opened the door with his Realm-arts; thankfully, it worked. He noticed something off when he ran inside it to rescue the Barricade, but did not notice it at first glance. Nothing mattered more than the Barricade.

  Right as the old man grabbed the two white-haired girls out of the laboratory, he saw the thing that made him think something was off.

  For that moment, he felt like his father, who would always forget where the fork or spoon was.

  That thing, the piece of the most prolonged Existence of the Realm, now disobeyed all laws of nature. Glowing a light of shadow, radiating the madness of sanity, and a reality of imagination.

  The worst thing he could possibly think of-

  a piece of the judge of the Court of Everend, outside its containment.

  He yelled every Yellian profanity to himself and quickly prepared a ritual under the warping reality as he guarded in front of two girls-one a Barricade, one a nobody.

  “To all the Existences out in the Realm. I apologize. I apologize for Yel’s arrogance. I know nothing can calm Your rage. I beg You, I beg the Court of Everend and the master of that piece. Take anything from us! Anything! Please give us something to say that we exist.

  The Realm answered him as quickly as his begging. The whispers near his ears were not understandable, not in the language of the human mind. It was not like an offer or a trade, although that’s how Yel built their civilization on top of the madness.

  Yet he somehow understood it. His eyes opened wide. Knowing he never had a choice and perhaps realizing he was as arrogant and egoistic as he had always been, he accepted it. But it was the least of his concerns. This time, the Existence made the wrong choice, and one change in time beyond the universe. A choice predicted by himself -The Last Faust.

  And so the Existences took away Death.

  He motionlessly stayed in the position, kneeling down as he looked to nowhere but a warping, forever-changing, incomprehensible something.

  Fosfor felt that something was within her, something cold yet fuzzy like a rusted, unusable coin that only belonged to her. Something that only she can have or use.

  She noticed her friend staring right at that thing that she couldn’t even glare at without feeling that trembling pain under her skull as if any second she would become something similar to a melting snowflake. The thing was just there. Indescribable by her own words, yet Fosfor somehow thought that it was…staring back?

  “C’mon, we need to go!” she said, trying to pretend she was less scared as she grabbed the edge of her friend’s white dress. Her friend did not reply like she used to whenever Fosfor said something. Only staring back and murmuring something that is not human. Like the language The Last Faust used.

  “…Fosfor…will you still be my friend…if I am no longer…mortal?” she suddenly said as she sobbed.

  “The hell you are talking about, of course!”

  “…You know that I am just…nobody…I can’t even complete a ritual like you…”

  “I have nothing valuable left…except…my true name,” she said.

  Fosfor didn’t realize what her friend was saying. Her eyes were on the piece of Existence right behind her friend as it slowly disappeared when her friend stopped muttering. And right as she was about to call out her name, her voice stuttered:

  “….You…no…please.”

  Fosfor couldn’t believe it.

  How could she forget her friend’s name? They have only had each other ever since they had memories. All the laughter, all the arguments and apologies, and every other time she said that name. It was all gone.

  And this time, her friend completed a ritual. Her first ritual, and Fosfor already wished for it to be the last.

  “…Why?” Fosfor cried.

  “…Just…let me carry all of this Barricade mess, you don’t have to!”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “I never did Fosfor,” her friend replied.

  “And you never had to…” Nameless said she didn’t say what was in her heart. Nameless was afraid. Afraid that one day she will be gone from Fosfor’s life. Leaving only the Barricade of Death, wandering alone. And in the midst of that fear was a bit of selfishness, a craving for equivalent power as the Barricade.

  The friends did not speak anymore. As if their words were exhausted by the sinking ruin of what was their home, a civilization ten thousand years old crumbled in less than an hour. The Existences, the cosmic rulers of This World, and the Realm of Gaps, however, faded away like everything that happened was a nightmare.

  “Goodnight to whatever name you called me, Fosfor,” Nameless said as she saw herself reflected in Fosfor’s black eyes.

  …..

  18th September 1137 years after the first recorded descent of the Starseeker, Grand Dome, Euth.

  App. 6000 years after the fall of Yel.

  The Letter-Writer demanded that the messenger come to her office. When he arrived there, his captain was there. He reported the latest findings and investigations, to which she responded:

  “Hmm…leave the rest to me, I had been informed about such incidents, not similar, but worth the Church of Starseeker and the messenger’s attention… Anyways, I’m glad that you informed me immediately, not like your captain when he was your age.”

  “…You are free to go, enjoy your weekend,” the Letter-Writer said with a smile.

  “But…it’s Monday, ma’am,” the messenger answered as he frowned.

  “I say enjoy your weekend.”

  “Now go, have your lunch or something, maybe adopt a stray cat or read a book.”

  Seeing that the messenger was gone, Josh sighed. He stood up and walked towards his boss’s table. The Letter-Writer was still smiling, the same smile he saw thirty years back, when that man from the urban legends and the Letter-Writer, before she became one, saved his life and introduced him to the world of Realm.

  “Who’s on the list? Please don’t tell me the first thing I see on it is Seren.”

  “Want to see it? Here, catch,” the Letter-Writer said as she threw the folder.

  “…I’ve never understood your ideas…but as long as I understand Siyuenese culture, isn’t there a festival soon?” Josh said, closing the folder.

  “Eh hem, that’s right, that’s right, but whoever celebrates Mid-autumn with him isn’t there anymore.”

  “I don’t think the members of the council would be interested in spending the holiday with him and you.” Josh reminded the Letter-Writer.

  “Blah, blah, blah, who even cares about them in this building? Plus, they let a monster like me be the Letter-Writer, do you really think those old bones care if we request an abnormality, even worse, someone who once stood in their way?” the Letter-Writer said indifferently.

  “…What if something happens on his way to Euth? You can’t guarantee that.” Josh switched to another topic as he put on his jacket, hand on the doorknob, ready to leave.

  Suiming’s power is incomplete. But with that, it is enough for him…” she answered, dark violet eyes looking in Josh’s direction.

  “Hey, Josh, y’wanna make a bet? Let’s bet…if his Realm-arts will be sharpened when he comes back.”

  Josh felt his heart miss a beat when he heard the word sharpen. Most of the time, he would not think about it, since his Realm-art had sharpened twice, but was constantly reminded of what could happen if he did not accept Letter-Writer’s offer that day.

  A small flower bloomed in his hand. He played the flower between his fingers as his Realm-art made it turn into cinders; if he wanted, it could be an explosion.

  “I bet yes,” Josh answered.

  …

  7th October 1134 by the Euthian calendar

  Acryl was waiting for the buyer to arrive as he cleaned up the workshop’s shelves. Clearly, his mentor, the half-famous artist Canvas, stayed up late continuing his project last night. Since he was still snorting when Acryl had already eaten breakfast.

  Raindrops fell. It drummed on the window, on the Grand Dome itself. Splish splash. The Grand Dome was never sealed, its metal framework only holding the half-transparent leaf-like structures. But the rain comes through, some complain about it, some play in the rain, but for Acryl, it is just nice to watch the rain as he scribbles or paints.

  “…Is she even coming?” Acryl said as he picked up a brush from the ground.

  It is always like this. Acryl thought to himself. His clients, guests, and classmates were canceling plans. Art exhibitions and hosts were not even glancing in his direction. Canvas told him that it was never too early to connect, but how? Throughout the school years, he only made one friend, and it only happened because Canvas knew her father.

  Canvas’s colors and brushes were all over the place, but did not extend to the other side of the workshop, around a step away from Acryl’s desk and his paintings.

  Strangely enough, the number of canvases was the same as yesterday’s, but some old fish bait boxes that they used for carrying colors were gone. Under a dusty box of worn-out brushes that his mentor kept saying to throw out but never did, Acryl found an envelope with a black lily and yellow rosemary drawn on it, under it was written: “To member Thyme”. As he was wondering what it was, someone rang the doorbell. It was the woman his mentor mentioned.

  Long, dark blue hair with violet iris accessory and a slight smile that Acryl couldn’t see through. Elegant, formal, yet Acryl can see a feeling that he could only see in a cat’s eyes, curiosity. He felt like he had seen her somewhere before, but couldn’t recall it at the moment. As if she were someone who once made an appearance in the newspaper or an icon of a brand that Acryl rarely sees.

  A slight warmth lit his heart. It finally happened. Someone he hadn’t met before cared what he had created.

  He opened the door and greeted the lady as he hid the envelope behind him:

  “Good day, come inside, please!” Acryl said as he tried to calm his nerves. His heart was beating fast.

  “Hi, hi, you must be the master’s apprentice, right? Seren, glad to meet you,” the woman said as she closed the door and reached her hand to Acryl. He shook Seren’s hand, he felt a strong grip from her as if Acryl was shaking the hand of an experienced soldier.

  “Was I gripping too hard? Sorry, I got used to shaking hands with new messengers.”

  “No…no it’s fine, it’s fine. Oh, so about the paintings.”

  “Don’t rush, young man, can you tell me…about that envelope?” Seren said softly as she let Acryl’s hand go.

  “Don’t worry ’bout it, The Lily’s Brotherhood, it isn’t a bad omen if you have that envelope…heh…mark my words, kid, you will be grateful for the flowers you’ve seen,” Seren said with a slight smile appearing on her face. She walked towards the paintings and stopped two steps away from them. For a moment, Acryl thought that she could be in the paintings and not look out of place at all.

  Her colors blend in with the pale sky of the borders. Deep blues and grays exist in harmony, yet bring each other’s existence out.

  Their dealing went smoothly. To Acryl Seren seemed like someone similar to Canvas- someone like a moth chasing the fire. They talked for longer than Acryl, though. At first, he was afraid that he could awaken Canvas, but their chat just went on, about Realm-art, history, and urban legends. Seren seemed like she was an expert in all of those things.

  After what felt like minutes and eternity at the same time, he waved goodbye to Seren as he held the check.

  The check, stained by water, was in Acryl’s hand. His hand was shaking. He did not expect he could sell not one, but two of his paintings that he thought would become a dust collector, and neither did he expect that he could afford a Realm-art implant.