Chapter Text
The final battle arrived at last. The logistics unit was once again stationed not far outside the laboratory. Akivili heard the chaotic roar of gunfire erupt anew. With the main battlefield inside the building and no gift of x-ray vision, he could see nothing. Left to himself, he gazed idly at the deep black fissures in the sky.
To Akivili’s eyes, faint stars shimmered within those dark seams of the firmament. As his gaze drifted farther and farther away, he found himself missing the sensation of sailing through open space.
He wondered which corner of the universe Aha was in now, chasing amusement. If Aha were here, perhaps he wouldn’t be able to stage any grand spectacle—but at least he could put on some kind of show.
Someone nearby shouted for Old Toby, sounding urgent. They circled the camp but couldn’t find him.
Outside the laboratory, Wanlika had originally been advancing with his assigned squad. The scene was too chaotic, and with his poor sense of direction, he ended up separated and, unfortunately, completely lost.
By sheer luck, he stumbled into a stream of evacuating personnel from the experimental base. Everyone was hurrying toward the safe zone; no one paid attention to the underdeveloped, slightly short boy carrying a rifle.
At the edge of the moving crowd, Wanlika spotted a little girl clutching a teddy bear, standing frozen in place and on the verge of tears. She must have been separated from her family.
“Monica!” Wanlika cried out in shock when he saw her face—it was strikingly similar to his younger sister’s.
He ran against the flow of the crowd and wrapped the girl tightly in his arms. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Big brother’s here. This time, I’ll protect you.”
An injured man rushed out of the building, panic in his eyes as he searched frantically—clearly looking for a missing family member. When he saw his daughter being protected by a strange boy, relief briefly softened his expression. But it quickly gave way to tension when he noticed the rebel armband on the boy’s arm.
Feigning calm, the man approached slowly, intending first to steady the boy’s nerves. Yet when he saw the boy’s face clearly, he changed his mind. There was gentleness there—like an older brother shielding his sister.
His thoughts raced. Among all the possible outcomes he imagined, he realized there was no safer place at this moment than with the rebels. And so he made a crucial decision—he entrusted the girl to Wanlika.
“Take her somewhere safe, please. I’m begging you, child.”
The father’s pleading tone and urgent gaze reminded Wanlika of his own mother—the same look she had worn when illness took hold of her and she told him to flee with his sister Monica.
“Wanlika! Listen to Mama. You’re a strong boy. Take Monica and leave—live on! Mama is begging you!”
The man’s face slowly overlapped with his mother’s in Wanlika’s vision. Never before had he imagined that among the government soldiers he hated—those he wished dead, those he had branded cold and inhuman—there could be fathers who loved their children just like his mother had loved them.
The heavy barricade around Wanlika’s heart shattered.
He remembered what he had truly wanted—not to slaughter government troops, not to bring dawn to the planet, but simply to be a brother who could protect his sister.
Something hot spilled from his eyes, streaking down his dust-stained face. Clenching his teeth, he nodded solemnly to the man, lifted the girl into his arms, and ran in the direction away from the battlefield.
The man collapsed where he stood. Blood pooled rapidly beneath him. He watched the direction they fled in silence—and died.
Ten minutes later, Akivili left the camp, intending to wander nearby. Unfortunately, there was little in the way of beautiful scenery.
Along the way, apart from hardy trees and ground-hugging plants that required little sunlight, he had scarcely seen any flowers in bloom.
Then, upon the barren land, two figures suddenly brushed past him—a boy holding a girl’s hand. Akivili recognized the boy as Wanlika, who had earlier entered the main battlefield with the larger force.
“Sorry, Mr. Akivili. I’ll have to break our promise. Compared to roaming the endless sea of stars, I guess I still… want to be with my family.”
The boy’s voice gradually faded, drifting toward the distant light. He never looked back.
When Wanlika was carried in by the medics, his left arm had been completely blown off. The girl was merely shaken—unhurt.
Only after bringing her to safety did Wanlika finally loosen his grip on her hand in relief. As if all life drained from him at once, his legs gave way. He collapsed irreversibly toward the ground.
In the final moment of his life, he gazed up at the sky and softly called out, “Mama… Monica…” As though he could see his departed loved ones waiting for him, a peaceful smile settled on his face. The light in his eyes stilled, and he slipped quietly into eternal rest.
The gunfire gradually diminished. Akivili turned toward the laboratory. It was time to witness the end of this war.
Halfway there, a crimson pillar of light rose slowly from the laboratory’s launch platform into the heavens. Its apex struck the firmament, pouring deconstructive energy upward in an unbroken stream.
On the sky’s surface, the beam spread into expanding concentric rings, rippling outward from the point of impact. To fully dismantle the sky-curtain that shrouded the entire planet would require three full days of continuous energy transmission. After that, the deconstruction would gradually extend from this region to the far side of the world.
In this area—where cracks had already marred the sky-curtain—it began to waver first. Amber shards fell like shattered rain from above. At this rate, in two days’ time, this land would be the first to welcome the dawn.
Akivili did not slow his steps.
When he reached the open ground before the laboratory, he witnessed the victorious rebels executing captured government personnel for crimes against humanity.
Among them knelt a scientist in a white uniform, bound and defiant. “I did not betray humanity!” he shouted hoarsely.
Approaching him was Mimimodov. He did not speak a word. A single gunshot rang out. The scientist fell backward, eyes still open, lifeless.
The remaining bound officials knelt in silence or hurled curses as they awaited their fate.
Others followed Mimimodov’s example. Gunshots cracked like firecrackers in rapid succession. Within a minute, silence reclaimed the open ground. The rebels dragged the bodies to the center, stacking them together to await burning.
Akivili saw Old Toby again in the control room.
He lay among the bodies beside the console, blending almost perfectly into the corpse-strewn floor. Of course, he was not merely resting. If not for Akivili’s familiarity with his presence, no one might have found him even after the war ended.
Old Toby must have joined the vanguard before the assault began. With his knowledge of the laboratory’s layout, locating the control room would not have been difficult.
And so, under the protection of his comrades, he had pressed the sky-curtain’s control button with his own hands—just as he had wished.
“So… it’s you, young man… cough…”
Akivili stood above him, blocking the overhead light. Sensing the shadow, Old Toby opened his eyes. It was as though their first meeting had returned—only now their positions were reversed.
There was no room for pleasantries. As if aware that little time remained, Old Toby spoke of his final wish.
“Please… help me… plant them…”
With trembling hands, he pulled out a small pouch of flower seeds stained with blood. Before he could place it in Akivili’s hand, it slipped from his grasp and rolled to the floor.
“Let them bloom… bloom across the hills…”
Akivili picked up the pouch and clenched it tightly in his palm. He crouched there in silence for a long while.
A quarter of an hour later, a surge of originless flame erupted from where he stood. The fire swiftly devoured the entire room. Akivili stepped out from the crimson blaze, the hem of his coat whipped upward by the rising heat. His stride was steady. He did not look back. He simply moved forward with quiet resolve until he became a distant black speck and vanished.
Two days later, crowds gathered of their own accord in Victory Square, waiting for the dissolution of the sky-curtain.
The plaza overflowed with people. Cheers and cries rang out without pause. All were immersed in the joy of triumph; celebration saturated the air.
The countdown to dawn began, electrifying the atmosphere.
Suddenly, a powerful premonition of danger reverberated in Akivili’s mind.
As the power of Preservation waned, his perception of the cosmos returned to normal. And so he immediately sensed it—a pulse of immense energy from another star system, racing toward the planet at superluminal speed.
“Five! Four! Three! Two…” the crowd chanted in unison.
“Get inside! Now!” Akivili shouted at the square.
“One! Zero! Boom!”
The thunder of celebratory cannons drowned out his warning.
Some people embraced family and friends in elation. Others looked up as brilliant ribbons of color burst overhead and drifted down from the sky.
At that moment, a blinding shaft of pure white light lanced down from beyond the heavens.
A column dense with X-rays, gamma radiation, and other high-energy particles struck the planet head-on.
“Mom… is this how bright the sun really is?” a child’s voice asked, tugging at her mother’s hand in wonder.
After the flash, the mother—temporarily blinded—did not answer at once. Of course she knew the true brightness of the sun. Even after more than thirty years, she could never forget it.
“It’s a pulse surge!” someone shouted into the brief silence.
The square erupted. Chaos spread to the edges of the crowd in seconds. Screams, curses, stunned muteness—some people simply broke, their minds unable to bear the truth.
The surviving rebels could never have imagined such an ending. Beneath the last sliver of hope they themselves had extinguished, they sank into fatal regret—or prayed desperately for a miracle, for a savior brilliant enough to join the ranks of the Genius Society and undo the impossible.
A gunshot cracked through the chaos.
It was Mimimodov.
Moissan’s staunch supporter. One of the leaders who had carried the war to its final victory. In the course of that war, he had lost brothers by blood, children by blood, and countless comrades who had fought beside him.
He had survived hailstorms of bullets with Moissan more than once. He had also witnessed Moissan’s death. At the time, he had thought that baffling grin was mockery—directed at the government army, at fate itself. Afterward, he had taken up their shared conviction and the people’s longing for dawn.
Now, having finally understood everything, it all seemed nothing more than a farce of self-destruction. The harder they had fought, the more grotesque the outcome.
He drew the pistol he had carefully polished with oil the previous night—the lucky gun that had accompanied him through the entire war. He pressed its gleaming barrel to his temple. Just as he had when executing high-ranking officials, he pulled the trigger without hesitation.
No one knew what crossed his mind in that final instant. Atonement? Or simply the loss of any reason to go on?
In the end, with the crack of the gunshot and the spray of blood and bone, all meaning collapsed into nothing.
Invisible to mortal eyes, high-energy particles rained down in torrents, slamming against the magnetic shield formed by the planet’s north–south field. In Akivili’s sight, each impact sent ripples shimmering across the barrier’s surface, accompanied by a faint hiss—like fine snow skittering across frozen ground.
At this intensity, humanity outside this region had only seventy-two to eighty hours to retreat into subterranean shelters.
Akivili stood upon the viewing platform overlooking the square, silently observing the farce’s final act. His luminous golden gaze swept across the sea of people—and paused.
Amid the madness, a handful stood unnaturally calm.
He sensed it at once. They shared his position. Detached from the crowd. Spectators.
A voice slipped directly into his mind.
A woman’s voice, laced with a quiet chuckle, drifted through the air.
“How amusing. Our little laughing kingfisher—did he just laugh himself to death? Hee hee… I knew it from the start. He does love going out in a blaze.”
Another voice, a man’s, chimed in lazily. “I’ve shared drinks with Moissan. He once said he loved dissolving into a collective will—right or wrong didn’t matter. Said it felt like surfing. I must admit, I rather agreed with him. He was a lunatic who enjoyed blowing himself up.”
A third voice scoffed lightly. “You make him sound more suited to Harmony than to Elation. But his curtain call? Pure Elation. Hahaha.”
“Didn’t you hear? When Brother Mo left the tavern, he spent every last coin—along with his mask—on a Surprise Box. You ever see that mask of his? Crafted by a Mourning Actor, one of those master mask-makers.”
Giggles rippled through the unseen circle. “A Mourning Actor making a mask for a fool? Please. Most masks are stolen, swindled, or seized.”
“That’s because they made a wager. The Mourning Actor liked preaching to passing civilizations: ‘Even in tears, smile at life.’ Moissan disagreed. So he bet him—if a man whose life was already in ruins were told he had lost everything, would he cry… or laugh?”
“And?”
“You idiot. The Laughing Kingfisher won, of course.”
“I meant what they wagered!”
“The Mourning Actor bet the man would weep. Moissan bet he would laugh and cry at once. And what happened? The shock shattered him. He went mad—howling in grief while laughing like a man possessed.”
Laughter spilled through the mental air.
“How delightful! I wish I’d seen it myself. Moissan Hermes—the god of dramatic reversals!”
“Wait—the Surprise Box. You mean the one the bartender claimed might attract the gaze of the Lord of Elation and grant a single wish? I always thought that was a joke.”
“Perhaps it was. But wouldn’t it be entertaining if that gaze fell now? Ahahaha. Pity Moissan expired before the awards ceremony.”
“If it were me,” another voice mused, “I’d have faked my death. Gone back to the tavern for a glass of Micro-Entropy World—three Amber Eras aged—then watched the finale unfold via holo-broadcast. You can’t enjoy the next performance if you’re truly dead.”
“Excellent taste. You’re making me thirsty. Ladies and gentlemen, drinks are on me tonight. To a magnificent comedy. To Moissan!”
Moissan’s death forced humanity to confront their ignorance, their arrogance, their blind self-assurance.
The frozen grin on his corpse—both rows of teeth bared, both middle fingers raised—seemed now less a mockery of the enemy than of fate itself. Of everyone.
Some might argue that if it had not been Moisan, it would have been someone else—another name, another face, the same ending.
Akivili thought so too.
Which only made that earlier description all the more vivid.
Moissan truly had enjoyed surfing the tide of collective will—immersed within it, yet standing apart.
A burst of applause shattered the silence.
“Brilliant!”
“Marvelous!”
“Oh—magnificent!”
They clapped, whistled, stomped their feet, pounded the tables. Laughter rose—some restrained, some wild—as they offered their highest praise to the performance.
Then, as if by magic, each spectator produced a mask from somewhere on their person. The shapes varied—grotesque, elegant, absurd. The moment the masks touched their faces, their figures vanished from the planet without a trace.
Masked Fools.
How?
Not once along the way had Akivili suspected the presence of Joy.
And now—so many Masked Fools appearing at the finale?
It was impossible not to suspect Aha.
Akivili did not dare think too deeply.
The electromagnetic storm.
The crash landing.
The warning buried in his consciousness.
Mr. Cuckoo trailing behind him.
The “audience” hidden among the crowd.
Moisang, star of the grand performance—
Perhaps none of it had been coincidence.
Perhaps from the very beginning, he had stepped into Aha’s trap.
Perhaps he had been written into the script.
“Aha! Aha! Aha!”
For the first time in ages, fury burned through him. He shouted the Aeon of Joy’s true name three times.
Within a five-meter radius, the atmosphere abruptly thickened with jubilant energy. A cheerful male voice chimed instantly:
“My dear friend, have you encountered trouble? Would you like Aha’s assistance?”
Akivili did not even turn his head. He seized the collar of the resplendent figure that had just manifested at his left.
“Well, well, well, Akivili,” Aha chuckled, “such temper. Did you not enjoy the show?”
“Was this your doing?!”
“Oh, Akivili.” Aha laughed lightly. “You’re far too immersed. Truly delightful.”
He showed no concern at being lifted by the collar—no embarrassment at all for an Aeon of Joy. Instead, he bent his knees and lifted both feet off the ground, allowing his full weight to hang from Akivili’s grip.
“I asked you a question, you damned lunatic! For amusement, you destroyed an entire planet!”
“Wronged! I am terribly wronged!” Aha laughed harder. “Lord Akivili, pray see clearly!”
With his thumb, he pressed firmly against Akivili’s forehead, attempting to smooth the deep crease between his brows.
“And what if I say… it wasn’t me?”
The laughter stopped.
His eyes shifted.
The grin that replaced it was sharper, calculating—his gaze piercing, as if it could carve into the marrow of one’s soul.
“What?”
Akivili froze. He could not make sense of it—but he could tell Aha was not lying.
“I did not direct this play,” Aha said lightly. “The only thing I did was toss you into the audience via that magnetic storm. In this drama, every inhabitant of the planet was a protagonist.”
“Moisang is a Masked Fool?”
“Yes. He is one of the Fools at the bar. But not the director. Merely… a relatively important role.”
“What did he do?”
“He placed an advertisement,” Aha replied casually. “Inviting travelers from beyond to watch the upcoming performance on this planet. Nothing more.”
“No external force manipulated the outcome. Whichever side prevailed, the planet’s survival or demise—every conclusion arose from the will and actions of its own people.”
Aha’s smile widened.
“Except you.”
“You cheat. My lively, meddlesome friend—Akivili. Only you broke the rules.”
“All other Fools remained proper spectators. But you? You leapt onto the stage. You stepped into the spotlight and acted alongside them.”
Akivili faltered.
His grip loosened.
Aha lightly returned to the ground and smoothed the wrinkles from his collar with exaggerated seriousness. Still smiling, he watched the shifting expressions cross Akivili’s face as though savoring an exquisite delicacy. The tip of his crimson tongue slipped out, wetting his lips.
Silence fell.
Perhaps it was resignation before fate’s cruelty. Perhaps it was something else.
Emotion—an emotion that never belonged to a spectator—stemmed from lived experience.
“What meaning,” Akivili murmured, voice low and strained, “does such an ending hold…?”
“Meaning is subjective,” Aha answered softly. “Only those involved may decide whether something has meaning. Outsiders have no right to interfere.”
In that instant, a fragment of memory—known only to a rare few—flashed across the vastness of the universe.
It had appeared out of nothing.
A colossal gravitational source—darker than darkness, brighter than pure white.
No matter could escape its pull.
Not even light.
Its voice had been steady as ever, calming even in the face of catastrophe.
“Don’t be afraid, Pam. No matter how long it takes, I will find you. Our trailblazing journey… will never cease.”
He descended—yet to the eye he scarcely moved, as if time had been drawn taut across infinity.
In the fading night of consciousness, cells were crushed. Atomic nuclei were split apart as if sliced by countless precise blades.
If anything remained—
No.
Not yet.
Not like this.
Emotion long buried began to resonate once more. Akivili felt his throat tighten. His teeth clenched, fury and unwillingness surging against such an ending.
“Damn it… I hate this ending.”
His voice trembled.
“The fire they chased… it only ignited them sooner. This… this is terrible. It shouldn’t be like this… it shouldn’t…”
A faint golden shimmer pooled in Akivili’s eyes—anger refracted into tears.
The moment a drop fell, Aha remembered.
Once, Akivili had been the Aeon of Trailblaze.
Back then, he had grieved too—grieved when companions were lost along the path. A god, yet stubbornly choosing to walk as a mortal. Living among the Nameless, adventuring beside them, sharing their joy, their fury, their sorrow.
Even stripped of divinity, you have not changed.
Hard as steel. Fragile as glass.
Aha laughed inwardly.
How wonderfully human.
I await the day you ascend once more to the pinnacle of your Path, Akivili.
“Hehe… my dear, don’t cry.”
Aha slipped a hand through the scattered strands of silver-white hair resting against Akivili’s chest, palm settling at the back of his neck. With the other hand, he gently brushed the faint redness from the corner of Akivili’s eye.
“Listen to me,” he said, tone deliberately bright.
“You’re the most dignified of all Aeons! Do you know that? We’re all single-minded fools—but you? You break rules for fun!”
He beamed.
“So on behalf of the entire pantheon, I hereby award you the ‘Most Dignified Aeon’ prize!”
Aha cupped Akivili’s face.
“I adore that ridiculous humanity of yours.”
And then—he leaned in and planted a sharp kiss at the corner of Akivili’s flushed eye.
A cool breath slipped into Akivili’s chest like spring water, clearing the fog that had gathered there.
Their gazes met.
Akivili’s shimmering eyes lifted to meet Aha’s—blue as an endless starfield.
He couldn’t hold it anymore.
A laugh escaped him.
Strange. Absurd.
He knew what it was—the silent infusion of Joy.
Ah… Aha, you incorrigible creature.
For all his chaos, Aha had pulled him from the brink of despair—just as he scattered amusement indiscriminately across existence, sincerely wishing that all beings might taste delight.
“Akivili,” Aha asked suddenly, “do you know the name of this planet?”
The question struck like a blank page.
Akivili searched his mind.
Nothing.
He had never asked. No one had ever told him.
Aha smiled, unsurprised.
In the native tongue—Guska—he spoke a single word.
“Six.”
Akivili’s pupils contracted.
In Guska, “Six” derived from the final murmur uttered by the Shepherd God before eternal slumber.
Its meaning was—
“Go outside and see.”
Before Akivili could fully process it, Aha began to sing.
An impromptu solo opera—undoubtedly composed on the spot. The melody was buoyant, playful, matching his mood, but the lyrics unfolded like a fable.
“La~ la la la~
Narrator:
An ancient tale~
A hero journeys forth to beg divine power~
For the one he loves~ for his homeland~
Wine and candied fruits~
Songs and fevered dances~
Hero:
O God! Open your kingdom to me—
Do not condemn me for seeking strength from other gods!
Ha! What a detestable joke—
For your unparalleled dream,
I offer everything~
God:
Would you change the ending written in fate?
Meaningless war will end in tragedy~
Hero:
Then let me offer you the finest drama~
My deepest thanks~
God:
No need to thank me, friend.
You will most likely die—hahaha.
Good luck!~”
Aha seized Akivili’s hands and spun him in circles. Laughter erupted from the chaos at the center—wild, dissonant, yet somehow harmonious.
They moved like two delighted children, steps strange but not disordered, drifting apart and snapping back together.
When the song ended, Aha hooked an arm around Akivili’s waist, dipping him backward.
Akivili yielded, falling into the pose, face turned toward the sky.
In that instant—
The stars reshaped themselves.
A colossal silhouette manifested across the heavens—the true body of the Aeon of Joy.
Time froze.
Space twisted under unbearable gravity.
Even fundamental physics unraveled. Sound rippled through vacuum—complex yet ordered—like fireworks bursting, mystery boxes snapping open, party horns shrieking into existence.
And woven through it all—
Aha’s laughter.
Akivili remained arched backward in Aha’s hold.
Though Aha’s true form possessed nothing that could truly be called a face, Akivili still felt it—the shifting constellation of Joy’s incarnate symbols cradled between divine arms tilting toward him as one.
Candies with blinking eyes. Masks without pupils.
All of them turned.
Invisible gazes converged.
The air filled with countless translucent ribbons—silken, warm to the touch—gliding across Akivili’s skin. Within them churned immeasurable concepts, a tide of ecstatic cognition, enough to corrode mortal minds in an instant.
Aha, merciful in his own fashion, veiled the planet from perceiving his descent. The inhabitants would not dissolve into lethal rapture today.
Between two fingers, Aha pinched something that resembled a delectable chocolate sphere—
a gravitational singularity.
Casually, almost lazily, he placed it two orbital paths beyond the planet, setting it adrift in the cold vacuum of space.
With that, the colossal manifestation dissipated as if it had never existed.
Time resumed.
Space relaxed.
Only the chocolate-sweet singularity remained—glowing faintly in the dark.
Then—
Aha tugged the still-dazed Akivili back into his arms.
One arm wrapped around his waist. The other slipped upward, fingers threading into the soft silver hair at the nape of his neck.
Too close.
The supple curve of Aha’s upper lip brushed Akivili’s earlobe. Warm breath ghosted against his skin.
His voice, light and teasing, murmured:
“Do you like it? This ending.”
A faint flush crept to the tips of Akivili’s ears.
The quiet “Mm” that escaped him trembled like a swallow caught at the throat.
He pressed a hand lightly against Aha’s chest, nudging some space between them.
A small pouch drifted from Akivili’s pocket and landed in Aha’s palm.
“Oh? A travel souvenir? Let’s see what treasure you’ve brought.”
From it, Aha produced a spherical seed.
Matter restructured itself at his command. Fifteen seconds later, the seed had completed an entire life cycle.
The seed split, sprouted, stretched—roots slender and pale, leaves serrated and sharp—until a mature plant stood in full bloom.
Crimson-violet petals unfurled in delicate symmetry.
“Mmm~ not bad at all. I like it. Here—take it back. No need to thank me.”
He pressed the flowering plant into Akivili’s hand.
Then extended his own.
“Care to visit a world lush with growth? I promise your little newcomers will find somewhere to take root. What do you think? Sounds tempting, doesn’t it, Akivili?”
He extended his hand with a knowing smile.
Akivili hesitated only a breath.
“Alright.”
He placed his hand in Aha’s.
In an instant, their forms dissolved—breaking apart into bubbles of varying size, rising into the sky now freed from the dissolving firmament. Sunlight struck their surfaces, scattering prismatic colors across the air.
They drifted upward—
and vanished.
Far beyond the planet, suspended in near space, a gravitational singularity shimmered into existence. Its rim glowed with an eerie cerulean light.
Too deliberate to be coincidence.
Anyone watching through a telescope would know—
something had been placed there.
Build a spacecraft.
Pass through the singularity.
There may yet be a chance.
A voice echoed faintly—resembling Moisan, former commander of the Dawn Legion.
“Fly,” it whispered.
“Fly toward the fire of dawn.”