Adam materialized on the rooftop where he'd left Merlin, the transition from divine realm to mortal world as seamless as stepping through a door. The afternoon sun hung at the same angle—time moved differently in his father's domain.
Merlin sat cross-legged on the rooftop's edge, completely absorbed in a small rectangular device in his hands. His thumbs moved across its surface with the practiced ease of someone who'd spent years doing exactly this.
"So," Merlin said without looking up, "your father created this world."
Adam blinked. "What?"
Merlin gestured vaguely with the phone. "I'm on the internet. Reading history. The founding myths, the origin stories, the religious texts." He finally looked up, a strange expression on his face. "They all point to one creator. One being who shaped everything. And I can feel it—his energy is woven into the fabric of this reality. It's subtle, but it's there." He paused. "It's your dad."
