High above, where no mortal could ever reach, a goddess sat upon a throne of crystal.
White robes draped over her form, modest in design yet impossibly alluring—the fabric clinging as if it feared letting her go. Her eyes were bound by a veil of pure white, shielding her sight from the world below. Long, moon-pale hair cascaded down her back, swaying softly, reaching the floor like flowing light.
She listened.
To the final words of the soul she had once given a body to inhabit.
A chance—to feel alive.
This time… she felt it.
The fire within him—the quiet, stubborn flame that had carried him through countless deaths—was fading. Not violently. Not in rage.
Simply… dimming.
She heard his call.
She heard his plea.
Clear as the sky itself.
Her pink lips parted.
"…Alright," she said softly.
"I'll let you rest."
She offered no explanation.
She did not speak of why she demanded the ending of the story.
Nor why she bound him to missions.
Nor why she watched him struggle, die, and rise again.
She said nothing at all.
Instead, she brought her slender, light-white hands together—
Clap.
The sound echoed like a bell across the divine plane.
She leaned forward slightly and whispered, almost fondly,
"You really are an odd one…"
"No desire for power.
No hunger to conquer.
No wish to stand above others."
"Not arrogant.
Not resentful."
"Always humble. Always fair."
"Even when you knew they had killed you before."
"Moon… I was curious. Truly."
"What was it that kept pushing you this far?"
"Even when I gave you orders, your eyes never lingered on the cause."
"They wandered."
"They watched the world."
"You are… strange."
"Even in death—you blame no one."
"No hatred. No bitterness."
"Only wonder."
She paused.
"…You win this round."
"Even my eyes… cannot see what you truly are."
Before her thoughts could settle, another voice slipped into the space—gentle, warm, carrying comfort like sunlight after rain.
"See, Gidia? I told you."
"He was different from the rest."
"He was just a pure soul… who wanted to wander freely."
"…Ramis," Gidia replied quietly.
"I know. I just—couldn't believe it."
"I covered my eyes so I wouldn't be stained by sin."
"And yet…"
"No matter what happened to him."
"No matter how beautiful the women beside him were…"
"No lust.
No envy.
No greed."
"Just him…"
"…wanting to be free."
Ramis smiled.
"Then you know what you must do."
"We agreed on this."
"I let you play. I let you take control."
"Now…"
"You must apologize to him."
A long silence followed.
"…Alright," Gidia said at last.
"I understand."
Ramis took a step back—then suddenly stopped, raising a brow beneath her gentle smile.
"Oh?"
"What's this, Gidia?"
Gidia turned her head slightly.
"Don't read my mind."
"Fufufufu~ alright, alright," Ramis laughed.
"Do whatever you want—just don't forget to apologize."
"Bye."
"Bye, Gidia."
The presence faded.
Alone once more, Gidia smiled.
A smile so beautiful it could have captivated the universe itself.
"I'll apologize properly," she murmured.
"To you, Moon."
♤
Somewhere far below—
A soul hovered at the edge of rest.
And for the first time since the story began—
The goddess stood up from her throne.
♤
Far below—where mortals lived out their fleeting days, unaware of gods and cycles—a quiet corner of the world remained untouched.
In a forest near a narrow river, a man lay sleeping.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling his form in warm gold. A gentle wind brushed past him, stirring leaves and carrying the scent of water and earth. A great tree stood at his back, its broad shade sheltering him from the harshness of the sun.
He leaned against its trunk, unmoving.
One hand rested over his stomach.
The other lay loosely at his side.
His legs were outstretched across the soft, grassy ground.
Nearby, the river flowed on—its sound calm and rhythmic, like a lullaby whispered endlessly to the forest.
His hair was long, reaching his waist, colored the deep green of an ancient forest—rich, vivid, alive. It swayed faintly with the breeze, as if breathing along with the world itself. His eyebrows matched that same hue, framing a face that felt almost unreal.
His nose was sharp and well-defined.
His lips held a natural redness, as though warmth still lingered there.
His skin was pale—snow-white, untouched by sun or scar.
He looked less like a man…
…and more like something that had stepped out of time.
As if an immortal had laid himself down, surrendering not to death—but to rest.
The forest did not disturb him.
The river did not hurry.
Even the wind passed gently, careful not to wake him.
And for the first time in a very long while—
The world allowed him to sleep.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Once.
Then again.
At first, everything was blurred—light and shadow bleeding together. But little by little, his vision settled, the world sharpening into focus.
The river lay before him, flowing calmly. Sunlight danced across its surface, scattering reflections like shards of gold. The water moved with effortless grace, unhurried and alive.
He turned his head.
Trees surrounded him, their branches swaying gently as the wind passed through them. Vines coiled lazily around trunks and roots. Grass stretched in every direction, soft and vibrant, covering the earth like a living carpet.
The forest was breathing.
It was alive.
And so was he.
Tears welled in his eyes.
"Did that voice really… do all of this?" he whispered.
"A new life… a new beginning…"
A body that answered his will.
Limbs that moved.
Hands that obeyed.
He pushed himself up—slowly, carefully—until he was standing.
The tears fell freely now.
"I-it's real…" his voice trembled. "I—I can move."
"I can feel it…"
He lowered himself slightly, letting his fingers brush the grass. The sensation sent a shudder through him.
"I can feel the texture of the earth…"
He inhaled sharply.
"I can smell the forest…"
A broken, breathless laugh escaped him, caught between sobs.
"Hu… hu…"
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he lifted his gaze to the sky.
"Thank you," he said softly.
"Really… thank you."
"For this chance."
"Kami."
♤
The man who had grieved for everything—
the man who had begged only to rest—
was returned to the very beginning of the story once more.
This time, however, his memories were gone.
Not sealed.
Not buried.
Erased.
What remained was only the gift of a beginning.
A new life.
A new journey.
A body that answered to him alone.
There were no missions.
No commands.
No whispered expectations from above.
For him, this was not a return.
It was his first reincarnation.
He would walk forward believing this world was new.
That his freedom was real.
That his destiny belonged solely to him.
And for the first time—
It truly did.
But for the others…
They remembered.
They remembered the man who should not exist.
The one who had died too many times.
The one who had always appeared when the hero was absent.
And now—
They were searching for him.