"Alright, Osman," Odin said in a patient but firm tone, resting a massive hand on the boy’s head. "Your sister Alice and I have so serious matters to discuss. Go on now—go play."
As he spoke, he lightly tapped Osman’s forehead with a knuckle.
"Ouch!" The boy yelped softly, rubbing the sore spot, his small face scrunching into a pout. Still, he obediently turned to Alice, gave an exaggerated bow, and muttered a reluctant farewell.
In the blink of an eye, his figure flickered and vanished—reappearing several hundred ters away, already darting off into the golden sands.
Alice exhaled a quiet laugh and with a simple wave of her hand, a barrier shimred into existence around them—soundproof, lightproof, untraceable. Her voice beca composed and professional once more.
"The latest round of the routine investigation has concluded," she began evenly. "And I must say, this ti we uncovered quite a few... fascinating details."
The entirety of Highmount Castle was now wrapped within an enormous protective do of layered energy. The barrier humd softly, ensuring that not a whisper of their conversation could be detected from the outside.
Alice’s gaze drifted through the crowd below, past soldiers and mages, until it settled upon a particular figure—a young man standing at the edge of the courtyard.
"Odin," she said with a small smile, "your eldest son, Edmonton, has finally broken through to the Fake God level. Congratulations."
Odin’s expression, however, darkened instead of brightening. He sighed heavily.
"Tell sothing, Alice," he said, rubbing his beard. "How long did it take you—from your Awakening Ceremony to when you ascended to Fake God?"
Alice tilted her head, thinking. "From the ceremony itself?" she repeated softly, then counted on her fingers. "Roughly... two years."
"Exactly! You see the difference?" Odin snapped, gesturing toward the young man with clear frustration.
"Look at him! That boy took twenty thousand years—twenty thousand!—to reach Fake God rank. If that’s not a waste of potential, then what is it? How in all heavens did I end up with such a disappointing son?"
His booming voice echoed through the hall, half anger, half bitter humor.
Alice’s smile remained calm and elegant; she had long since grown used to Odin’s temper. She had changed a lot over the millennia. Gone was the naive, uncertain girl who once stood in Daniel’s shadow. Now she was poised, asured, and infinitely more composed.
"Honestly," she said gently, "becoming a Fake God at all is an enormous achievent. It’s easy to forget how difficult it truly is. Rember, most of the current generation doesn’t have His Majesty Daniel’s direct guidance. Without his intervention back then, I doubt either of us would have ascended so smoothly."
Odin fell silent for a long mont, her words cooling his temper. He eventually gave a slow, reluctant nod.
"Perhaps," he muttered. "Perhaps you’re right."
Sensing the mood, Alice gracefully let the topic drop.
They stood as equals now—two of humanity’s oldest surviving Fake Gods. Their friendship was steady and long forged by shared mories, and neither wished to sour the atmosphere with needless pride or reproach.
Just then, the air trembled with a distant boom.
Both turned instinctively toward the source of the sound. Far to the east—several hundred kiloters away—sand billowed into the sky like a storm.
Alice’s sharp eyes pierced the haze. There, in the middle of the desert, she could make out the small, familiar figure of Osman—her smile faintly returning.
The timid boy from a mont ago was now clinging excitedly to the head of a World Rank Boss, a monstrous beast easily over level 200, waving his arms like a child riding a carnival beast.
"Hey! You’re so slow!" Osman’s high-pitched voice carried faintly through the air as he pounded the creature’s skull with his fists. "Run faster, you big dummy!"
The beast—massive enough to crush mountains—stumbled, lost its footing, and crashed down in a thunderous collapse.
Alice didn’t even flinch.
She had seen this sort of absurdity too many tis before.
Even though Daniel, the Human Emperor, had long since departed from this era, his blessing upon humanity remained woven into their blood and soul.
The human race had ascended far beyond the realm of re mortals. They were now a superior species—their very existence under the protection of divine law.
Even without Daniel’s presence, the blessings and boons he’d bestowed upon them continued to operate eternally.
Thus, though Osman looked frail—small, emotional, easily frightened—when it ca down to strength, he was anything but ordinary.
A single careless move from him could shatter mountains or bring a World Rank creature to its knees.
Alice’s gaze softened. She turned back to Odin, her tone touched with nostalgia.
"I never imagined ti would pass this quickly," she murmured. "It’s been tens of thousands of years... yet the mories from back then still feel so vivid. It’s like it all happened yesterday."
Odin nodded gravely. "You’re not wrong," he said, his deep voice thick with reminiscence. "I never thought the flow of ti could move this fast. Those three days back then... those three short days changed more than thirty thousand years ever could."
"The things we experienced in that brief mont—no age can compare."
They fell silent for a ti, both lost in mory.
They were now more than thirty thousand years old, yet neither bore the faintest trace of age. Their appearances were identical to the day Daniel had left—the sa faces, the sa forms frozen in ageless perfection.
It was no mystery. For beings of the Fake God rank, lifespans were asured not in thousands, but in hundreds of thousands of years. Thirty millennia was barely a tenth of their natural life.
After a pause, Odin suddenly frowned, a spark of curiosity flaring in his eyes.
"By the way," he said, turning toward her, "you ntioned ’interesting intelligence’ earlier. What exactly did you find?"
Alice’s expression shifted into a faintly amused smirk. Her eyes glimred with intrigue.
"Well," she began slowly, "during my investigation I visited the Elental Races. And while I was there, I ca across a rather extraordinary young man. A true prodigy, unlike any I’ve seen in millennia. His na is—Faer."
Odin froze. "Wait—what?!"
"You heard ," Alice confird. "Faer."
The older warrior stared at her in disbelief. His face went through several shades of shock before he finally burst out in astonished laughter.
"Unbelievable! You an to tell that we’ve actually lived to witness the birth of a god? Of all the luck—hah!"
He clapped his massive hands together, shaking his head with sothing between awe and resignation.
Alice’s smile deepened, but her tone turned slightly more serious.
"That’s not all. I also heard rumors of a young woman—her na is Laeve. Apparently, she’s been searching the world for us."
"For us?" Odin echoed, brow furrowing.
"She’s looking for a specific kind of plant," Alice continued thoughtfully. "One tied to her lineage, perhaps. Or to an ancient divine ritual."
Odin’s jaw tightened as he processed the na. His expression turned awkward, almost pained.
"Laeve... So it is the sa one I’m thinking of, isn’t it?"
Alice sighed softly. "I’m afraid so. If my guess is correct, it’s exactly who you think it is."
For a brief mont, the two veterans simply stared at each other, both letting out a long, synchronized sigh.
They hadn’t expected this—hadn’t realized how far ti had carried them, or how strange the new era had beco.
These future gods—Faer, Laeve, and others—had erged in ways neither of them could have predicted, shaped by the echoes of Daniel’s influence and the shifting laws of the universe itself.
"Do you think," Odin asked quietly, "we should et this Laeve? Speak to her, maybe?"
Alice hesitated, her silver hair glinting under the light of the barrier. She thought for a long mont, then slowly shook her head.
"I don’t think that would be wise," she said. "At least not in this age. We’ve survived by staying quiet. The less the world knows of us, the better."
She glanced around at the towering spires of Highmount Castle, her expression distant.
"Rember why we built this fortress in the first place? We wanted to disappear—to withdraw from the flow of history until the right ti ca. That was the purpose of Project Hope: preservation through obscurity."
Odin’s shoulders relaxed slightly as understanding dawned. He looked up toward the heavens, his weathered eyes reflecting the eternal light of the barrier above.
"I suppose you’re right," he said softly.
"After all, the chronicles of the future never ntion us. That ans we were either wiped out completely... or we hid ourselves so well that no one ever found us."
His voice lowered to a murmur.
"Daniel, my Emperor... if it were you standing here—what would you choose?"
The words hung in the silent air, unanswered, swallowed by the tiless hum of the barrier.
Far above them, the stars shimred faintly, as though the universe itself was listening.
And sowhere beyond the boundaries of ti, perhaps Daniel really was listening—watching, from a place where fate and eternity intertwined.
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