"Sakan: You betrayed us! You wretched traitor! The Goddess should never have trusted you!"
"Xinala: I trusted you with everything... why? Why would you do this?"
Two soul voices screamed, thick with endless hatred, before fading away forever.
Orson’s heart trembled. Two God-tier Reforged... had followed the same path as him and Wedge. They too had been betrayed at the final moment by Snow Dream.
"The people you swore to protect will no longer be shackled. The Earth’s merged world will no longer suffer under the Grey Watchers’ hand. Of course... that world will also never see me again, Master. Is this ending enough for you?"
Snow Dream smiled faintly, her tone calm, carrying no resentment. As if she had foreseen this very moment long ago.
The killing intent in Orson’s eyes faltered. His heart shook violently, the pain beyond words.
"From beginning to end... I never hurt the ones you cherished, did I?"
Snow Dream whispered as she nestled in his arms. Her voice was like the first autumn rain after summer—soft, cool, and tinged with sorrow.
Orson’s lips parted, yet no words came. Only now did he realize—with Snow Dream’s cunning, hurting Blank, Bradley, or any of his comrades would have been child’s play.
The Grey Watchers’ two God-tier reforged had willingly sacrificed their souls and Soul Seals just to let Snow Dream achieve transcendence. And even when Blank left for the Endless Flame Domain in search of the Titan’s Hand, she had the perfect chance to strike.
Orson was no master of love. He was clumsy, even blind when it came to feelings between men and women. Snow Dream—what had she truly felt for him? She had chosen to stand against him, yet had never once harmed those close to him.
Impossible to understand.
And yet... her warmth was slipping away, her heartbeat fading in his embrace. Snow Dream had abandoned the thought of living on, simply holding him tightly as they sank into the abyssal waters of the lake.
That icy chill seeped into his bones. Orson opened his eyes to gaze at his disciple one last time. In his mind, her very first smile replayed—
"You’re such a liar. You did like me once, I could always tell... I always knew."
Her eyes gleamed with the innocence of first love, her tone filled with the trembling sweetness of a heart just awakened.
"Must it really end this way?"
Orson stared blankly at her, tears streaming, mingling with the dark waters.
And for the first time, he didn’t deny it. Whether it was youthful impulse or a sudden spark, he finally admitted—he had felt it too. That jolt, that rush, that thing called "falling in love."
"I’m sorry. I can’t stop. I was never mine to begin with."
His bitter smile cracked his face. Fingers trembling, he gently loosened his grip on her slender waist.
The golden olive branch appeared once more. Dark-gold robes wrapped the man who had chosen resolutely.
No one could halt the God of Magic’s will from echoing into the farthest stars. No one could stop the mortal god who bore the prayers of billions from Earth.
This was his resolve. His wish. His burden to carry.
"Do you have... anything left you want to say?"
Orson froze as Snow Dream’s frail hand clutched his sleeve.
"I didn’t lie, did I? You still lost."
Her pale lips curved into a smile that chilled him to the bone.
Orson’s whole body stiffened. Instinct screamed danger. He tried to pull free—but the simple act felt impossibly heavy.
Aurora Bloodline: Absolute Bind.
[Warning: You are being eroded by Primordial Blood. In 5 seconds, you will lose control of your body.]
[Warning: In 5 seconds, your spells, artifacts, divine items, summons, and resurrection effects will be sealed.]
A scarlet debuff icon appeared in his status bar: [Aurora Seal]. Duration: Permanent.
"What... what are you doing?!" Orson’s roar shook with disbelief, cold dread racing down his spine.
Snow Dream didn’t answer. Her face, drained of color, turned solemn.
"Divine Domain: Perfect Spacetime."
Her arm began to petrify. The blood staining Orson’s chest warped, twisting space itself into a spiraling vortex. A pull stronger than gravity tore at him.
With a deafening crack, a soul-light burst from his back. His very spirit was ripped out, leaving his body limp and lifeless, still cradling Snow Dream as they sank into the depths.
"What... what’s happening?!"
Panic gripped him. He had interrupted the Grail’s ritual—why was he still ensnared?
Then the truth struck like lightning.
She had never intended to win.
Snow Dream’s ambition wasn’t to surpass him. It was to drag him with her into the abyss.
She had left those glaring openings on purpose, to make him strike her down. To force him to admit he had once cared. To trap him in regret.
Even the nine God reforged had only ever been pieces on her board. And she herself? She had offered her life as the final piece.
That was her "victory."
This was her unfathomable depth—the disciple of the God of Magic, walking the razor’s edge between light and shadow.
Not loyal to gods nor mortals. Loyal only to her chosen end.
And that end... was him.
"Am I truly worth this?" Orson whispered in the silence of his own soul.
"You always were. Please, stop ignoring my love. I was always worthy of yours."
Her voice echoed inside him, gentle, resolute.
He should hate her. He should rage. But he didn’t. Perhaps it was the guilt, buried deep, for never answering her heart.
Time stilled. His soul adrift.
[World Reconstruction in Progress...]
[Target memories: modified.]
[Target history: modified.]
[Countdown: 3...2...1...]
[Perfect World initializing.]
A cold, alien voice filled his mind. Static followed.
When Orson jolted awake, sweat drenched his skin. He turned, groggy, to slap his alarm clock off.
A woman stepped into the room, apron tied neatly around her waist, a tray in her hands. Her beauty was gentle, domestic, her smile soft as she leaned against the doorframe.
"You’re ridiculous. A grown man, still shaken by bad dreams. You even kept me up all night with your tossing."
Orson stretched, rubbing his temples with a weak laugh. "Weirdest dream—dragons, knights, mages... all out to kill me. Guess I’ve been gaming too much at the studio."
"You? Gaming? You’ve been retired for years. Reflexes dull, your hands slow. That’s what happens when middle age hits, old man."
She teased him with a grin.
Orson chuckled thickly, shameless, sliding an arm around her waist. "Then I’ll just train harder. Can’t let my employees mock their boss, right, Riley?"
Snow Dream—her cheeks flushed pink—pushed at his chest with mock annoyance. "Enough nonsense. Today’s the SSR championship anniversary. Six years, remember? Get up already!"
Orson murmured, pulling on his pants as his eyes drifted to the poster on the wall.
The golden rain still fell in that frozen moment.
That young man lifted the Sword and Conquest world trophy high, shouting to the skies.
Still brimming with fire. Still unbroken.