The Fundamental Point of Divergence

Ding... ding ding...

It was the sound of the god who bore history using a stone chisel to carve sand amid history that had been burned away.

The giant sat upon the ground, seemingly unresponsive to the approach of uninvited guests. He still looked as he had in Vana's memories—old, towering, with the ravages of history etched into his face like deep grooves cut by blades and axes, tangled hair and beard, and a pair of sunken eyes.

Yet compared to the one in Vana's memories, he seemed even older and more stooped. Dim crimson Faint Light flickered across his tattered robe, as if embers still burned upon him. Tiny sparks occasionally scattered from the hem of his garment with his movements. When they fell upon the desert, they gave rise to brief, blurry phantoms.

The giant raised his arm again. Stone struck chisel, and the chisel fell against loose yellow sand, yet sparks flew as though metal and stone had collided, accompanied by a clear ringing sound. But sand was ultimately something that could not be carved—no marks remained upon it. Only the crisp sound of chiseling echoed hollowly across this boundless sea of sand.

Vana stood upright beside a dune, watching the familiar figure in the distance. After a brief hesitation, she finally followed behind the captain and cautiously took a step forward.

Then the giant's deep, hoarse voice finally broke the silence and reached her ears. "Time... is an illusion imposed by observers upon the changes in things. History, meanwhile, is the shadow cast by intelligent races within that illusion called time. To sentient observers, all meaning is founded upon 'people'... Without people, there is no meaning."

Vana stopped several meters away from the giant.

"Long ago, there were still stones here, and history could be carved