The sound of the tide echoed by the sea.
Four hundred years ago and four hundred years later, it seemed there was no difference at all.
Sunlight, stars, tides, and wind had remained unchanged for tens of thousands of years—or perhaps they had long since changed from the beginning, but human lives and history were too brief to notice.
"Lately, I sometimes find myself wondering."
On the speedboat's deck, the bearded old man sat in a folding chair, looking at the moon reflected in the sea. He suddenly spoke, saying, "If the Predecessors hadn't done so many things back then—if the Heavenly Origin Tower had been completed, and that grand undertaking of using order as a Prison cage to restrain the other Superior Virtues had somehow succeeded—would this world be better than it is now?"
"You're having another episode, aren't you?"
Between the reefs and the beach, the somewhat aged White Owl dragged a heavy iron case along with difficulty, gritted her teeth, and climbed up. "Give me a hand and put some muscle into it. All these years, how come you still have no situational awareness? Who do you think I hauled all these packages back for?"
"Oh, my thanks, my thanks."
The old man grinned and hauled both her and the case up. "I just saw how travel-worn you were and got sentimental."
"Sentimental my ass!"
White Owl took off the hat and unceremoniously claimed his seat. "The esteemed commander of Nirvana, and all you ever babble about are 'what ifs,' 'maybes,' and 'possibilities.' Every day is fantasy hour for you. Forget living—go find a Mirror celestial being to make you a dream, then sleep yourself to death."
"How could dreams be stranger than reality?"
Leaning against the rail, the commander casually plopped down on the iron case,