A variable in fate

Nairmis saw himself amid a sea of fire. Orange-red flames licked at fallen stone columns, half a shaft jutting diagonally from a heap of rubble, its carvings blackened by smoke.

He lowered his head and saw several figures lying at his feet. The elves lay curled up, with no warmth of life to be felt.

Nairmis drew a sharp breath and returned from the vision to reality.

The fire before him was still burning quietly. He looked down at his hands, then raised his head and looked behind him. The elves were sitting beneath the trees, singing happily, firelight illuminating their cheeks. The entire foot of the mountain was steeped in warmth and peace.

Acenoe sat at the front, waving at him.

"Your Highness, we want to hear you play!"

Nairmis took a deep breath and brought his expression back to its usual look.

"Coming."

His tone was so light that it sounded as though nothing had happened. He walked over to his usual rock and sat down, picked up the lyre leaning against its surface, and set his fingers on the strings.

A melody poured from his fingertips, and the elves began humming along. The air was filled with carefree joy.

They ended the day amid laughter, then returned to their own spots and fell into deep sleep one by one.

Only after their breathing had become slow and even did Nairmis sit up again and take out parchment and a pen.

He recalled the images the Prophecy Godhead had just conveyed, then sat down and began sketching rapidly across the parchment.

Firelight danced in his pupils. He was so absorbed in drawing that only when the final stroke fell did he still his fingers and lower his head to examine the drawing before him.

He recognized the column in the image. It was one of the colonnade columns of the main hall of the palace they had built themselves. The scorched patterns carved into its shaft were exactly the same as those he had carved with his own hands that day.

After finishing the drawing, he looked at it quietly for a while, then laid the parchment on his knees and raised his head to look at the outline of the palace still under construction in the distance, and at the sleeping elves.

He looked at the Flame Divine Nature within him. It was giving off a faint heat, considerably stronger than it had been a month ago.

Could fluctuations in my divine power during my advancement have gone out of control and caused this disaster?

He carefully recalled the vision. It had taken place at night. And although his Flame Divine Nature had been growing slowly all along, it had never shown any signs of an uncontrollable eruption.

Then this came from outside.

He looked once more at the little ones sleeping peacefully before him. Acenoe was curled up beside a tree root, an arm draped over Dryope, the two elves nestled together.

Farther away, the mutated elves leaned against one another. They slept so deeply, so soundly, because they trusted him and believed that wherever he was would be a safe place to return to.

Everything here had taken him great effort to establish. This was a home they had all poured their hearts into building together.

But their home was not what mattered. What mattered was their group of elves. A home could be rebuilt; once they were gone, they were gone.

Nairmis lowered his gaze and carefully rolled up the parchment. He sat silently in the night for a long time before finally speaking softly. "No matter what happens, I will protect you."

At the very moment he spoke those words, the three goddesses who had only just assumed their duties on the bank of the River of Fate all stopped working.

Atropos's scissors were aimed at a silver thread. Their tips caught slightly, and the silver thread slipped out from beneath the blades on its own and escaped.

Atropos looked down at her scissors, then at the escaping thread. It reverted from its severed state, becoming whole again. Then, as though it had just broken free of some restraint, it wound through the air back to the surface of the River of Fate and merged into its flowing waters.

It was not just that one. More threads began slipping out of their control, along with silver threads that had been cut earlier. They reappeared out of the void and rejoined, becoming freely flowing filaments once more and returning to the River of Fate. Countless tiny ripples spread across the entire river.

The three goddesses were silent for a good while, quietly watching the escaping threads.

Clotho was the first to put down her spindle. Lachesis rested her ball of thread on her knees, and Atropos closed her scissors and held them in her hand. Their gazes settled on a distant direction.

Proeon. In that direction, a will was taking shape. Under its influence, the severed threads of fate were being joined back together, one by one. The dead ends that had been arranged became paths to survival at its touch, and the severed endpoints reconnected with the unfinished ends of threads.

Atropos spoke, her voice calm but carrying a trace of genuine wonder. "A variable beyond fate. Truly extraordinary."

He simply returned to sit beside a column, leaned against its cold stone surface, and closed his eyes, letting the night breeze carry him into a light sleep.

In the Night Divine Domain, Nyx leaned against her divine throne, her gaze piercing the layers of barriers around the Underworld to settle in the direction of Proeon. She watched quietly for a long time, a hint of a smile slowly rising at the corners of her lips.

The night slowly passed. By the time that familiar golden light descended from the Sky Divine Domain on schedule, Nairmis was already standing in the clearing in Proeon.

He made a reassuring gesture to the elves, then let the golden light envelop his body. Under the elves' now-accustomed gazes, he rose into the sky with the beam of light.

Follow the routine. Finish playing, get thrown out, go back to work, he silently recited, his fingers already settling naturally onto the strings.

The music echoed through the Sky Divine Domain, just as it had before.

When the piece ended, he lowered his head, closed his eyes, adjusted his posture, and straightened his back, making those familiar, safe preparations to be sent flying by the God King.

But he waited a long time, and no force came. Nairmis tentatively opened his eyes. The next second, he froze in place.

Uranus's gaze was fixed on him, utterly unmoving. Gone were his usual indolence and carelessness, replaced by a slowly tightening pressure that made every breath Nairmis took feel heavier.

Before he could react, Uranus closed one hand.

Nairmis's body was lifted into the air. His feet dangled, his limbs locked by an invisible force. He could not move even his fingers, and the lyre slipped from him.

His Emotion Divinity and Courage Divinity activated at the same time, helping him steady his consciousness. He sensed no killing intent. Then what does he want?

Uranus said nothing. He simply stood, took a step, and slowly walked toward Nairmis's suspended form. Golden light shone from his eyes as he drew closer, step by step.

Nairmis did not struggle in vain. He merely stared into those approaching golden eyes, waiting to see what he would do next.