In a realm detached from time, space, and mortal perception, a garden stretched endlessly beneath a sky that never quite settled on a color.

  It wasn’t day.

  It wasn’t night.

  The sky glowed in a constant state of twilight, painted in soft hues of gold and indigo, as if the sun lingered eternally just below the horizon. Massive trees with crystalline leaves swayed gently without wind. Rivers of liquid light flowed lazily through the land, whispering secrets older than worlds.

  At the center of it all sat a boy.

  Fukui, the God of Fortune, lounged at the edge of a wide, mirror-like pond. His emerald-green hair shimmered faintly as he dipped his fingers into the water, sending ripples across the surface. Each wave reflected not his image but fragments of fate itself.

  Kingdoms falling.

  Cities burning.

  Golden threads snapping and reforming.

  A young man standing against impossible odds.

  Fukui sighed.

  “Tch… you’re really going and doing it now, huh, Yukio?”

  He flicked his fingers, and the visions vanished.

  The garden shifted.

  Light bent.

  And behind him, reality folded softly inward.

  A presence emerged.

  White feathers brushed the air as an angel stepped into existence, her form graceful and composed. Her hair flowed like pale silver, tinged faintly with lavender, and her wings shimmered with a glow that felt neither warm nor cold, only inevitable.

  She bowed her head.

  “Lord Fukui.”

  Fukui didn’t turn around.

  “Zeriel,”

  He said lazily.

  “You’re early.”

  She straightened, her golden eyes calm but weighted with something unspoken.

  “You know very well that time does not apply here.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Fukui waved a hand.

  “Still. You showing up means it’s serious.”

  Zeriel stepped closer, her bare feet never touching the ground.

  “The Divine Council has convened,”

  She said,

  “They are requesting your presence.”

  Fukui tilted his head back, staring up at the unmoving sky.

  “Requesting,”

  He echoed.

  “That’s new.”

  Zeriel hesitated for half a second.

  “…They are demanding it.”

  Fukui groaned dramatically, floating backward until he hovered upside-down above the pond.

  “Ughhh. I knew this was coming. I knew it.”

  Zeriel folded her hands neatly in front of her.

  “My lord, we both know why they are calling you.”

  He stopped mid-spin.

  “…Yeah.”

  Silence lingered between them.

  The garden seemed to listen.

  “The Threads and the wheel.”

  Fukui muttered.

  “Figures.”

  “You granted a mortal access to something forbidden even among the gods,”

  Zeriel said softly.

  “Not just influence over fate… but awareness of it.”

  Fukui smirked.

  “Awareness is such a scary word when you say it like that.”

  Zeriel’s gaze sharpened slightly.

  “Do not pretend this is a game, my lord.”

  Fukui flipped upright, landing lightly on the air.

  “I never do.”

  She stepped closer, lowering her voice.

  “They are afraid,”

  She continued.

  “Not of the demons. Not of the war. They are afraid because you have introduced a variable they cannot predict.”

  Fukui shrugged.

  “Sounds like a them problem.”

  Zeriel’s wings fluttered faintly.

  “If you continue to ignore them, they will act on their own.”

  Fukui’s smile faded.

  “…And that,”

  He said quietly,

  “Would be bad for everyone.”

  She nodded.

  “So,”

  Zeriel asked gently,

  “Will you continue to avoid them?”

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  He stared into the pond again.

  Golden threads reappeared, tangled and fraying, weaving around a single point of blinding probability.

  Yukio.

  “…Nah,”

  Fukui sighed.

  “I’ll talk them down. Like always.”

  Zeriel watched him carefully.

  “And if they refuse to listen?”

  Fukui’s grin returned slow, sharp, and dangerous.

  “Then I’ll remind them why fortune was never meant to be controlled.”

  The air trembled.

  Zeriel bowed deeply.

  “As you wish, Lord Fukui.”

  He floated upward, stretching like a bored child dragged to a meeting.

  “Alright, alright. Let’s go get yelled at.”

  Light began to gather around them.

  But just before it swallowed them whole, Fukui glanced back at the garden one last time.

  “…Don’t die yet, Yukio,”

  He murmured.

  “I’m not done betting on you.”

  The light flared.

  The garden vanished.

  And the God of Fortune stepped toward judgment.

  The fortress had settled into an uneasy calm.

  On the first floor, away from the bustle of soldiers and mercenaries, Yukio sat slumped at a heavy wooden table, face completely planted against the surface.

  Groan.

  Michibiki stood beside him, gently patting his head in slow, steady motions.

  “And this,”

  She said softly,

  “is why you need to train more with the Threads.”

  Yukio’s voice came out muffled against the wood.

  “They take… such a massive toll…”

  She sighed.

  “They always will. Especially when you push them.”

  Yukio lifted his head just enough to glare weakly in her direction. The world spun instantly, and he wobbled before slumping back down.

  “I didn’t think it’d hit me this fast,”

  He muttered.

  “I usually last longer. Or… maybe it’s because I used a new move and mixed spells while making the cream?”

  He lifted his head again and immediately regretted it.

  A thin line of blood trickled from his nose.

  “…This sucks,”

  He groaned.

  “I want a refund. I’ll trade this ability for literally anything else.”

  Vaelora didn’t answer.

  “Where’s Fukui when you need him?”

  Yukio muttered bitterly.

  Heavy footsteps approached.

  Kaede walked up, a massive bag of gold slung over her shoulder. She dropped it onto the table with a solid thud.

  “Here’s our reward,”

  She grinned.

  “And extra. Captain said he’ll personally deal with those punks.”

  She glanced at Yukio.

  “…What’s wrong with him?”

  Michibiki wiped the blood from Yukio’s nose with a cloth, her expression calm but concerned.

  “Backlash,”

  She explained.

  “He has a large mana pool, but his body can’t keep up with how much power he’s constantly forcing through it.”

  Kaede frowned.

  “Tch. Idiot.”

  She reached into her pouch and pulled out a small crystal vial filled with shimmering liquid.

  “Here. Advanced potion. Drink it.”

  Yukio peeked up at her.

  “You just… had that?”

  Kaede crossed her arms.

  “I already knew you were gonna pull something reckless.”

  Michibiki gently tilted Yukio’s head back and fed him the potion. He winced at the taste but swallowed it down.

  “…Better?”

  She asked.

  Yukio leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded.

  “Still dizzy,”

  He admitted.

  “But I’ll live.”

  Kaede let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

  “Good.”

  She turned away quickly, face warming.

  “Dibs on carrying him.”

  Michibiki blinked.

  “What?”

  “Dibs.”

  “…Why?”

  Kaede looked away, ears burning.

  “Because… just dibs.”

  Before Michibiki could argue, Kaede crouched down and hoisted Yukio onto her back.

  “Hey!”

  Yukio started, then went quiet as she took off.

  The wind surged.

  They lifted into the air as Kaede ran along invisible platforms of compressed wind, Yukio clinging weakly to her shoulders.

  Her heart pounded.

  I can feel his breath on my neck…

  Her face burned.

  This is weird. Really weird…

  …But kind of nice.

  Behind them, Michibiki floated calmly, watching Kaede with an amused smile.

  Then she rolled her eyes.

  “…Honestly.”

  The fortress shrank beneath them as the trio headed back, one exhausted Yukio, one flustered Kaede, and one Michibiki already used to looking after Yukio.

  And somewhere far beyond the sky…

  The gods were beginning to stir.

  A star-filled void stretched endlessly in every direction.

  Nebulae shimmered like drifting embers, constellations twisting slowly as if the cosmos itself were listening. At the center of this infinite expanse sat a massive, curved table forged from pure celestial light, its surface etched with ancient sigils older than time.

  Ten figures occupied the seats.

  They were gods.

  Each radiated an overwhelming presence, dominion over concepts, laws, and forces mortals could never comprehend. Time distorted subtly around them, bending to their will.

  And standing below them, floating lazily in the air with his hands behind his head, was Fukui.

  He yawned loudly.

  “So,”

  He said, stretching mid-air,

  “What do you old farts want now?”

  The atmosphere shifted.

  A ripple of divine irritation rolled across the council.

  One of the gods leaned forward, their form wreathed in blazing gold.

  “That boy is a disaster waiting to happen,”

  The god said coldly.

  “A mortal wielding the Threads of Fate and the Wheel of Providence? Have you lost your mind?”

  Another god slammed their hand against the table, stars flickering in response.

  “You never listen, Fukui,”

  They snapped.

  “That human will throw everything out of balance. Destiny is not a toy.”

  Fukui barely glanced at them. He waved his hand dismissively, flicking imaginary dust from his fingers.

  “Uh huh. Yep. Heard that one before.”

  A third god spoke, voice sharp with fury.

  “You gave him forbidden authority. Power that once belonged to her.”

  A pause, heavy and deliberate.

  “The Goddess of Destiny.”

  The void trembled faintly.

  Fukui picked at his nails, uninterested.

  One of the gods rose from their seat, divine pressure spiking violently.

  “If you continue to defy the council,”

  They growled,

  “We will be forced to eliminate the mortal.”

  The stars dimmed.

  Fukui stopped moving.

  Slowly, he looked up.

  His left eye flashed a brilliant emerald green.

  “No,”

  He said quietly.

  The space collapsed inward.

  An invisible pressure crushed down on the council, forcing even gods to tense, their divine forms flickering under the strain. The table cracked with radiant fractures as reality itself groaned.

  Fukui floated closer, his playful demeanor gone.

  His voice split one childish, the other vast and ancient.

  “Remember who you’re talking to.”

  The stars froze.

  “I hold dominion over Fortune,”

  He continued.

  “Over Fate.”

  “Over Destiny.”

  His gaze burned.

  “Without me, your prophecies are guesses. Your outcomes are lies.”

  The gods faltered.

  Even the most arrogant among them shifted uneasily.

  Fukui straightened, the pressure easing just enough for the council to breathe.

  “That boy is under my watch,”

  He said.

  “And you will do nothing to him.”

  He turned away, already bored again.

  “If that was all,”

  He yawned,

  “I’ll be heading back to my realm.”

  A figure stepped beside him, an angel clad in pale silver and dawn-hued gold. Her long white hair glowed faintly, like the sky moments before sunrise.

  Zeriel.

  Her title echoed softly through the void.

  Herald of the First Light.

  Without another word, Fukui snapped his fingers.

  The pressure vanished.

  The stars resumed their motion.

  And in a flash of green-gold radiance, Fukui and Zeriel disappeared.

  The Divine Council sat in silence.

  For the first time in eons…

  The gods were afraid.

  Evening settled gently over Primordia, lanterns flickering to life one by one as the trio entered Candessa’s shop. The familiar hum of trade had died down, replaced by the softer rustle of paperwork and the faint clink of glassware being organized for the night.

  Kaede still carried Yukio on her back, steady as ever, while Michibiki followed close behind. As soon as they stepped into Candessa’s office, the woman looked up from her desk and immediately smiled.

  “Well, I’ll say,”

  Candessa said, crossing the room with amused curiosity.

  “I’d like to be him right now.”

  Her gaze softened as she noticed Yukio fast asleep, cheek pressed lightly against Kaede’s shoulder.

  “What happened to him out there?”

  “Mana backlash,”

  Michibiki replied calmly.

  “He overdid it. Again. He’ll explain when he wakes up.”

  Kaede carefully lowered Yukio onto the couch, adjusting him so he wouldn’t roll off.

  “Some idiots tried to steal his armor,”

  She added.

  “Didn’t go well for them. He still wiped the floor with everyone.”

  Candessa let out a soft laugh, folding her arms as she looked down at him.

  “Of course he did. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  She turned and walked back toward her desk, tapping it once thoughtfully before spinning around with a bright smile.

  “Perfect timing, actually. Tonight, at my mansion, I’ll be hosting a debutante ball. We’ll be showcasing the lighter officially and unveiling our second newest product.”

  Her eyes gleamed with excitement.

  “The Moonpetal Dew Cream.”

  She clapped her hands once.

  “Allen!”

  Almost instantly, Allen appeared, wheeling in a large enchanted wardrobe that seemed to shift and shimmer as it moved.

  Candessa gestured proudly.

  “I already had gowns prepared for the both of you.”

  Kaede stared at the wardrobe, then slowly looked back at Yukio.

  “What about him?”

  Candessa’s smile turned playful.

  “Our best man already has a custom-made suit waiting. Tailored perfectly.”

  She glanced at Yukio again.

  “So he’d better wake up soon. I can’t have him sleeping for another two weeks.”

  Michibiki walked over to the couch and gently brushed her fingers against Yukio’s cheek.

  “I’ll wake him.”

  Yukio stirred, brows knitting together as he let out a groan.

  “Mm… no more threads…”

  Michibiki leaned closer.

  “Yukio.”

  One eye cracked open.

  “Did we win?”

  Kaede snorted.

  “You passed out on my back, idiot.”

  Yukio blinked, then slowly sat up, rubbing his head.

  “Ah… right. Fortress. Ghouls. Jerks.”

  Candessa leaned in, smiling brightly.

  “Good. Yukio, you’re awake. Because you’re attending a ball tonight.”

  Yukio froze.

  “…A what?”

  Michibiki smiled sweetly.

  “A debutante ball.”

  Kaede crossed her arms, grinning.

  “And you’re wearing a suit.”

  Yukio groaned and flopped back onto the couch.

  “I should’ve stayed unconscious.”

  Candessa laughed, already signaling Allen to bring out the outfits.

  “Too late. Tonight, you’re part of something big.”