Chapter 661 - 64: Demigod

Chapter 661: Chapter 64: Demigod

My room isn’t like this.

I remember my room had a row of stuffed animals—a faded old rabbit, a new little bear with fluffy fur—all crowded together on the nightstand.

I also remember a faint indentation on the bedsheets, almost smoothed out, with just the slightest curve of an impression left.

I remember a faint, sweet scent hanging in the air.

’But is this bedroom mine?’

’Or is it my parents’ bedroom?’

’Do I even have parents?’

The moment that question popped into my head, I froze.

’Of course I do.’

’Who doesn’t have parents?’

’Where would someone without parents come from?’

’Born from a stone?’

The very idea was absurd.

I must have been groggy from sleep to be asking myself such a question.

’Forget it.’

’Don’t overthink it.’

I turned and continued walking toward the living room.

The floorboard beneath my feet let out a soft CREAK. The sound was so familiar that I knew it was the third floorboard without even looking down.

The third one from the bedroom door. It always creaked when I stepped on it.

I stepped back, then walked over that floorboard again.

Sure enough, it let out another CREAK, exactly as I remembered.

’See? I’ve lived here for so long that I even remember which floorboard creaks. How could this not be my home, my bedroom?’

The light in the living room seemed a little brighter than in the bedroom, different from before, but not by much.

A hazy gray light filtered in through the window, dyeing the outlines of everything in the same indistinct color.

It brought with it a feeling of warmth.

The sofa rested against the wall. Its dark gray fabric was a bit worn, and there was a slight indentation in the cushion, pressed in from years of me sitting in the same spot.

A cup sat on the coffee table, with a few sunflower seed shells scattered beside it, probably from when I was watching TV last night.

The old LCD television on the wall was dark, its screen like a piece of black glass reflecting the pitch-black living room.

Everything was so normal.

I walked over to the sofa and stood there, my hands hanging at my sides.

’What was I supposed to be doing?’

’Just now, in the bedroom, Mom and Dad said... run the business, make good money.’

’Right, the business.’

’My family owns a restaurant. I need to be in the shop, waiting for customers to come eat.’

’But there are no customers right now.’

’Does that mean I have nothing to do?’

’No, that’s not right. I remember the bowl and chopsticks the Elder used haven’t been washed yet. I have to wash them.’

I walked to the dining table, picked up the white porcelain bowl, and turned to enter the kitchen.

I turned on the faucet. The stream of water washed over the bottom of the porcelain bowl, the light-colored soup stains slowly dissolving under the jet and flowing over the rim into the drain.

I squeezed a little dish soap onto a cloth, worked it into a lather, and then scrubbed the inside of the bowl in circles.

The foam was fine, slipping and sliding between my fingers, carrying a fresh lemon scent.

I turned the bowl over, washed its base, then its rim, making sure every corner was scrubbed before placing it back under the faucet to rinse.

The water washed away the foam, revealing the clean, white porcelain surface. It was spotless, as if it were new.

And then—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

A frantic knocking sounded at the door.

...

「The plane of Kronos.」

「Eira Village.」

A wind blew in from the plains, carrying the scent of earth and fresh grass.

A spatial rift hovered over a high platform at the edge of Eira Village, like a vertical wound.

It pulsed, expanding and contracting. With each contraction, it leaked several wisps of grayish-white airflow, making the surrounding air hum.

A woman in her twenties stood at the edge of the platform, her hands held out in front of her, fingers spread, palms facing the rift.

Pale golden light flowed from her palms like countless threads, stitching themselves into the edges of the rift in an attempt to pull its slowly separating borders back together.

"Sister."

A small voice drifted from behind her, carried against the wind.

The woman didn’t turn around. Her long hair was blown back by the wind, revealing a high forehead and a pair of gray-blue eyes.

A White Robe enveloped her slender body, a simple knot tied at her waist. The hem of her garment whipped about in the wind.

"Sera, what are you doing here?"

The little girl rounded her side and came to stand before her.

She was about seven or eight years old, dressed in a White Robe similar in style to her sister’s, only much shorter. The hem reached just to her knees, revealing a pair of mud-stained sandals.

Her hair was tied back in a ponytail with a white ribbon. Her round face was rosy, and her gray-blue eyes sparkled as she held up a wooden tray with a bowl of soup and half a loaf of bread, carefully presenting it to her sister.

"It’s time. I brought you your meal."

Sera tilted her head back and raised the tray a little higher, her chin nearly touching the rim of the bowl.

The woman glanced down at her little sister, the light from her hands never ceasing.

"Just put it to the side. I’ll eat in a bit."

"You say that every time."

Sera pouted and gently placed the tray on the stone railing at the edge of the platform. Then she turned, stood on her tiptoes, and peered over the railing. She rested her chin on the rough stone surface, her gray-blue eyes fixed on the rift, its unstable, grayish-white light reflected in her pupils.

"Sister," she began, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and nervousness, "hasn’t this Ephialtes always been quiet? Why did it suddenly open?"

"The front lines have been unstable recently," the woman said, her voice even. "It opened under the breath of the Power of Qi."

Sera let out an "oh" of partial understanding, rubbing her chin on the stone railing as she watched a while longer.

The wind blew her bangs askew, plastering a few stray strands of hair to her cheek.

She reached up to tuck them behind her ear, her fingers picking up a smudge of dust.

"Sister," she asked again, her voice a little softer, "when will the war be over?"

The woman didn’t answer right away.

The light in her palms brightened, and the few threads at the rift’s edge that had been coming loose pulled taut again, snapping back into place.

The corners of her mouth curved slightly into a confident, easy smile.

"Soon. Once the invaders are slain by the Demigods, the war will be over very soon."

Sera’s eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Really."

The woman’s voice was gentle. The light flowed steadily from her palms, pushing the boundaries on both sides of the rift back bit by bit. The grayish-white edges slowly converged in her hands, like a flower closing its petals.

Just as Sera was about to say something else—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

The sound came from deep within the rift.

Muffled and powerful, as if something on the other side was striking the healing fissure with its fist, or perhaps a sledgehammer.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

All in quick succession.

Sera jumped in fright and took a step back, her small hand clutching her sister’s hem.

The woman’s movements faltered for a moment.

Her gray-blue eyes stared into the chaotic darkness deep within the rift, her pupils constricting slightly.

The light from her palms flared, her breathing quickened, and her chest rose and fell more sharply.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Three more knocks.

And these three were even more frantic.

The grayish-white light at the rift’s edge flashed violently, as if a startled eye had been jolted open.

The pale golden threads stitched along the border simultaneously pulled taut, emitting a series of humming sounds.

The woman’s fingers trembled spasmodically, and her lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

Sera buried her face in her sister’s robes, peeking out with only half an eye. She stared at the rift, her face pale, her muffled voice tinged with tears. "Sister... what is that?"

The woman forced a smile. "It’s nothing. Just the climax of the Power of Qi’s breath, like how you get winded when you run."

Despite her words, she pushed her palms forward with more force. The pale golden threads grew thicker and the light intensified, as if trying to press something back down with all its might.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

However—

The knocking grew more frantic, one strike after another, like a sledgehammer pounding on a steel plate, as if something was desperate to break through from the other side.