A day, or a century, may have passed. Time, in Lucretia's half-formed world, still refused to be measured. She remained asleep, her mana gently pulsing through the sands as the tiny sapling beside her stood vigil. It swayed gently in a wind that did not blow.
Then, once more, the sky cracked.
A rift tore across the sky with an echo like breaking glass. The magic circle reappeared, its glyphs now shifting with more urgency. From it, a pair of boots flailed wildly through the portal, followed by a tumble of limbs and feathers. Nigihayami returned, with a new companion.
"Oof!" she grunted as she landed headfirst in the sand, her wings awkwardly bent. "Okay, not my best entrance. Still counts. Still cool."
Behind her, a boy with black wings stepped through more carefully. He had messy black hair, sharp eyes, and a slouch that screamed reluctance. His arms were crossed, and his expression teetered between confusion and irritation.
"You dragged me here," he muttered.
"Rescued," Nigihayami corrected, dusting herself off. "There's a difference. Trust me."
"You tied me up in a glowing rope and dropped me through a portal."
"...Details."
The boy sighed and looked around. The pale sands, the single tree, the silence. "This place is weird."
"You're one to talk," Nigihayami said, pointing at his wings. "Anyway, welcome to... uh, a world of white sand and one very ambitious tree."
"Who is she?"
Nigihayami gave a theatrical wave toward the sleeping figure. "That's her, Lucretia. Future creator goddess, still in training wheels. Currently out of mana and out cold. And seriously, don't poke her. She might accidentally sprout another tree in her sleep."
But the quiet was short-lived.
", And that's why dimensional rope should never be used with banana incantations!" Nigihayami declared, loudly and proudly.
A soft groan escaped from the sand. Lucretia stirred, her brow furrowing. Her eyelids fluttered open, golden eyes blinking groggily.
"...Was someone shouting about bananas?"
Nigihayami clapped her hands together. "Ah! Look who's awake! Our sleepy goddess graces us with her return!"
Lucretia sat up slowly, rubbing her temple. "My head feels like it got hit by a mana storm."
"Technically, it kind of did. That sapling really drained you," Nigihayami said, pointing to the small tree now standing taller beside her. "But hey, look! It didn't die! Neither did you! Progress."
Lucretia's gaze drifted to the new face beside her. She blinked again. "...Who's the moody one?"
The boy crossed his arms defensively. "Wildan. I didn't want to come here. She made me."
Nigihayami beamed. "I rescued you. You're welcome."
Lucretia chuckled softly, her strength slowly returning. The world around her pulsed faintly in response to her awakening, like it had been holding its breath, and now could exhale.
Thus began the strange trio. Nigihayami resumed teaching Lucretia whenever she woke, briefly, groggily. The boy, introduced as Wildan, mostly watched, arms crossed, eyes thoughtful. But little by little, he offered advice too. Tips on balance, on mana flow, on focusing the will.
Wildan, it turned out, had his own magic: shadow-tinged, quiet, precise. Where Nigihayami was loud and erratic, Wildan was calm and deliberate. He built a small house beside Lucretia's with magic and stone, then started helping shape the landscape, a pond, a few gentle hills, a path of smooth stones. His presence grounded the chaotic energy Nigihayami brought into Lucretia's life.
He spoke little, but when he did, it carried weight. One evening, as Lucretia practiced shaping mana into light, the orb flickering with instability, Wildan simply said, "Don't force it. Just let it respond."
The orb steadied.
Together, they helped Lucretia's world grow. Slowly. Quietly. The tree at the heart of the world continued to grow as well, taller, broader, and more vibrant. But it was not by Lucretia's will. The tree responded instead to the lingering mana left behind by her unconscious creation. It grew as if on instinct, feeding on the ambient magic in the air.
Sometimes, Lucretia would sit at its base, wondering what the tree would become. A monument? A beacon? Or simply a reminder?
As the days, or however long time stretched here, passed, Lucretia grew stronger. Her lessons with Nigihayami became longer, more focused. They practiced weaving basic elemental magic, learning how intent shaped spellcasting. Nigihayami, though clumsy in her delivery, held deep wells of knowledge. She once conjured a raincloud that accidentally soaked Wildan's home. Her apology came in the form of conjured cookies, most of which exploded.
Wildan raised an eyebrow. "Why do your cookies sparkle?"
"Because they're special!"
"They taste like static."
"You're welcome."
But change was inevitable.
One quiet evening, as the horizon shimmered with soft mana light, Nigihayami stood silently watching the sky. Her expression, usually playful, turned solemn.
"It's time," she said softly.
Lucretia blinked. "Time for what?"
"I have to go back," Nigihayami replied, forcing a smile. "As a subordinate of an archangel, I'm still a soldier. There's a war going on in Asgard... and they need me."
Lucretia stood slowly. "Will you come back?"
Nigihayami hesitated, then reached into her robe and pulled out a glowing magic stone. It pulsed with gentle light, warm and resonant.
"This is for you," she said, placing it gently in Lucretia's hand. "A little gift, from one troublemaker to another. Call it a token of thanks... or maybe payment for letting my moody friend crash in your world rent-free."
"Nigihayami, "
"Hey," she interrupted, flicking Lucretia's forehead with a grin, though her voice wavered, "Don't make that face. You've got Wildan here. He's grumpy, but dependable."
Wildan didn't protest.
With one last, clumsy wave, Nigihayami summoned a portal with a swirl of light and vanished into the sky. The rift closed slowly behind her.
She would never return.
Nigihayami fell in the celestial war that scorched the skies of Asgard, a single star extinguished in the clash of divinities. She died not with fanfare, but in silence, too far to cry out, too distant for her laughter to echo back. All that remained was her fading warmth, etched into memory, and the soft glow of the magic stone she entrusted to Lucretia.
In her absence, the white-sand world felt a little quieter, a little colder. But life pressed onward.
Lucretia and Wildan remained. The tree reached ever higher, leaves shimmering with echoes of creation. The world, still incomplete, spun gently forward beneath their feet.
And in that growing silence, a different kind of harmony began to bloom, gentler, deeper. A song not of noise, but of presence. A beginning shaped by grief, and nurtured by remembrance.
---