A thousand years had passed after the War of the Heavens.
Even after the great flood came and washed away the world that once was, the echoes of that war still screamed through the void. The mountains that once touched the stars now lay broken. Oceans that once teemed with life were poisoned with divine ash.
And yet, even after Heaven's gates were shattered and Hell's armies scattered, the war never truly ended.
There was still hostility between the heavens and the demons, ancient grudges that refused to die.
But mortals… they had long forgotten.
They built cities upon the bones of gods. They named stars after angels that no longer existed. And when thunder rumbled across the sky, they believed it was only the storm, never realizing it was Heaven and Hell still clashing beyond the veil.
However, there was one being whose name both sides had erased from their histories, a name spoken only in whispers.
"The Heavenly Enforcer."
The heavens above the ruined world glowed faintly, torn apart by cracks of celestial energy. Among the floating ruins of shattered temples, a man hovered motionless. His armor was torn, his wings burned black from divine fire.
Blood, golden and red, dripped from his hands.
In his right palm floated a cube of swirling light and darkness. Every beat of its pulse distorted reality itself.
That man was Damian, the last Enforcer of Heaven. The one who once enforced the divine code of creation itself. The one who could rewrite fate, line by line.
The battlefield below was nothing but ruin. Angels lay broken beside demons. The sky was aflame with divine fire.
The Creator was gone. The Thrones were silent. And Damian was tired.
He floated among the wreckage of the cosmos, watching the dying light of the heavens fade into eternal dusk. His once-golden wings flickered weakly, feathers burning away in silence.
"So this is how it ends," he murmured.
His voice echoed across the dead skies. The cube in his hand pulsed.
[Command detected. Reality thread collapsing.]
[World instability: 93%]
[Would you like to execute a full reset?]
Damian gave a hollow laugh. "Reset? You mean erase everything I fought for? Everything we built?"
[Affirmative.]
[Rewriting recommended to prevent total annihilation.]
"Prevent annihilation?" He looked down at the empty world. "You can't prevent something that's already dead."
For a long while, there was only silence, the silence of a god who had seen too much.
He remembered the beginning. When he was created, he was pure. A being of balance. A protector of the divine code, not a god, not a demon, just the hand that enforced order.
He remembered the faces of those he once fought beside. The archangels who betrayed Heaven to save mortals. The demons who begged for peace, only to be slain by divine decree.
He remembered her.
A mortal woman, standing before him with fire in her eyes the only one who dared to question Heaven's order.
"If perfection means destroying everything that's different, then your god is a tyrant."
She had died in the flames of divine judgment. He had been the one ordered to kill her. And when he refused, Heaven declared him a traitor.
That was when he turned the Editor Core against the Heavens themselves.
[Memory corruption detected. Emotional fragments unstable.]
[Would you like to suppress?]
"No," Damian whispered. "Let me remember. I want to remember what I lost."
The cube pulsed again, but its voice softened, almost mournful.
[System integrity critical. The Darkness is awakening.]
"I know," he said. "It always does."
He looked down at the dying worlds below. "The war will never end, not while I exist. As long as I hold this power, someone will always come to claim it."
He looked into the cube's endless swirl of code, the power to create, destroy, and alter existence itself.
For centuries, he had rewritten reality to maintain balance. Now, it was time to erase himself.
"Erase me," Damian said.
[Invalid command. Primary User cannot be deleted.]
[Alternative: Seal Power. Reset Identity.]
[Proceed? Y/N]
He smiled faintly. "Do it."
[Acknowledged. Sealing in process.]
The cube rose from his hand, glowing brighter with every pulse. Light spilled from its core, swallowing Damian's body, erasing his divine form bit by bit.
Wings dissolved into fragments of light. Armor melted into dust. The golden blood on his skin turned to mist.
[User memory archived. Identity reset. Core entering dormancy.]
[Good luck, Enforcer.]
And with that, the last god fell.
A thousand years later -
The rain had been falling for three days straight, it was a problem for border town of Asterion. Hunger rate had increased in this small town with no fisherman or hunter able to get anything, even the farmers where aggrieved. Thunder rolled over the valley like a beast too restless to sleep.
"Over here!" The shout came from the banks of the Serin River, where two villagers struggled against the rising current. Their lantern light flickered wildly in the wind.
"What is that?" one asked, voice trembling. The other man leaned closer, squinting. "A basket…? No, wait," Inside the bundle, half-submerged in the freezing water, a baby stared up at them. His eyes were pale gray, calm and unblinking, even as lightning split the sky into five colors above him.
"Holy mother…" the older man breathed. "It's alive."
"How the hell? this river kills cattle!" The baby didn't cry. He just reached up with tiny fingers, as if trying to touch the rain.
They carried him back to the village, the lanterns barely keeping the dark at bay. By dawn, the storm broke, leaving the valley wrapped in silver mist.
Whispers filled the crooked streets of Tyre. By midmorning, the town square was crowded; farmers, fishmongers, even children peeking through windows. But their eyes were fixed on the same building: the town hall, its roof dripping with rainwater.
Inside, the air was heavy with damp wool and quiet tension.
At the helm of the round table sat Evelyn Vale, a woman in her thirties wrapped in a brown fur-lined gown. Her black hair was tied back, streaked faintly with silver from the years. She looked tired, but not weak the kind of tired that comes from carrying more than one lifetime of loss.
A basket rested before her on the table. Inside it, the baby lay still, half-asleep, his fingers gripping the corner of his blanket.
The mayor, a heavyset man with a thinning beard, cleared his throat. "Three days of rain, and then this? You all saw the lightning last night. Five colors! You're telling me this... this child just floated here?"
The older fisherman from the river nodded grimly. "He should've drowned. But when we pulled him out, his skin was warm. Warm, in that cold water. And he looked right at us."
A murmur spread through the room. "Could be witchcraft," someone whispered.
"Or a curse," said another.
Evelyn raised a hand. "Enough." Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried authority the kind born from grief and years of quietly surviving it. "You all sound like children frightened of their own shadows."
The mayor frowned. "And what do you suggest we do with it, Evelyn? Keep it? The river's been our curse for decades. You think it suddenly brings us gifts?"
She looked down at the child. His tiny chest rose and fell evenly. His eyes opened for a moment pale gray, almost silver and met hers. There was no fear in them, no confusion. Just… stillness. "I don't see a curse," she said softly. "I see a mere child."
The room went quiet. "Evelyn," one of the women murmured, "you've barely healed from your husband's death. You don't need..."
"I need something to live for," she interrupted gently.
She stood, lifting the baby in her arms. The fabric around him shimmered faintly under the dim torchlight, like moonlight caught in water.
"I'll take him," she said. "The river brought him to us. Maybe it means the storm's finally over."
The mayor sighed and rubbed his temples. "You're certain?"
"I am." Evelyn added. "What'll you name him?" the Mayor continued. Evelyn looked down again. The baby blinked once, slowly, like a calm after thunder.
"Damian," she whispered. "Damian Vale."
Outside, the clouds parted just enough for one beam of light to strike the river's surface.
And for a fleeting second, it shimmered gold.
Years passed like drifting mist.
The border town Tyre never changed much; a market on Tuesdays, gossip on Sundays, the same faces under different weather. But Damian grew.
He was quiet, observant, the sort of child who asked too many questions and rarely seemed satisfied with answers. He played football with the other kids on the muddy streets. He laughed when they did, fell when they did, but… he never cried.
"Hold still, Damian." Evelyn knelt by the wooden stool, a towel draped over her shoulder. The boy squirmed as she tried to trim his hair, each strand sticking up stubbornly from the humidity.
"It tickles," he protested, voice small but steady.
"You said that last time," she replied, smiling faintly. "And the time before that."
"That's because it always tickles."
She shook her head, the corners of her lips curving despite herself. "You talk too much for someone who was found in a river."
He turned in his seat, serious eyes locking with hers. "Does that mean you're a fish?"
Evelyn froze, then laughed softly. "No, silly. It means you're mine."
The boy blinked, the hint of a smile forming. "Yours?"
"Yes. Until you're old enough to run away and break my heart."
He frowned at that, uncertain whether she was joking. "I won't run away."
"Everyone says that," she said gently. "Even your father once did."
A beat of silence. Damian's head tilted slightly. "Was he brave?"
Evelyn's hands paused midair. Her eyes softened the kind of softness that comes from an old wound. "Brave enough to fight the flood, foolish enough to think he could win."
Damian thought about that. Then, after a moment: "Then maybe I'll learn to fight better."
She smiled, though there was something in her gaze that made her sigh quietly. "Just don't fight the river, all right?"
[Initializing …]
Name: Damian Vale
Age: 4
Sex: Male
Town: Tyre
City: Asterion
Occupation: None
Skill: Editor Level 1 (Sealed)Status: Observed
[End log.]
Character View: Evelyn Vale
Full Name: Evelyn Mareth
Age: 29
Occupation: Village healer / herbalist
Residence: Edge of Tyre Village, near the river path
Status: Civilian (Non-Awakened)
Affiliation: None
First Appearance: Chapter 1
Physical Description:
A slender woman with russet hair usually tied in a low braid, streaked faintly by silver though she's not yet thirty. Her eyes are a faded green that always seem to carry both worry and warmth. She dresses plainly linen skirts, patched shawls, and boots scuffed by years of trudging through mud and forest paths. She smells faintly of herbs, smoke, and rain.
Personality:
Quietly resilient. Evelyn is gentle in tone but firm in will a woman who has learned to survive without expecting the world to be kind. Her empathy runs deep, but so does her fear of loss. She hides pain behind small smiles and a patient voice, the way others hide scars under sleeves.
She's maternal, but not by blood every act of care toward Damian is as much an act of redemption as it is of love. Beneath her calm exterior lies a constant anxiety: that what she has found will one day be taken from her again.
Backstory (Partial):
Born in Tyre Village to a merchant family that fell into ruin after a failed trade expedition. Lost her husband five years ago to an outbreak near the river some say it was fever, others whisper "curse." Since then, she has lived alone in the cottage by the woods, making remedies and tending to the sick.
She found Damian one dawn six years later, near the riverbank, unconscious and wrapped in a cloth that didn't belong to any household in Tyre.
Rumors spread that he was "marked" strange eyes, unnatural calm but she ignored them, claiming him as her own. The local priest, Father Tomas, supported her decision quietly, though he warned her: "Some children come from heaven. Others come from places heaven doesn't speak of."
She pretends not to remember that warning.
Motivations:
To protect Damian from the curiosity and fear of the village.
To atone for her husband's death an event she secretly blames herself for.
To live quietly, without the world taking from her again.
Skills & Traits:
Skilled herbalist and healer; trained by the old apothecary before his passing.
Knowledgeable in folk remedies, minor talismans, and local legends.
Practical survivor capable with tools, fishing lines, and rural trade.
Fearful of anything beyond human understanding; avoids talk of miracles or curses.
Notable Relationships:
Damian: Adopted son / foundling. The emotional center of her life and the reason she continues to fight her fear of the unknown.
Father Tomas: Confessor and confidant. He often supplies her with herbs and books.
Marta (Village Baker): Friend and the only villager who doesn't whisper about her.