The god of this world… has long since perished.

And only Barael knows that truth.

Ten thousand years ago, when the black mist first began to rise from the western edge of the continent, people dismissed it as nothing more than a natural phenomenon.

But soon, they could no longer look away—when they realized the mist drained life, eroded the mind, and hollowed out the soul.

Its true nature was the foul energy seeping from the remains of a decaying god.

At the time, no one knew that.

All they could do in the face of the unknown mist was pray—to a god that no longer existed.

Only sacred power could purify the mist.

Only divinely granted strength could cleanse the remnants of divinity.

In hindsight, the irony is undeniable.

Perhaps the god, foreseeing their own end, left behind one final safeguard for their creations.

The day that calamity swept across the land—

Barael was still just an ordinary boy.

Like others who could wield sacred power, he was sent to the frontlines, fighting to stop the spread of the mist.

But the force of their sacred light was far too meager against the mist’s endless tide.

Whether they died on the battlefield or were consumed after the world fell, the result would be the same.

Still, they held the line—clinging to their duty, protecting what they loved.

One by one, his comrades fell.

Some died instantly. Others… slowly transformed into monsters, their bodies and minds corrupted.

In the end, only one remained—Barael.

Even as his body began to change, even as he teetered on the edge of monstrosity, he clung to his humanity with desperate resolve.

From the depths of his breaking mind, he drew upon every last scrap of sacred power.

And then—something answered.

The faintest trace of a dead god’s will seeped into him.

And with it came a power he could not comprehend.

A storm of light surged through the mist.

That day, Barael transcended.

He inherited a fragment of divine power, becoming what the people would later call a “Transcendent.”

Those who witnessed it hailed it as a miracle.

They believed hope still remained.

But none knew the truth—

That this so-called miracle did not come from divine mercy, but from the emergence of something entirely new in a godless world.

After awakening, Barael isolated the western continent, sealing away the remains of the god.

But the battle wasn’t over.

The black mist still spewed forth.

Someone had to stay behind, to hold the line and keep purifying the corruption.

Barael knew.

This would be a long, lonely war.

And so he stood—ten thousand years as a barrier against the dead god’s rot.

To endure that inhuman span of time, he divided his soul.

Each fragment bore a different era, a different burden.

They shared his memories.

But none of those lives felt truly his.

Like reading someone else’s diary, or browsing a distant database.

With time, Barael felt his humanity slipping.

But one part of him—his youngest self—still held onto that human heart.

And should he ever meet humans again,

That boy… would guide him to make the right choice.

But there was one thing even he hadn’t foreseen.

Collapse from within.

Though he protected the world from external threats, he never truly intervened.

His will was powerful, but powerless against the subtleties of human hearts and choices.

And so, in search of a way to avert total ruin,

He found a single, improbable variable.

Sua Yoon.

A soul born to this world—yet raised in another.

Untouched by the systems and fate of this land.

A misfit, a miracle.

She alone might bend destiny.

It was a slim chance. But it was enough.

Barael staked his final hope on that small, glimmering thread.

To turn back time, he had paid a price.

His end was near.

Within ten years, the black mist would fade, and the god’s remains would lose their strength.

The world was, slowly but surely, healing.

And in the silence, voices rose—layered and echoing.

Versions of Barael.

Each one from a different age.

Each one… still him.

The first to speak was the Barael of 5,000 years.

“The mist will vanish in a decade. To fade away when our task ends… I suppose we’re lucky.”

Then, the 3,000-year-old Barael let out a weary sigh.

“Finally… we can rest. After watching for so long, we’ve earned it.”

The 1,000-year-old Barael hesitated, then asked softly:

“So we’ve got… around ten years left?”

And then, quieter still:

“…Will they survive, after we’re gone?”

The question echoed in their shared mind.

And at last, the youngest one—Barael, still a boy—answered.

“I believe they will,” he said.

“There are still kind people out there.

People who help others, cry with them, never give up.

I think… those hearts will protect this world.”

But the 3,000-year-old shook his head.

“And they always die first.

The selfish survive.

People call it a wise choice.”

Then, the 5,000-year-old spoke, calm and resolute:

“There’s no set nature for humans.

They walk a tightrope of choices—sometimes good, sometimes evil.

They define themselves through those contradictions.

And that’s why I still believe… in their potential.”

Finally, the true Barael—his core self—spoke.

“The odds are low.

But not impossible.

Evolution is always a miracle born of reason and chance.

And humans…

Humans have always had what it takes to spark miracles.”

Silence followed.

And then, the boy’s voice rang out again—clear, hopeful:

“So in the end… we all believe in them, don’t we?”

No one answered at first.

But the oldest versions slowly nodded.

And quietly, yet firmly, they declared:

“Yes. That was always our choice.”

The next words were not spoken by any single voice.

They came from all of Barael—

A single being who had weathered ten thousand years.

“Reason calculates probabilities.

Memory dwells on failure.

But emotion… always chooses hope.”

And for that reason alone, he remained.

There was another pause.

Then, as if breaking the tension with a smile, the boy asked:

“So… how’s that system Sua asked for coming along?”

It sounded like a casual joke, tossed in after a long, somber meeting.

The 3,000-year-old sighed.

“…That child’s surprisingly demanding.

She wants a clean interface, intuitive layout, and even neuro-feedback calibration.

We’re still designing it.”

“Can I name it the ‘Barael System: Beta Version’?”

The boy grinned mischievously.

A heavy silence followed.

And the present-day Barael murmured:

“…That name… requires further discussion.”