Merlin walked serenely along the shore of the island, which felt both familiar and strange. It was larger than he remembered, but his intuition could not have been wrong: without a doubt, this was the place where he had performed his Ascension ritual in the past.
"My wish is..." he vocalized in a resonant voice, raising his right hand, "that a city capable of housing thousands will rise in this place."
With a snap of his fingers, the effect was immediate. From the center of the island, the land began to flatten in a perfect geometric dance. Trees were felled, and their wood was used to build the exterior and interior of the houses; stones were lifted and joined together, forming wells and walls; the earth beneath their feet was replaced with stone, and iron was extracted from the ground, melted, and turned into lanterns that now hung lit, illuminating the newly created city. In less than a few minutes, Utopia had sprung up from nothing, from a simple wish.
"Just as I remember it," murmured the Angel of Miracles as he walked through the streets of his creation.
From the port to the squares, every detail matched his memory. There was only one fundamental difference: where a modest Church of the Eternal Night once stood, now rose a glorious cathedral of pure black with golden contours, crowning itself as the highest point in the city, surpassing even the defensive walls that surrounded it.
The wizard's eyebrows rose and his eyes widened in surprise. He had no idea how the small church he had originally imagined had become such an architectural masterpiece.
"When did I become so extravagant and wasteful?" Merlin wondered as he entered the desolate cathedral that seemed to welcome his God. "If it looks imposing from the outside, from the inside it's another world."
He couldn't stop to think about what had caused such a harmless deviation. He simply blamed his deity and focused on what awaited him on the other side of the threshold.
The interior of the Cathedral was so vast, with so many corridors woven together in such an erratic fashion, that a stranger could easily get lost if they weren't careful. Even so, despite its colossal size, every corner was beautifully decorated, as if every detail had been meticulously planned to leave no imperfection. This caused Merlin a slight unease; he couldn't help but think it was all an absolute waste.
The Wizard returned to the main entrance after wandering a bit along the left side of the building; he was about to head to the right when a door caught his eye. Unlike the other tangled corridors, he sensed that the path beyond it was straight, with only one destination.
Intrigued by the peculiar design and what lay beyond, he decided to enter. Just as he had deduced, the passage was straight; it was quite long, with symmetrically placed windows that emitted an eerie light, making lanterns or candles unnecessary. Halfway down the corridor was another door, which opened automatically as he approached, revealing the continuation of the passage. Ignoring the door's unusual placement, he continued on, noticing the subtle differences between this passage and the previous one: the light from the windows was much brighter, and they were also much larger.
"I wonder what the reason behind the change is," but her attention was called again.
This time the door was considerably larger than the previous ones, black with gold designs that formed undulations. The gold doorknobs emitted a tempting gleam that seemed to compel anyone who saw them to open them.
Just like the previous ones, the door opened as he took a few steps closer, welcoming him into what Merlin soon recognized as the main prayer hall. A red carpet divided the two rows of oak pews that extended to within a few feet of the platform where the priest would stand to perform the mass. His brown puddles stopped at the giant silver symbol hanging on the wall behind the altar. It was the "Eye Without a Pupil and the Distorted Lines" that symbolized change and secrecy, his sacred emblem, the one that represented him when the Silver City and the Moon City officially founded the Church of the Fool.
Merlin closed his eyes feeling nostalgic; he knew it was his imagination, but if he let his mind wander, he could almost hear the hundreds of voices of the inhabitants of the abandoned cities, among which the youthful and energetic voice of the little Sun always stood out, in whose prayers there was never a lack of thanks and praise towards him.
"A god is nothing without his believers," he whispered as he opened his eyes, standing amidst the empty seats. "It's time to bring this City of Mysteries to life."
With another snap of his fingers, the Angel triggered a new reaction. The once deserted city sprang to life as humans, animals, and insects emerged from the houses, each with a unique appearance, behavior, and personality. But they all shared one truth: they were puppets whose strings were pulled by Merlin, the puppeteer behind the scenes.
This was his ritual of ascent to Sequence 1: An Assistant of the Mysteries.
"Now I just need them to interact with external entities to accelerate the speed of the ritual," he reasoned, watching as a group of puppets arrived at the church and recited his honorific name in perfect chorus. "It seems I've returned to the days when I was my own god, blessed and believing."
With a self-deprecating smile still on his face, the magician returned to Sefirah Castle to perform a series of divinations. He needed to find groups of humans who might come to Utopia to interact with his puppets. Of course, if they were willing to stay and become his followers, all the better.
Sefirah Castle offered him a far more omniscient view, which facilitated the location of a group. He was about to descend upon them when the mage froze, recalled his past actions, smiled, and his body contorted.
Just a "slight" change in appearance before going down.
------------------
"We shouldn't go this way," she whispered worriedly. "There are more monsters than usual. Let's take a detour."
The suggestion came from a young woman, no older than thirty, with brown hair and eyes. Despite her apparent delicacy due to her slender frame, she possessed a keen eye and quick judgment that had saved the group on several occasions.
—Bella, we can't deviate from this path—a man beside her said. —We've already checked the other areas; there's nothing useful left.
The gruff voice belonged to a thirty-year-old man with reddish hair and brown eyes. Thanks to his excellent physique, he had always been the one to go out and scout for resources, and on other occasions, it was also his job to check if the path the group was traveling on was safe. This had allowed him to be named the leader.
—Hector, if we are discovered, it doesn't matter what resources we have found because before we can use them we will already be dead.
Bella's argument was not only intended to make Hector reflect, but also to reveal to the rest of the team the danger they would face by continuing down this path.
"Is it really worth the risk?" one of the younger ones asked.
Hector snorted and replied:
"If you don't die for them, you'll starve to death," he said, fixing his gaze on the boy who had spoken. "It's dangerous, but this world isn't a bed of roses. You can follow me and risk being discovered by those things, or you can stay here praying that some god will take pity on you and prevent you from starving to death."
The comments were biting. Hector wanted to emphasize the stark truth: in this world shrouded in darkness, the only questions were when and how each person's death would come.
One of the members stepped forward with clear intentions of participating.
"Does a god really exist in such a cruel world?" asked a girl, the youngest in the group.
"I don't know," a child replied, standing beside him. "But if it exists, it doesn't seem to care about us."
"Children..." Bella sighed; they had both lost their parents at far too young an age. "Listen, the last thing we can afford to lose is hope. Maybe someday someone will answer our prayers, not necessarily a god."
She knelt down and gently stroked both their heads. Despite her sad smile, she managed to calm the children.
"Believe what you want," interjected an old man with a long beard. "That foolish faith will only feed an empty hope that will end up destroying you from within. I was like you, and look at me now: I'm still wandering without a savior to guide me."
"Are you sure no god blessed you?" a teenager mocked. "Your longevity can no longer be called luck, old man."
"Shut up, brat!" growled the old man.
"I'm already fifteen years old, grandpa!" he replied immediately.
"When I was your age, my grandfather told me I wouldn't be a man until I was at least eighteen," the old man replied with a nostalgic sigh, his hardened gaze seeming to soften. "I still remember the stories he always told me, those that, according to him, came from a time of peace..."
"We don't have time for old stories," Hector interrupted. "We must move on. As I said, no savior is coming for us."
—How are you so sure?
The unfamiliar voice, despite its harmonious tone, chilled the group's blood, rousing their waning vigilance. Hector and Bella moved first, pushing the rest of the group behind them, bracing for the worst.
"Calm down, there's no need to be so restless," the warmth expressed along with the sing-song tone seemed to lower the humans' guard a little. "I didn't come to harm you, but to extend an offer."
From the shadows emerged a figure holding an intricate lantern whose light banished the surrounding darkness. It was a woman with snow-white hair and amethyst eyes. She wore an elegant violet dress with a pointed hat adorned with a golden clock and vibrant orchids. Her striking presence contrasted sharply with the surroundings, making the humans almost doubt what their eyes were seeing.
—I introduce myself—she removed her pointed hat with her free hand and placed it on her chest while giving a slight bow—. I am Morgana, faithful servant of my God, the Mad Lord.
---
Merlin stifled a laugh at the astonished looks of the group. It was true that he needed to bring people to Utopia, but he couldn't simply extend the offer himself; he needed an intermediary. Unfortunately, the only one who could perform such a task was currently occupied with something else. So Merlin had decided to assume her appearance and grant her the role of divine messenger that he had always intended to bestow upon her since she had chosen to follow him.
Morgana Hermes, the Angel of Freedom, appeared for the first time before humanity, although she was not really herself.
"What god would propagate his own religion?" he joked internally. "That's the job of his followers."
It was the brown-haired woman who finally stepped forward to confront him.
"Your God?" Despite his firm posture, his voice betrayed hesitation.
Merlin pretended not to notice and replied calmly:
—Yes, Mr. Madman, the great King of the Spirit World—he introduced himself, suppressing the smile he longed to express.
"What kind of god is called 'The Madman'?" the redhead spat disdainfully.
Before Merlin could answer, a blonde girl intervened:
"It's wrong to insult without reason!" he shouted, stomping on the man's foot with what seemed to be all his strength.
"Who do you think you are to punish an adult?!" he roared, turning to the other boy beside him. "Lucas, you were supposed to be looking after her!"
"Don't pay any attention to him, Athanasia," intervened Lucas, a boy with long black hair. "He's just upset because Mrs. Bella took the lead over the newcomer."
The ridiculous scene caused the costumed magician to tilt his head slightly.
"Children will always be a source of hope," Merlin thought, smiling gently on the outside. "It seems to be an immutable law."
"I'm glad you retained your innocence despite losing your parents so young," Bella said softly, turning unexpectedly to Merlin. "Tell me, can your God truly give us a safe place? And… what does he want in return?"
Merlin nodded in satisfaction at the cautious but interested attitude the woman had taken.
"My God is benevolent," Merlin replied, placing his hat back on his head. "In return for his protection, he desires only your devotion." He gestured to the group. "The more genuine your emotions, the more pleased he will be."
"Just devotion? Sounds... simple," one of them remarked.
"It may seem so, but it isn't. Besides..." Merlin scanned the group, "what more could humans who struggle daily to survive possibly offer?"
The group exchanged pained glances, but made no attempt to contradict him; despite the rudeness with which they were spoken, those words were not far from the truth.
—We accept the deal— Bella declared, leaving the redhead speechless.
"You can't decide for everyone!" he protested sharply. "The others have something to say too!"
She turned to him with tired eyes.
"No complaints," he replied, then pointed at him. "Hector, you're the only one who objects."
He turned to face the others, but no one dared meet his gaze directly; they simply lowered their heads in shame. It was obvious which way they were leaning.
"How can they accept this?" the man murmured, unable to believe it.
"Because we have nothing left to lose," the old man interjected. "If we're risking our lives among these monsters anyway, why not risk it by trusting a supposed divine messenger?"
The teenager next to the old man tensed up and turned to the older man in disbelief.
"Do you have hope, Grandfather?" he asked, unable to hide his surprise. "I thought I no longer existed for you."
"Shut up," grumbled the old man. "I wouldn't want to be the feast for such things either."
"Haha," Merlin chuckled softly, but stopped when he noticed the curious stares. "Forgive me, it's amusing to witness so much drama. But now that you've made up your minds, I'll take you to my lord's territory with the rest of his followers"—he was obviously referring to the thousands of puppets in Utopia.
"Are we going to heaven? Does it really exist?" the blonde girl asked innocently. "So, is the young lady an angel who lives there?"
Merlin stopped speaking and looked at the little blonde girl with well-hidden surprise. A child's intuition could be too accurate.
"Aren't angels supposed to have wings?" the black-haired boy pointed out. "Aside from his appearance, there's nothing remarkable about him. If he's truly a divine being, he must be of low rank."
"How old is this child?" the Angel wondered, looking at them with surprise.
"Are you saying that the young lady had a bad death and couldn't become an angel?" The girl looked at him, puffing out her cheeks. "Apologize now!"
"I'm not going to apologize!" he shook his head. "If you like angels so much, you can die and become one!"
Merlin shook his head and interrupted the conversation.
You two are too young to be thinking about death," he told them.
—A friend of mine recently died— upon hearing Athanasia's comment, Bella sighed inconsolably; the atmosphere was getting worse.
The deceased girl had fallen ill; they did not have the conditions or the remedies to treat her.
—In that case, try to think that death won't knock on your door once you go through this one—the wizard dressed as a witch snapped his fingers as he finished rhyming.
A door of light opened behind him, causing astonishment among all the survivors.
"Did you see that, Bella!" The little girl grabbed the adult's hand while the other held her best friend's. "She snapped her fingers and it appeared!" She seemed to have regained her spirits thanks to the spectacle.
"Yes, yes, we all saw it. Now let go of my hand!" The girl ignored him. "Hey!"
But one member of the group wasn't so excited.
"Are we really going into... whatever that is?" Hector still refused.
"Be quiet, I prefer magic to impossible survival," the old man said, stepping forward and turning to face her. "May we?"
—Go ahead —the witch smiled, slightly lifting her pointed hat.
"Me first!" the girl announced.
The little girl, with an unknown strength, dragged Bella and her friend through the door despite their protests. Seeing them disappear, Hector mustered his courage and ran toward the door; it looked as if he was going to try to break it down instead of just go through it. The old man snorted, pointed at the other survivors, and then at the door.
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," he warned them, entering through the gate.
The rest, though hesitant, also followed him.
When everyone had disappeared through her, Merlin made her vanish with a slight gesture. The wizard's smile disappeared, and his eyes darkened, leaving the woman's face expressionless.
If Merlin had looked in a mirror, he would have noticed that his face looked too similar to the Morgana of before, the one who could not understand emotions because she had forgotten how to feel them.
Ironically, Merlin, who had helped overcome that problem, now showed it with the same face but with a different soul.
He wondered if he would ever be able to walk beside someone who truly knew him.
~... for that I have to open my heart first.
There was a candidate, but he would not be by her side temporarily.
--------------------------
Meanwhile, in the space-time chaos, the real Morgana explored a city that, due to its modernity, theorized that this time it was at least several centuries before the awakening of the Original Creator and the arrival of the apocalypse.
Looking up, the most striking buildings were two identical towers that rose in the distance; they seemed familiar to him.
"Aren't they...?" His thought was interrupted by the touch of a hand on his shoulder.
Turning around, she saw a man. He was a firefighter, and if his uniform didn't give him away, the fire truck parked across the street certainly did. He smiled at her as if she were an acquaintance.
"Excuse me, miss, you seem lost. Do you need help?" He was undoubtedly friendly; not just anyone would talk to a stranger simply because they looked lost.
—I'm just a traveler passing through—Morgana replied with a friendly but, as usual, fake smile.
At that moment, a subtle ripple in her spirituality alerted her: someone had touched her destiny. In reality, Merlin had just borrowed her appearance, and although the Celestial Worthy barrier muffled the sensation, Morgana had faintly perceived it because she was now in the process of accommodating the singularity of her path, which made her much more sensitive to these discreet waves. She narrowed her eyes, slightly irritated; however intrigued she was by that small ripple, there was no way she could find out more about it from here.
I had no other choice; I had to let it go.
She was jolted from her thoughts by the sound of a powerful explosion in the distance. Ignoring the panicked screams, the darkened amethysts could easily discern the cause and location of the explosion.
~The attack on the Twin Towers —he acknowledged with some surprise~~Better forget my previous theory; this space seems to have a penchant for taking me to such random moments.
The Angel moved away from the chaos; she planned to take a stroll away from the crowd, finding nothing interesting in this incident beyond what she already knew. As she walked away, a strange sound resonated near her ears, stopping her in her tracks. What had been too subtle even for an Angel's senses seemed to intensify, for Morgana was finally able to identify it correctly. It was the ringing of a bell, but not just any bell. The chime was remarkably similar to the bells of old clocks, those that always ring out, announcing the arrival of noon or midnight.
She was so focused on listening that she belatedly noticed the colorful sea that now surrounded her. She felt no alarm and simply let herself be carried away.
~Is this sound a product of my spirituality warning me of the space-time jump? —she closed her eyes but her eyelashes trembled~~The ritual is on the right track if that's the case.
The subsequent jumps were unremarkable: sometimes I was on a deserted beach, other times in a bustling city, a peaceful forest, a steep mountain, and once I even appeared in the middle of the blue sky with nothing around me. The stories were nothing special; some places were devoid of any intelligent life, in others historical events were unfolding, and in some everything was simply normal, with nothing remarkable about it at all.
But the barrier seemed to have been saving something special for one of its final leaps. His heart, weary from endless travel, contracted in his chest as the familiar landscape unfolded before his eyes.
"Home..." Her voice trembled as she whispered. "Are they... here too?"
The recognition shattered the false smile he had worn until now. But what lay beneath the facade was neither sadness nor even nostalgia. Beneath the perfect smile that all illusions had received, there was nothing. The expressionless face that now adorned the Angel, along with his darkened amethysts, seemed to have become the embodiment of his true emotions.
The little humanity that clung to his soul trembled in an attempt to expand, but no matter how much his heart tried to accelerate its rhythm as a sign of some feeling, it continued to beat at an appropriate rhythm, completely undisturbed.
The Angel began to move; his steps were slow, but each one seemed to leave a small mark on the ground he trod. His darkened eyes scanned his surroundings, searching for anything that might stir even the slightest reaction within his soul.
A familiar face passed by, staring intently at the phone in its hands. The Angel's heavy, silent footsteps stopped instantly. The amethysts seemed to regain some of their brilliance, and as he turned around, his figure was reflected in them.
~Mother... —her mind went into chaos with the contradictions it now harbored.
A strange impulse surged from the depths of her soul: she wanted to reach out and stop her mother, to tell her how much she had suffered after her body absorbed a Sequence 2 characteristic and how she had been saved by a stranger who had become incredibly important to her in such a short time. It didn't matter if what stood before her was an illusion; she wanted her to look at her, to smile at her at least one last time, or perhaps even to speak to her and offer her advice.
But nothing was possible.
The hand that slowly reached out to stop the image, despite the very desires of his soul, stopped next to the rest of his body, which remained rigid in the same place watching as the person he most wanted to notice his existence left without paying him any attention.
When it disappeared from sight around the corner, she regained her mobility; her outstretched hand fell to her side and a long sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes, once again dull, abandoned their possible light and turned toward the path ahead, the one she should follow.
"How could I forget? Even my body reminds me that I no longer have a home like this," she mocked herself with a self-deprecating smile. "I should stop daydreaming... This miracle is impossible to summon."
"Oh, isn't that little Melody?" The Angel froze at being called by that name. "How you've grown! You look beautiful. How much did it cost to get so dressed up?"
Her consciousness sank into her memories, trying to pinpoint where she knew this woman from, a woman who could recognize her when her own mother hadn't. It wasn't until she revisited her earliest human memories that she recognized her: it was Mrs. Carmen, a seventy-year-old neighbor very close to her family.
"Mrs. Carmen, it's been a while," Morgana greeted, forcing a smile; it was more difficult than usual. "How is your health?"
"Heh, since when are you so formal? Don't you call me 'Mrs. Carro' anymore?" joked the old woman, adjusting the dirty, old glasses that seemed to hinder her vision more than improve it.
The Angel blinked; he had not noticed until now that he was beginning to resemble his Lord in terms of formalities.
—That was a long time ago—Morgana replied, looking away; given her situation, she didn't know what the best answer to that question would be.
—You told me that on the phone last month—Carmen replied mischievously. —A month isn't a long time, my dear.
"For you it was a month ago; for me, almost six centuries ago," Morgana recalled, her eyes darkening.
Carmen frowned when she saw this.
"You seem down, Melody," she said, her voice filled with concern. "Haven't you told your family you came yet?"
The Angel tensed up instantly, but managed to hide it.
"That topic had to come up," Morgana said, controlling herself; she didn't want to ramble on. "I'll only be here one day; it's not worth it."
—My dear—with a gentle movement she took the Angel's hands in hers—. Are you really alright?
~... Yes... No... just... just maybe... I'm not okay, I'm not okay at all —she wished she could cover her face, but her hands were now being held by her.
Morgana looked down at the clasped hands; the gentle grip seemed to have the power to reveal what the Angel refused to admit.
"I think... I still miss this place," she admitted, her voice slightly trembling.
Her expression looked as if she were about to break; her eyes watered slightly, but no tears fell. Morgana didn't want to cry and held them back with all her might.
"When I was your age, I also left my family to study," the old woman smiled warmly. "There were no telephones back then, and when I came back I learned that my father had died of a heart attack three months earlier."
Morgana made no comment, allowing the old woman to continue with a story from her distant youth.
"What I mean, my dear, is that life goes on, no matter what tragedies you suffer. Perhaps even if the world were to end, it would simply begin again," he joked, unaware of how true his words were.
Morgana tilted her head slightly.
"Are you sure you're not a Seer?" Morgana asked suddenly, half-seriously.
"It's just the wisdom that comes with age," she said before winking at him. "That's what my grandmother used to tell me, too."
Her lips curved into a sad smile, and her eyes gazed longingly at the old woman. Without realizing it, she had tightened her grip, her heart seeming to tremble.
The tolling of the bells, which he now recognized as a warning of change, signaled that it would soon be time to leave. The Angel smiled gently; his soul still felt slightly ached, but it seemed those exposed cracks might soon begin to heal.
"Mrs. Carmen," he called, releasing his grip and gently bending down to hug the old woman. "Thank you so much for your advice; or rather, thank your grandmother for me."
The old woman laughed, accepting the hug.
"Look at this, who would have thought this little girl would be so affectionate with me one day?" The old woman closed her eyes, squeezing the girl tighter in her arms. "Let me tell your mother about this, I'm sure she won't believe me!"
—… —Morgana did not respond; that declaration would never come true.
Spacetime distorted, transporting Morgana to another place, barely noticing how the person she had been holding vanished in an instant. When she opened her eyes, they were different: the darkness that had clouded her vision was no longer so present; instead, a faint light had replaced it, giving an eerie sense of peace to anyone who came near them.
"Life goes on... it really does," he declared solemnly. "Well, I can't be left behind either."
A serene smile lit up her face and her eyes shone brightly as she remembered the figure of a certain person with their back to her, as if they never wanted to look back and were simply waiting for her to do the same.
~And even less so when he's waiting for me outside... —she could almost feel the excitement coursing through her body—I can't wait to see what destiny he's building, Lord.