The poet approached his small, forgotten dwelling—
only to find a girl waiting there.
White-haired. Pale-skinned. Sixteen in appearance.
But in this world, appearance was never the truth.
---
Before he could speak, she smiled—bright and unshaken.
"Hello, Poet. I'm Lyne. My father sent me to learn from you."
---
The poet narrowed his gaze.
No one ever came here.
Not to him.
Not to this world.
His voice came low, measured.
"…And why would I be the one to teach you?"
---
Lyne's eyes didn't flinch.
"I don't know much. Only that I must understand what you see. What you call [Divine Vision]."
---
The poet scoffed.
"Your father must be mad.
Why would I—a man forgotten by the stars—be worth your lesson?"
---
Her expression sharpened.
"If you doubt me—would you also doubt the voice of a god?"
---
The air stilled.
Then—
Light broke through the sky like a spear piercing parchment.
A brilliance beyond white. A divine radiance that dimmed the void itself.
The 6th Primordial Celestial had stepped onto the blank world.
---
A voice—ancient, vast, and unbearably still—echoed through their bones:
"You were not chosen by me, Poet.
But Fate has marked you.
Only you may walk beside my daughter.
Only you may satisfy her hunger for the unseen."
And just like that, the light vanished.
As if it had never come.
---
The poet stood motionless.
The weight of Primordial Will still pressing against his spine.
He looked at Lyne again—this strange child of celestial blood.
And he realized something he hadn't before.
She was smiling still.
As if she'd always known this was how the story would go.
---
"Fine," he muttered. "But don't expect warmth.
This path is cruel.
And I don't keep passengers."
---
Lyne didn't blink.
"I won't be useless. I'll prove it."
---
The poet gave her one final test.
"When lightning strikes," he said, "does the tree still stand?"
---
She answered without pause:
"The tree falls.
But the roots remain.
Waiting to rise again."
---
A breath passed between them.
The poet nodded.
"You pass.
But understand this—this world doesn't care if you're brave.
It only remembers the ones who endure."
---
Lyne smiled.
"I'm ready."
---
And so the girl walked beside the poet.
Daughter of a god.
Bearer of mortal resolve.
And the story—
truly began.