Unawarely, the swan began to write the proposal:
As Jué's solemn warning reverberated through the Mainloong chamber, Kyorin did not yield.
Instead, he spat back with calm defiance: "I am not reckless, Jué."
His tone carried a subtle shift—an undertone, as if something deeper stood behind it. Not just words, but a quiet testimony, a force affirming every claim he will make.
"Let it be known—while I, as a mortal, am bound by time, fate, curses, boons, and reality due to my born materialistic nature, beyond that scope of materialism… my true self exists." He solemly declared.
"My mind, speech, and actions are under strict control," Kyorin uttered, his voice calm. "Yet they are being misused—the value of discipline within them completely ignored."
"Misusing the constraints of mortality," Kyorin spat in a seething undercurrent of rage, "They are turned into mere tools of narration for the development of the main characters in a play yet to unfold."
Jué blinked, visibly unsettled.
'What… exactly is he rambling about?' the Loong thought, momentarily thrown off by the incomprehensible—almost absurd—weight of Kyorin's words.
Ignoring Jué's expression, Kyorin continued, tone unwavering: "You don't need to lecture me about speaking wisely and acting foolish. I possess the strength to justify what you call a fool's act."
"Hoh…" Amused, Jué leaned in, their massive face inching closer. "Canst thou prove that likewise?"
"Try me." Kyorin raised his hands, inviting the challenge without fear.
"Be careful!" DEVA's voice rang out in Jué's mind, her warning edged with concern.
"I shall not move hand nor blade," Jué replied telepathically, "yet mentally… he may be tried a little."
"Only see thou go not too far," DEVA insisted.
"Understood," Jué responded with a quiet nod.
Jué gazed upon Kyorin and spoke, "Now shalt thou behold the might of this Sentinel—hallowed as the Arbiter of Time."
With those words, the Loong reached into the river of time and began to bend it, weaving visions with intent. "Gaze upon thy fate—not as phantasm, but as truth. I can burn thee."
Jué's voice echoed inside Kyorin's mind as the vision was cast—an attempt to show the mortal instantly consumed by the Loong's flames in the Mainloong chamber.
But instead of a vision of immediate destruction, what manifested was different.
A future.
A distant one.
There lay an aged, frail Kyorin—his body at rest in a ceremonial casket within this very chamber.
And Jué stood beside him—not in fury, but in solemn reverence—performing the cremation rites. The flames were not punishment, but release.
The vision had come true... just not in the way Jué intended.
Jué let out a baffled "Huh," the Loong's expression now etched with visible perplexity.
"No, no… methinks I have not been o'erly forthright," Jué murmured before his voice deepened with renewed intent.
"Behold, mortal—gaze upon the morrow wherein I devour thy head." The Loong uttered in a grave, intimidating tone. "Thy body and head, partitioned with me as the cause."
With a sweep of ancient power, another vision unfolded.
Jué intended to reveal a gruesome fate—a moment where Kyorin's head was torn from his shoulders, devoured without hesitation.
But what the vision revealed instead was... unexpected.
A weakened Jué, worn and dimmed from countless battles, lay before the court of Huanglong.
Standing at the Magistrate's seat was a petite, white-haired girl—her presence commanding and absolute.
"The Sentinel requires the life force of one with Resonance," she pronounced with steady conviction.
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Then, slowly, from the silent crowd stepped an older Kyorin—his presence quiet but unwavering.
As he moved forward, each of his arms was gently seized—one by a maiden with salmon-pink hair, the other by a woman with long raven-black strands.
Jué's breath caught.
'That presence… is that—Lord Arbiter?' the Loong cried inwardly, though his voice found no sound.
Kyorin raised his head and met the eyes of all present. "Let it be done."
Then, from beneath his robes, he withdrew DEVA.
And without hesitation—without grief or fear—he severed his head.
A final gift.
A willing sacrifice.
The head was offered, and Jué, bound by need and reverence, consumed it.
And as he did… he was restored.
The vision came true.
Yes, Jué consumed Kyorin's head.
And yes, the body and head were separated due to Jué being the cause.
"W-What in blazes is this?" Jué stammered, existential fear blooming in its heart as its golden eyes fogged over. For the first time in eons, the Loong felt small.
But summoning every shred of courage, it spoke one final time.
"Gaze! With my control over time, I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can... I can..."
It kept repeating, each utterance a desperate grasp, a broken mantra—Civilizations rose and fell.
New Magistrates came and faded.
Worlds ended.
The stars died.
The universe collapsed.
Yet Jué continued, endlessly stuck: "I can... I can... I can... I can..."
Then—
"What can you do?" Kyorin's voice pierced through time like a divine blade.
Reality shifted.
Jué blinked.
The chamber was gone.
All of it—space, context, meaning—wiped away.
Now it found itself within Kyorin's left hand. The once mighty Loong, towering and proud, had shrunk to a mere serpent, coiled and weightless in the palm of a being unchanged in form... yet impossibly vast in presence.
Kyorin looked at the Loong. "You kept saying what you could do," he said coldly. "And you claimed it came true. But never how you intended."
At that moment, Jué's mind flooded.
Memories surged—not just of what it had done, but of everything it had ever said it could do.
And in every case, those visions came true.
But never as intended.
Always twisted—always fulfilled by the letter of the speech, never by the spirit.
In horror, Jué realized that while its proclamations were binding truths. Its power had always obeyed language, not will.
Now, held in Kyorin's hand within a white void stretching beyond concept, Jué stared upward and whispered, "What… art thou?"
Kyorin didn't answer directly. Instead, he lifted his gaze—
—and above, countless eyes shimmered in the endless sky.
Then he spoke: "I am that which is not yet."
His voice rippled like a thousand echoes. "That which is not yet... that is me."
Jué blinked, trembling. "What sayest thou by that?"
Kyorin answered: "There are mortals," he began, "Above them, the saints. Above saints, the gods."
He paused, letting the structure settle. "Yet despite their divine grace, even gods are still bound by time, fate, curse, blessing, and the reality itself."
"Thus, above the gods, above materialism, are those who transcend material, the Beyonders," Kyorin said, his voice steady and clear.
Jué, as if possessed by a force it couldn't understand, continued asking—its questions now devoid of the usual authority, consumed instead by a desperate, unquenchable curiosity: "Then… are you a Beyonder? One who stands above all that exists?"
Kyorin's expression did not change.
"No," he said. "I am one step beyond the Beyonders. And one step below the one who stands above all that exists."
He continued, his voice both gentle and incomprehensible: "Beyonders exist beyond what exists. But I… I have yet to manifest into existence."
He then let go of Jué and said. "As I said: 'I am that which isn't yet. And what isn't yet… that is me.'"
Jué could only stare.
Kyorin concluded: "As for the highest status above of all—that belongs to the Eternal. And..." His gaze fell on Jué.
"I know the unease in your heart, the question you still dare not speak," Kyorin addressed Jué's inner turmoil, his voice unwavering.
"But do not fear. What you're experiencing now... it isn't real. Not yet." He paused before adding, "Yet, it is not an illusion either. It is what can be."
"Thus, this is a hypothesis, a reality yet to manifest." Kyroin's words resonated like a final note, as Jué's body vanished.
In an instant, it was as if none of this had ever happened—Jué returned to the Mainloong Chamber, where it resumed showing the vision.
But as Jué reappeared, Kyorin, who was not yet, remained in the white void. He intoned solemnly, "Write of fate, come forth."
Immediately, before this unmanifested aspect of Kyroin, a woman in silver stood with ethereal grace—the Writer of Fate, the goddess of Wuthering Waves.
When she emerged, thousands of possible endings unfurled before her inner sight, cascading like rivers of light. Yet none had solidified. They remained as they were—realities yet to be.
The goddess took a step back, her voice edged with awe and caution. "Who are you, exactly?"
Kyorin, without even gazing at her, replied, "The yet to manifest, the unseen, the unuttered— The Tao of Unness. I am Un."
"Why have you called me?" the goddess asked, her voice poised between curiosity and command.
Kyorin answered calmly, yet with an unshakable gravity: "I wish to protect you from the weight of your sins."
The goddess narrowed her eyes. "Sins?" she echoed, disbelief barely veiled in her tone.
"Indeed," Kyorin replied. "You have violated the sanctity of the eternal aspect of mine. But... Do not misinterpret..."
"It is not the fate of my mortal self I resist—but the intrusion upon my awakened essence..." Kyorin clarified, pointing at himself. "... which you twist while it remains vulnerable in flesh."
His gaze deepened, reaching beyond the chamber, beyond even the white void. "In doing so, you have disrupted more than this world—you have stirred echoes across countless realities."
He looked upward—not just to the heavens, not to mere witnesses—but to something far more profound.
He looked at the myriad eyes: The observers.
But these were not mere observers. And Kyorin—he too, was not gazing at mere ones.
No.
He was... is gazing at 'you'.
Kyorin inhaled slowly, his shoulders lifting ever so slightly before settling in quiet resolve. His eyes, calm yet sharp, remained locked on the goddess.
Then, with a gentle tilt, he began: "Regardless…"
He exhaled through his nose, measured and steady. His hand lifted faintly, palm facing upward, in a gesture not of threat but of formality.
"Since I… still dwell within mortality…" A faint smile—more sorrow than amusement—touched his lips. "…and since this shell exists within your jurisdiction…" His hand closed slowly into a fist.
"Let me be clear about something." He took a step forward—not aggressive, but enough to bridge the unseen distance. His voice, now rich with gravitas, carried the weight of layered truths.
"O Writer of Fates of Wuther Waves…" He closed his eyes briefly, as if weighing his words with sacred care. "My mortal adherence to fate… penned by golden hands… is of utmost reverence."
His gaze returned to hers, unwavering. "I have never rejected the proposal of any swan."
A pause, deliberate.
Next instance, his voice turned sharper. "But that adherence applies only to this current mortal shell."
He lifted a single finger, as though pointing at the concept itself. "As the creator and the scribe of this universe's fate—yes, you possess the right to direct my mortal course." He admitted.
A short silence followed his mortal adherence.
But soon, his expression grew colder. "But what your actions…" He raised his hand again, now palm down—weighing judgment. "…is making me speak the tongue of the wise, while acting the fool."
He stepped back slightly, head bowed—not in submission, but introspection.
"Then…" His voice dropped. "…teaching me of the foolishness you orchestrated for that mortal vassal of mine..." he spat with disdain, "...dismissing the omniscience of the soul."
He looked up again, eyes flashing—not with anger, but a divine sorrow, aged and vast. "Do you believe I—as in soul—am unaware of such violation?"
He pressed his palm against his chest. "Such pollution of integrity?"
A beat passed.
Then, a near whisper: "Even the Necessary Taos… were considerate of my essence in lives before."
He let his hand fall, exhaling softly.
"But whatever you've written… is written." His voice now carried solemn grace. "I will forgive your actions."
"I do not ask you to rewrite the tale." He added, melancholically, "I ask only that you stop pulling the strings of a soul that is no longer asleep."
His soft tone, however, suddenly darkened like a brewing storm. "But know this well." A slow shake of his head followed. "Though I am the existence of something higher… in your world—Sol III… I am a mortal man."
His eyes narrowed, and his voice firmed to finality: "And a man… does not forget."
He turned slightly, only to pivot back—sharper this time. "Forgiveness is divine."
He let out a slow breath. "Yet, to pardon sin... That is reserved for gods." He paused, allowing the silence to gather like thunderclouds.
"And as a mortal man… I will seek justice." Then, with an almost ceremonial posture, he spread his arms, palms out.
"Right now, I am clothed in robes of the three natures—" His tone rang like an invocation.
A pause.
His voice deepened with solemnity as his gaze rose toward the goddess.
"Immutability." He began, shifting his stance slightly, with a subtle but deliberate head tilt. "Harmony."
A small breath. Then, softer— "Flow."
"I am unbounded by such," he clarified, letting his arms fall slowly to his sides, expression growing colder, more detached.
A flick of his eyes toward her, unblinking. "I merely don the robes... I do not become them. Yet..." He continued, "Out of my mortal adherence, I cannot violate the nature of existence."
A long pause followed—uncomfortable, nearly eternal. Then his voice returned—firmer, warning-laced. "Remember this."
He took a single, measured step forward. "Once I forsake these robes..."
Another pause.
His hand was now clenched behind his back. "... And if, by then, you have not returned to your role—the goddess you were meant to be..."
He turned slightly, his eyes meeting hers—distant yet piercing. "...I will make you write a fate so tightly bound..." A breath—like thunder echoing behind silence. "...that the very story you wish to protect..."
He lifted a finger, drawing a word in the air that glowed faintly. "...will be written in tragedy."
When the symbol dimmed, he let his hand fall. "This is my final warning," he said, now fully facing her, expression unreadable. "From me..."
He took one step closer—his voice low, heavy. "...the unmanifested..."
A second step. "...who is yet to be..."
He stopped, letting the weight of silence draw the next line in the listener's mind. "...and can be any."
"And since I am in a state of being any..." He gazed upon her and said, "I choose to be merciful."
He paused, then added, "This entire reality before you is yet to manifest."
Kyorin repeated the words he once spoke to Jué. This time, however, he did not simply call it a hypothesis.
"Let this settle in your mind as a thought within the ongoing reality," he said. "Thus, it shall be a fate yet to manifest... but also a fate to be considered."
"You will likely dismiss this fate," Kyorin continued, pointing gently, "But do not dismiss the emergence of the thought." He warned.
"You have once already dismissed my higher nature," He reminded, "seeing me only as an anomaly and a narrative tool within the tale of Wuthering Waves."
"I honor the fate inscribed for the moral body," Kyorin emphasized his mortal adherence, yet warned her. "But I protest the trespass upon that which lies beyond your ink."
As the final utterance from the unuttered echoed... the page shifted. The quill trembled. The ink of fate hesitated.
This was a part of the story not written yet—only a thought.
A fate yet to manifest, known only to the goddess.
And thus... it was.
Just as Kyroin had foretold, the goddess dismissed the thought. She returned to the book, doing precisely what Kyroin had warned her against: She ignored the emergence of the strange thought.
Regardless, under the guidance of her undeniable pen, the ink resumed its flow, filling the page from where it had once paused.
A/N: Now we are back to the canon from the next portion.
***
The fate continued beneath the swan's coordinated script:
"Yet take heed—"
Jué's steady voice echoed through the Mianloong Chamber. "Thou art reckless in deed. Thou mightst have forfeited thy life in affronting a Sentinel."
His tone bore no hostility—only a solemn, heavy warning.
Kyorin, bound within his mortal shell and in adherence to the fate proposed by the swan, bowed deeply and said, "Understood."
To be continued...
***
A/N: Yeah, so I broke the fourth wall here. Not randomly—it was meant to be part of the goddess's thoughts and still tied into the story… kinda.
But if it felt jarring or pulled you out of the moment, sorry about that. I wanted to try something different.
But then again, if I have to explain it here, I probably didn't do the best job pulling it off. My bad.
I'm tired, it's late, and honestly—I'm going to sleep. If you've got thoughts or feedback, feel free to leave a comment, and I'll try to respond tomorrow.
Thanks for sticking with me and the story!