Lord Of The Lost

The troupe leader's voice was calm, almost gentle.

"Thank you for returning it. I've been waiting for a long time."

His gaze fell on the quill.

William hesitated before speaking.

"It's my honor… but, you're a god—why would you need to wait for it?"

This was His dream.

The Anchoring Pen belonged to Him.

In theory, He should have been able to reclaim it with a single thought.

The troupe leader glanced at William.

"My dream can only hold one narrative pen at a time."

"And I left it in the past."

If it were just an ordinary quill, He could create as many as He wanted.

He could have filled this dream world with them.

But ordinary things are meaningless.

Every extraordinary artifact is unique, unable to be replicated.

And a legendary artifact like the Anchoring Pen was even rarer.

But—

The God of Dreams was different.

He could replicate items within dreams.

Each copy was identical to the original.

The only flaw?

The dream version only worked within the dream world.

But for the God of Dreams, that wasn't a limitation.

He had the power to blur the line between dreams and reality.

Meaning, in His domain, the copy was as real as the original.

Before His fall, He had placed the duplicate in the past, leaving it in the hands of His former self.

The troupe leader's voice remained calm, but his words were shocking.

"I originally had a second quill, the original one, but two people took it from me."

William and Sophia froze.

They stared at Him, trying to process what they just heard.

The God of Dreams; robbed?

Sophia's eyes narrowed.

"Who would dare?"

The troupe leader smiled, unbothered.

"Why? Were you thinking of stealing it too?"

"That would only work if you tied me down and kept me by your side."

William and Sophia—

Shook their heads violently in unison.

Sophia crossed her arms.

"I'm more curious, who could pull off something so crazy?"

The troupe leader's smile didn't fade.

"Two women. Both full of potential, fighting from the past into the future."

"One, a greedy, beautiful witch."

"The other, a clever, cunning princess."

"They called each other best friends, but their beliefs were completely different."

"A perfect setup for tragedy."

He sighed, almost wistfully.

"I would have loved to write a play about them."

"But I can no longer see their future."

"I wonder… how they are now?"

William and Sophia exchanged glances.

The Witch of the Wilds—

Had stolen her feather pen from a god?

Sophia's face turned pale.

To her, the Witch of the Wilds was legendary.

And yet, she had entered the labyrinth, faced a fallen god, and robbed Him blind.

Unbelievable.

William, however, was more shocked by the lack of resentment in the troupe leader's voice.

He didn't seem angry.

Didn't seem betrayed.

He spoke of His own robbery like it was a minor inconvenience.

As if He had moved beyond such concerns long ago.

William forced himself to focus.

"How do we leave this place?"

The troupe leader lifted the quill, twirling it between His fingers.

"Simple. Write one sentence."

William frowned.

"I tried, but it doesn't work."

The troupe leader shook His head.

"That's because you weren't with me."

"Without me, the quill is powerless."

William's gaze shifted.

He noticed—

The troupe leader, the desk, and the chair all glowed faintly, casting a three-meter circle of light in the darkness.

Inside this circle, the quill shimmered—

Its power restored.

Now, he understood.

"That's why you said we'd have to tie you down."

The quill's power wasn't universal.

It was tied to Him.

Only by keeping Him close could they use it.

William exhaled.

He stared at the quill, then at the troupe leader.

After a moment, he spoke carefully.

"Can I borrow it?"

The troupe leader nodded.

"Yes."

William's brow furrowed.

It was too easy.

There had to be a catch.

"What will it cost me?"

The troupe leader's smile did not change.

His answer was simple.

"That depends on whether you're willing to write."

"This is the future of Nirvana."

"You only need to take responsibility for the future you create."

William's breath hitched.

He looked around—

At the endless abyss, the shattered remnants of fate, the void where dreams had died.

This was a place where the future had collapsed.

And yet—

The quill could still write it anew.

Could still forge a path forward.

But—

At what cost?

Changhu Town—

The past of the God of Dreams, more than 1,800 years ago.

This place was a fragment of history, lingering like a dream that refused to fade.

But where William and Sophia stood now—

It was the future of the God of Dreams.

A time after the War of Gods, long after the divine battles had ended.

Here, the future had been overtaken by darkness, consuming everything in its path.

The past still struggled, trapped in illusions, trying to survive.

The future had already fallen.

And in the middle of it all—

A single, fallen god, watching His own existence unravel.

William and Sophia realized the truth.

They were speaking to the first fallen God of Dreams.

His body had died, but His mind continued to dream.

Yet, even in this endless slumber, something far worse had taken root—

A darkness so vast that it was devouring both His past and His future.

Two quills.

One for the future.

One for the past.

Sophia's eyes narrowed.

"What do you need the quill for?"

Something wasn't right.

If the past still existed, why not fight to keep it?

If there was no hope for the future, why not place His faith in what still remained?

Even if it couldn't stop the inevitable, at least it could delay it.

The troupe leader's answer was quiet, yet heavy.

"No matter where I place it—"

"What is destined will not change."

"I had companions in the past."

"But now, I am in the future."

"The darkness stretches endlessly."

"All things disappear."

"When I look back; only loneliness remains."

"The stages I built are crumbling."

"So now…"

"I will write an ending for myself."

William and Sophia felt a cold chill run through them.

Giving up?

After struggling for more than a thousand years—

After persisting despite the fall of all else—

He was choosing to end it?

But…

Could they really blame Him?

Everything He had experienced in the past—

Had already shaped His future.

And this was the result.

A god who had fought against time itself—

Now writing His own epilogue.

Sophia swallowed.

"But why?"

The troupe leader finally revealed the truth.

"In the last war between gods—I was the first to fall."

William's breath hitched.

"The first…?"

The troupe leader's voice remained steady.

"I was attacked from the future."

"A darkness; immeasurable and unstoppable, waited at the end of time."

"It did not descend from above."

"It did not rise from below."

"It was simply waiting, like a wall blocking the path forward."

"And I was the first to reach it."

"The first to fall."

For the first time, William and Sophia began to grasp the scale of what had happened.

The God of Dreams—

The first casualty.

A war fought not just in the present, but across time itself.

Perhaps because they were outsiders, perhaps because they were so insignificant in the grand scheme of things

—

The troupe leader spoke freely, revealing secrets of the War of Gods.

"The gods had their own problems."

"But even so, the Sun God's plan succeeded."

William and Sophia listened carefully.

"He was brave, far braver than the rest of us."

"If not for Him, the end would have come 1,600 years ago."

"He tried to raise a second sun, to burn away the darkness forever."

"I warned Him; it was too soon."

"Other forbidden forces were already stirring."

"But He had no time left."

"So He took the risk."

"And He paid the price."

The Sun God's light had flared—

And the darkness had struck back.

"He was caught off guard, forced to suppress it at all costs."

"That decision… resulted in the greatest disaster of our time."

But the darkness didn't only threaten the Sun God.

"The Original Moon had already been corrupted."

"The moon governs the night, and the night belongs to darkness."

"It was inevitable, He had already fallen too far."

"If He had succeeded in completing the transformation, He would have become our greatest enemy."

But then—

"The Demon Wolf was watching."

William's breath caught.

"The Demon Wolf…?"

The troupe leader nodded, eyes settling on William.

"At the critical moment, the Demon Wolf rushed into the Original Moon."

"And tore the dark path from His body."

"He ripped away the corruption, but left behind something else."

The troupe leader's gaze lingered.

William felt his spine stiffen.

"The Demon Wolf also came to my kingdom."

"And left something behind."

A strange stillness settled over them.

William knew.

The God of Dreams saw everything.

If He were still at His full power—

He could have rewritten their futures in an instant.

He could have woven their destinies into His stage.

He could have played a mischievous joke on fate—

The kind of joke that could change history.

Many had prayed to Him, the God of Prophecy and Dreams.

But those prayers were never for blessings.

No—

People only prayed not to be noticed by Him.

Because to meet the God of Dreams—

Was to have one's destiny rewritten in ways beyond comprehension.

But not anymore.

He had lost that power.

Now, He was just—

A god waiting for His own story to end.