"Hmm...maybe I should have asked him for help," Doran muttered, staring at the blank parchment before him. The quill in his hand felt heavier than a collapsing star, and the weight of his own pride pressed down on him like a black hole.
He had read countless books, scrolls, and scriptures across millennia—enough to fill entire galaxies. But now, faced with the task of writing one himself, he felt utterly lost. His immortal dignity was on the line, and the thought of losing to Radua, of all people, was unbearable.
"Is writing a book really this difficult of a task?!" he grumbled under his breath, tossing the quill aside. It clattered against the obsidian table, echoing in the vast, empty hall of his floating sanctuary.
As if in response to his frustration, the void behind him rippled. A crack split the air, and from it emerged a silhouette, graceful yet imposing. The figure materialized into a woman with flowing silver hair and eyes that glimmered like frozen stars. Her presence alone caused the temperature in the room to plummet.
"Are you guys really that bored? How long do you plan on continuing these stupid bets of yours?" Her voice was soft, almost melodic, but carried an edge that could cut through the fabric of reality.
Doran didn't turn to face her. "Verilia... what do you want?" he asked, his tone weary.
She stepped closer, her footsteps leaving faint frost patterns on the floor. "Just a few hundred years ago, the two of you bet on who could consume the most stars. Do you even know what we had to go through to restore all the destruction you caused?"
Doran could feel her icy aura intensifying with each word. The air around him grew colder, and frost began to creep up the walls. Sweat formed on his brow despite the freezing temperature.
"Can you calm down? You'll ruin my home at this rate," he said, finally turning to face her.
Verilia's eyes flashed with anger. "It doesn't matter to me even if this floating mud you call home turns into ice!" she shouted, her voice echoing like a winter storm. The frost spread rapidly, covering the entire planet in a matter of seconds. The once vibrant landscape was now a frozen wasteland, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Doran sighed, rubbing his temples. "Enough! Tell me the reason why you came looking for me."
Verilia took a deep breath, and the frost began to recede, though the air remained chilly. Her expression softened, but there was a sadness in her eyes that Doran couldn't ignore.
"Doran... it's been 3,000 years since Xiaoqi's death," she said quietly.
His heart clenched at the mention of her name. "I don't need you to remind me of that," he replied, his voice tight.
Xiaoqi—his beloved wife. She had fallen during her Immortal Tribulation, her soul barely saved from annihilation by entering the reincarnation cycle. Doran had waited millennia for her return, but the void she left behind was a wound that never healed.
"I know you still blame yourself for her death," Verilia continued, her tone gentle now. "But I can't stand by and watch you destroy entire universes just to distract yourself from the pain. Those worlds may have been empty, but they were still part of the cosmic balance."
Doran turned away, his gaze distant. "Those universes were devoid of life. They meant nothing."
Verilia's patience snapped. "That's it! I can't put up with this anymore. Don't come running to me again when you and Radua mess up another universe because of your stupid games!" With a stomp of her foot, the entire planet trembled.
Doran turned to face Verilia, his eyes narrowing as he studied her expression. The sorrow in her gaze was unmistakable, but there was something else—something she wasn't saying. He crossed his arms, his voice low and measured.
"You think I don't know what I'm doing? That I'm just some reckless fool chasing after stars and universes for fun?" He paused, his gaze drifting to the frozen landscape around them. "Every star I consume, every universe I unravel... it's all just a distraction. A way to fill the void she left behind."
Verilia's expression softened, but only for a moment. "And what good has it done, Doran? You've destroyed countless worlds, disrupted the balance of existence, and for what? A few moments of forgetfulness? Xiaoqi wouldn't have wanted this."
Doran flinched at the mention of her name, his fists clenching at his sides. "Don't speak for her. You don't know what she would have wanted."
"I know she loved you," Verilia shot back, her voice rising. "And I know she wouldn't have wanted you to throw away everything you are for the sake of a pointless bet. You're better than this, Doran. Or at least, you used to be."
The words hung in the air like a blade, sharp and unyielding. Doran turned away, his shoulders tense. He didn't have an answer—not one that would satisfy her, at least. Instead, he focused on the horizon, where the last remnants of the frozen landscape were beginning to thaw.