Arin knelt.
His forehead hovered just above the cold, unfamiliar floor, his hands pressed flat against it. His heart thundered so violently that he was certain it would betray him—echoing through the vast hall and sealing his fate.
Even without mana.
Even without divinity.
He could feel it.
The overwhelming pressure in the air crushed down on him, heavy and absolute, as though time itself had taken form and chosen to observe him. His fingers trembled. His palms grew cold. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, yet his body refused to move.
This was not fear of death.
This was fear of erasure.
Then—
A voice.
"So you were the anomaly."
It was calm. Flat. Almost bored.
Yet those four words sent a shiver down Arin's spine.
A brief pause followed, long enough for his thoughts to spiral.
Then—
"Lift your head."
His throat tightened. Arin swallowed hard, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent hall. Slowly—agonizingly—he raised his head.
And the world stopped.
For a fleeting moment, his breath vanished entirely.
Before him stood a woman who did not belong to any world he knew.
Silver hair flowed like liquid moonlight, untouched by gravity. Her eyes—vast, ancient, and endlessly deep—held galaxies of time within them. She was beauty refined beyond mortal comprehension, not seductive, not gentle, but absolute.
Perfect.
Arin's mind failed to process what his eyes were seeing.
This… exists?
His body reacted before his thoughts could catch up.
Fear surged.
Within a heartbeat, he lowered his head again, kneeling deeper than before, his forehead almost touching the floor.
That was when she spoke again.
"A mere human dares raise his eyes toward a divine existence."
The words were neither shouted nor whispered.
They were declared.
Arin's thoughts descended into chaos.
Did I offend her?
Is this it?
Am I about to disappear?
Until now, the gods he had encountered were divided—some cold, some furious, some strangely indifferent. None of them had made him feel like this.
This was different.
This presence was suffocating.
Then—
"You dare think I am hostile."
His heart skipped.
He hadn't spoken.
He hadn't even breathed.
Yet she knew.
The realization struck him like lightning.
A sensation followed—one he could not name.
It wasn't pain.
It wasn't death.
It was something far worse.
His soul trembled violently, as though invisible hands were gripping it, compressing it, threatening to tear it apart. Fear flooded him from the inside, erasing logic, emotion, and identity all at once.
Then her voice descended once more.
"Be grateful that I am sparing you," she said.
"You will not be granted a second chance."
And just like that—
It ended.
The crushing pressure vanished.
Arin sucked in a sharp breath as sensation returned to his body, his heart pounding wildly as though it had just remembered its purpose.
Inside his mind, he screamed.
She can read my thoughts.
She can read my thoughts.
His lips refused to move. His voice was trapped somewhere deep within him, drowned by emotions he had never known existed.
Then—
Snap.
With the casual flick of her fingers, the Goddess of Time summoned her attendant.
A man appeared silently beside her—calm, composed, his presence steady yet unmistakably divine.
"Caelum," she said, her tone indifferent.
The assistant bowed deeply.
She did not look at Arin again.
Without another word, without explanation or judgment, the Goddess of Time turned away—and vanished, as though she had never been there at all.
Silence reclaimed the hall.
Arin remained kneeling.
Alive.
Barely.
And for the first time since his death, he understood something with terrifying clarity:
Surviving one year here would not require strength.
It would require enduring her time.