Yiren emerged from the portal into an unfamiliar realm—a dense, silent forest blanketed in shadows. The air was still, the kind of stillness that prickled against the skin. Amid the gloom, a dim light flickered from a decrepit house nestled between twisted trees, its wooden beams groaning with age.
Beside the structure stood a man in his thirties, broad-shouldered and soot-streaked, meticulously adjusting a towering mechanical contraption. It was a strange fusion of gears, pipes, and luminous gemstones, pulsating faintly like a slumbering beast.
Yiren grinned and strode forward with his usual careless swagger. "Magnus! There you are. Is it done?" he called, his tone buoyant, almost boyish.
The man turned slowly, brushing metallic dust off his gloved hands.
"It's... functional," Magnus rumbled, his voice low and gravelly. "But not perfect. The schematics that little Gardiyan provided are cryptic—overengineered. I'm not confident I built it the way he intended."
Yiren laughed, running his fingers admiringly over the polished surface of the weapon.
"Nonsense. You're the most brilliant inventor this world's ever coughed up. If you say it's done, then it's done. That's all I need to hear."
Magnus exhaled, glancing at the device with wary eyes.
"This thing… this 'gun,' as Gardiyan called it, it requires precision. It fires tiny metal projectiles—bullets—at lethal speed. It's dangerous, unstable. If the wrong people find out about it—"
"Then we'll have even more fun," Yiren interrupted, flashing a reckless smile.
"Come on, Magnus. Since when did we worry about danger? The bigger the risk, the better the thrill."
Behind Yiren, a new portal shimmered into existence—this one glowing with a pale, eerie light. Yiren nodded toward it, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Time for the main event. You stay here. Keep a low profile. If anyone touches you, I'll be very annoyed."
Magnus folded his arms.
"I'll be fine. But Yiren… remember, war isn't a game. There will be consequences. Real ones. People will suffer."
Yiren tilted his head, amused by the gravity in Magnus's words.
"Suffering is what makes it beautiful, Magnus. The pain, the screaming, the shattered dreams—that's where the truth lies. That's what makes it art."
He turned, stepping into the portal without a backward glance.
"Don't let me down, old friend. bye bye~"
The portal sealed behind him with a pulse of light, leaving only the creaking forest and the whirring of the strange machine.
Magnus stood alone, staring into the void where Yiren had vanished. His jaw clenched.
"Shattered dreams… One day, Yiren," he murmured, almost to himself, "you'll understand that there are things greater than chaos. Greater than power. Greater than destruction."
****
On the other side of the portal, Yiren stepped into his palace, where the warm glow of evening filtered through tall stained glass. Seated on an ornate chair, legs crossed and a second cup of tea in hand, was Gardiyan—still in his childlike form, though his gaze carried the sharpness of a strategist.
As soon as Yiren appeared, Gardiyan rose, setting the cup aside.
"Did you get it?" he asked, the hint of urgency in his voice betraying his usual calm.
Yiren held up the weapon with a theatrical flourish.
"I've never seen you this excited, and honestly? I don't blame you. This—this is a masterpiece, Gardy. Get ready—things are about to get very interesting."
Gardiyan walked over, studying the gun with small but precise hands. His eyes flickered with fascination, though his voice remained flat.
"As long as I don't have to clean up your mess again, I suppose I can live with it."
Yiren burst into laughter and threw himself onto a nearby couch.
"Oh, trust me. It's going to be such a mess."
Without warning, he leaned over and pinched Gardiyan's cheek.
"Aren't you supposed to be tiny and terrifying again? I liked you better that way."
Gardiyan sighed, clearly used to this.
"How many times are you going to say that?" He rolled his eyes. "And remind me again why you want to start a war?"
Yiren straightened up, grinning.
"To make you emperor, of course."
Gardiyan turned to him slowly, brow raised. Yiren swore he could almost see question marks floating above his head.
I'm already heir to the throne. By blood, by law. Isn't that what you're thinking?
"But where's the fun in that?"
"Stop reading my mind."
"I don't need to. Your face is an open book, Gardy." Yiren chuckled and gently spun the gun on the table in front of him.
Gardiyan exhaled and rubbed his face with one hand.
"Yiren, you could rule the kingdom as it is. The people, the armies, the power—they'd follow you. So why insist on war?"
Yiren waved the question away with a dramatic flourish.
"Ugh, that question again. It's so boring. Peace, peace, peace—it rots everything. No schemes, no tension, no explosions! Life needs chaos. Drama. Fire!" He stood, pacing the room like a man possessed, the gun in his hand as though it were an ancient relic.
Gardiyan watched him with a blank stare.
"If you want fire, go light a stove and leave me in peace," he muttered.
Yiren froze mid-step, then turned sharply toward him, expression deadly serious.
"Gardy… did you just mock me?"
"Me? I would never." Gardiyan replied with a deadpan expression, though the tiniest smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Yiren narrowed his eyes and slowly approached, then pinched Gardiyan's cheek again—harder this time.
"You need to learn respect! When you're emperor, I won't let anyone speak to you like this!"
Gardiyan swatted his hand away, exasperated.
"For the last time, I don't want to be emperor! And didn't you say the war was for your sake? Why is it suddenly for mine?"
Yiren paused, then flashed a crooked grin—half-mocking, half-sincere.
"Because you're the only reason I haven't set this whole wretched world on fire yet, little Cardy." He gently placed the gun on the table. "Don't you see? You inspire me."
Gardiyan stared at him for a long moment, then pressed his palm to his forehead. "This is too much. I need another cup of tea."