Chương 1: Chapter I — Into the Land of the Rising Sun

Galan had once ruled an empire, and now he could barely endure a crowded room. He was a being capable of commanding the minds of others with ease, a genetically engineered power called 'mindcast.' In the great halls of Rome, his power had been a tool of statecraft—a silent web that allowed him to audit the souls of senators and soldiers alike.

But here, on a sun-drenched passenger ferry crossing the sea to Japan, his gift had become a suffocating tangle, dragging the memories he had tried to leave behind across half the world. He told himself he was here to investigate the spectral warriors haunting the Japanese forests—a mission from the Divine Council, a task suited for a god who had seen every horror. But in the quiet moments between the engine's hum and the passengers' chatter, he knew the truth. He wasn't hunting for ghosts. He was running from one.

"Attention passengers," a female voice announced over the voice expansion box in Godlang, the divine tongue.

"We are approaching the Summer Beach port of Tsushima's Central Island." The message repeated in Japanese, then Chinese, and finally in the rolling Latin of his home. Galan stood and left the stuffy lounge for the starboard deck. The salty air was sharp, and the sun beat down with a familiar, insistent heat. And there, near the railing, stood a trio of the church's winged servants. The younger one was fidgeting with his feathers—a reminder that even the divine can have their patience tested by a long boat trip.

"Archangel, do you think they'll perform plays of the great ones here?" the boy asked, his wings fluttering in a blur of uncontrolled, youthful excitement. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Galan's smirk faltered. The boy's chaotic energy was a sudden, unwelcome mirror of his grandsons: of small hands clutching his legs in the imperial gardens and the high-pitched laughter he had left behind when he turned his back on Rome.

He shook the thoughts away and continued walking, his hand sliding over the wooden railing. Further down the deck, two men in matching purple jackets leaned against the railing, their conversation warm and ordinary. His mindcast reached into their minds, allowing him to grasp the complexities of Japanese. Each word arrived already understood—clean, immediate, and impersonal.

"I'm exhausted."

"Me too. I can't wait to eat some broth noodles when we get back."

"Why don't we go to my mom's shop? After that, we can go see the cherry blossoms with the others."

"I'd love to, but I still need to figure out where to take Chiyu…" Galan didn't mean to listen further. But then—"I'll grab her favorite grilled eel lunch box." The words struck like a jagged shard through his carefully ordered mind. The deck vanished. He was back in his memory—the sharp, sour taste of a dried plum from his youth in his home village burst across his tongue. His first wife's laughter rang out, too loud, too close, like a ghost screaming in his ears.

His grip tightened on the railing until the wood groaned. The ocean breeze had turned to iron in his lungs. You can't even listen to a stranger without bleeding. He pushed off the railing and retreated. He descended the stairs, bypassing the food court, where the smell of grilled meat and soybean paste soup suddenly made him nauseous. At his cabin door, his hand closed around the handle as he waited for it to verify a trace of his soul. A heavy click announced the lock's release.

Inside, sunlight filtered through the porthole, illuminating the dust motes. He sat at his desk and looked at the scattered maps and brochures.

"Go in. Talk to people. Stay busy. Don't think too much," he said, throwing the clutter behind him to vanish into his divine vault. He knew the odds. He knew the world rarely allowed for such simple endings.

"Hopefully," he whispered to the quiet cabin, his voice hollow, "it goes better this time." The engine hum died away, replaced by the sudden stillness of a ship at rest.

"Attention, passengers, we have successfully docked. You may now disembark." Galan took a steadying breath, forced the emperor and the widower back into the depths of his mind, and rose to join the line.

"It'll do."