The road stretched endlessly before him, a ribbon of dust and moonlight. The palanquin rolled forward, its wheels whispering against the earth, Nyx's slow breathing the only sound from within.
Regulus exhaled, watching his breath mist in the cold air.
Be a good person.
The thought settled into him like a vow. Not out of righteousness, not out of some grand moral code—but because the alternative was worse. Indifference was a slow poison. He'd seen what it did to men. What it had done to him.
Never.
He wouldn't become that.
But then—what now? A century stretched ahead, a yawning void between this moment and the "main story" he'd once known. Would Riveria even remember him by then? Would anyone?
A wry smile tugged at his lips. How the hell am I supposed to meet those so-called 'waifus' if they're not even born yet?
Fan theories flickered through his mind—mortals ascending at Level 10, legends crystallizing into divinity. Probably nonsense. But then again, so was a man from another world wielding magic stolen from stories.
His fingers twitched.
Wait.
As I've Written.
The realization struck like a spark. If his magic could manifest the unreal—if it could carve fiction into reality—then why not his fiction? His memories?
A laugh bubbled up, sharp and sudden in the quiet night. Nyx shifted inside the palanquin, murmuring something incoherent before settling again.
Regulus lowered the palanquin gently to the ground. He stepped away, just far enough, and raised his hand.
The words came unbidden, rising from some deep well of instinct.
"O Heavens, witness my great undertaking,
As stars above, so ink now waking.
As above, so below aligned,
What was once imagined now defined."
The air shivered. A book materialized before him, its pages blank, its cover etched with silver filigree. A quill appeared in his grip, its feather black as a raven's wing, its tip gleaming with something like starlight.
He hesitated.
Then, with deliberate strokes, he wrote:
A phone. Not just any phone—his phone. The one from his old life. But more than that. A repository. A vessel. Every song, every story, every fragmented memory etched into its circuitry.
The ink sank into the page, shimmering. The book pulsed once, twice—
And then, with a sound like a sigh, it dissolved.
In its place, cradled in his palm, was a sleek black rectangle. His thumb brushed the screen. It flickered to life.
A familiar lock screen greeted him—a stupid selfie he'd taken years ago, grinning like an idiot in front of a convenience store. His throat tightened.
He swiped. The home screen loaded. Icons lined up in neat rows. Spotify. YouTube. Notes. All there
His fingers moved on their own, tapping open his music library. There it was—Epic: The Musical. Proi Proi. Dozens of others, songs he'd loved, songs he'd hated, songs he'd only listened to because they'd played in the background of some half-remembered game.
He selected one at random.
The first notes spilled into the night, tinny through the phone's speakers but unmistakable. A guitar riff, raw and electric. A drumbeat like a heartbeat.
Regulus sat down hard in the dirt.
It worked.
It worked.
For a long moment, he just listened, eyes closed, letting the music wrap around him like a ghost.
Then—
"What," Nyx said, her voice sleep-thick but sharp with disbelief, "is that noise?"
Regulus turned. She'd pushed aside the palanquin's curtains, her violet eyes narrowed, her hair a tangled mess. She looked equal parts intrigued and offended.
He grinned.
"Music."
Nyx stared at the phone like it was a particularly insolent insect. "That is not music. That is the sound of a dying metal bird."
Regulus snorted. "You've got no taste."
She leaned forward, plucking the phone from his hands with effortless grace. Her fingers danced over the screen, prodding at icons with the caution of someone handling live explosives.
"...You wrote this?"
"In a sense."
Nyx hummed, tilting her head as the song shifted to something softer, a piano melody he barely recognized. Her expression was unreadable.
"Strange magic," she murmured at last. "To pull dreams from the air and trap them in glass."
Regulus took the phone back, his thumb brushing the screen. "Yeah. Strange."
For a moment, they sat in silence, the music weaving between them.
Then Nyx yawned, stretching like a cat. "If you're done communing with your little box of noise, we have a road to travel."
Regulus pocketed the phone, standing. "Yeah, yeah."
But as he lifted the palanquin, as the wheels began to turn once more, he couldn't help the lightness in his chest.
He had a century to wait.
But now?
Now, he had music.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.
The road stretched on, endless beneath the gaze of unfamiliar stars. The palanquin rolled forward, its rhythmic creak the only sound in the darkness.
Inside, Nyx shifted restlessly.
Regulus glanced back. Through the half-open curtains, he could see her—silks tangled, brow slightly furrowed. Not asleep, then.
Huh.
For all her power, for all her divine indifference, she couldn't sleep.
A thought struck him.
He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing the smooth surface of the phone. The screen flickered to life, casting a pale glow over his hands. He scrolled through his library, searching for something—
Ah.
There.
He tapped the track.
The first notes drifted into the night—soft piano, the slow hum of strings. A melody like moonlight given sound.
Nyx went still.
Regulus kept walking, the music threading between them, fragile as spider silk.
For a long moment, there was only the song.
Then—
"What is this?" Nyx's voice was quiet, stripped of its usual sharpness.
Regulus didn't turn. "A lullaby."
A beat of silence.
"It's... acceptable," she conceded, as if the admission pained her.
He smirked. "High praise."
She didn't respond. But when he glanced back again, her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even.
The song played on.
The night deepened, the stars above indifferent to the small drama unfolding below. Nyx's breathing had finally evened out, her restless shifting stilled. Regulus glanced back, confirming the steady rise and fall of her chest. Asleep at last.
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. The palanquin's weight was nothing now, but the silence had grown heavy. His fingers brushed the phone in his pocket, its screen glowing faintly as he scrolled.
What next?
His thumb hovered over Open Arms.
A wry smile tugged at his lips. Fitting, maybe. A song about trust, about lowering guards—sung to a man who'd spent ten years learning the opposite. Polites' optimism, Odysseus' suspicion. He'd always related more to the latter.
But Nyx? She'd laugh at the irony.
He tapped play.
The first notes drifted into the night—soft piano, a melody like an outstretched hand. Regulus let it wash over him, the lyrics threading into his thoughts.
"You can relax, my friend," the singer began.
Regulus mouthed the words, his voice barely a whisper. "I can tell you're getting nervous..."
A breeze stirred the grass. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted—low. He didn't turn.
"Think of all that we have been through," he murmured, more to himself than to the night. "We'll survive what we get into."
Nyx shifted slightly, her fingers curling into the silks. For a heartbeat, he thought she'd wake—but she only sighed, her brow smoothing.
The song swelled. "This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms—"
Regulus' voice faltered. The idealism in the words grated, even as they pulled at something buried deep. He'd never been that naive. But Polites' conviction, his certainty—it was hard not to envy it.
"Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart," the singer promised.
Regulus snorted softly. Tell that to Odysseus.
Yet he kept singing, his voice barely louder than the rustling leaves.
"Greet the world with open arms."
The owl hooted again, farther away now. The music played on, its hopeful strains at odds with the darkness around them.
Nyx murmured something unintelligible, her lips quirking as if amused even in sleep.
Regulus shook his head, lowering the volume. Crazy goddess.
But he didn't stop the song.