Within the high walls, everyone is a prisoner.
They once thought that the sky above their heads was a gift and an eternal order. Dynasties rise and fall, immortals and mortals are separated forever, everything is destiny.
They are wrong.
When the stars began to utter indescribable murmurs, when the ancient laws quietly twisted and collapsed, those beings sitting in the sky showed unconcealable panic for the first time. The old order is decaying from within, and the darkness outside the wall can already smell the cracks.
In this despairing dusk, a spark from the absolute "outside" falls quietly. It doesn't speak or argue, it just burns quietly, adhering to the simplest and coldest law:
"Whatever you want, pay the price."
As a result, some people took off their divine crowns and wanted to support all living beings; some indulged in crazy praises and waited for the end of all things; and the last person stood on the ruins and looked back at the billions of silent souls.
He stretched out his hand, and what he held was not divine power, but the entire weight of civilization.
The old gods are dead and new ones have not yet been established. What's your answer?
