Myths are not immortal.
They rise and shine in the long river of time, and finally collapse in the "increasing narrative entropy", leaving ruins and reverberations everywhere. I, Shen Yuan, used to work as a "myth corrector" - to maintain the fragile order in the cracks of the eras when the remains of the gods were still warm, and to clean up these sacred garbage like a cleaner.
Until that rainy night, the afterimage of a supposedly harmless Nordic heroic spirit exploded into my ears with incomprehensible whispers. I saw beneath the gorgeous surface of the myth, the cold and creeping golden code, and the original rift that was enough to scare all existing pantheons.
At that moment, I became a "source of pollution" that I had to clean up.
The Administration listed me as the highest risk, and the guns of my former colleagues quietly turned around; the fanatical "original remnants" regarded me as the spark of awakening, eager for me to ignite the final fire that burned everything; and in the shadows, the real "scavengers" revealed to me the sad truth: all the gods above, including myself, were just picking up scraps and piecing together the meaning of existence from the ashes of the previous era...
Scavengers.
Now, the hunt has begun. I held the piece of golden chaos that was parasitic in my eyes and came from the source of the world, and fled between the ruins of myth and the gap between reality. I want to find my own "third way" between being persecuted and being persecuted, between being forgotten and being worshiped.
Or, be completely annihilated in the encirclement and suppression of the old gods and the delusion of the new gods.
Or, from this garbage pile full of gods, pick up the authority that belongs to me and redefine everything.
Welcome to the era of scavenging.
