He flew in silence, holding her against him.
Around them, a thin, invisible barrier unfolded, fitting their silhouettes with an almost tender precision. The wind shattered against it without ever reaching them, diverted, dispersed, as if it did not dare disturb the fragile body nestled against his own. He had raised it without thinking, by pure reflex—not for himself, but for her.
The little girl lay in his arms with a disturbing lightness. Not the lightness of a sleeping child, but that of someone from whom too much had been taken, for far too long. Her head rested against his chest. Her eyes were open.
Empty.
They sought nothing. Fled nothing. They expressed neither fear, nor expectation, nor curiosity. Simply… nothing. As if whatever she once was had withdrawn far behind that gaze, leaving behind a body that continued to exist out of habit, out of inertia.
These are the eyes of someone who has already given up, he thought.
The thought carried neither anger nor judgment—only a heavy observation, difficult to ignore.
It had already been several hours since he had left the city.
Beneath them, the stones, the walls, and the cries muffled by fear had long since vanished. The crowd, the tension, the weight of watching eyes—all of it had dissolved, replaced by calmer expanses. Plowed fields stretched as far as the eye could see, broken up by dirt paths and patches of greenery still marked by the night's dew.
The world seemed to breathe differently here.
Further ahead, a small farm took shape in the darkness. Isolated. Modest. Almost fragile. A simple speck of life amid the silence, lit by a warm glow filtering through a window.
He instinctively slowed down.
He descended slowly, his wings folding as his feet neared the ground. The earth received him without a sound. Before him, the farm seemed asleep, bathed in a soft light filtering through the shutters.
He stepped forward, the little girl still in his arms.
The door was simple, made of worn wood. He raised his hand and knocked.
Once.
Then waited.
A few seconds passed. He heard movement inside. Hesitant footsteps. Then the door opened.
A woman stood there.
She was neither rich nor poor to the point of misery. Her face bore the marks of a hard but honest life. Her hands were worn by labor; her clothes simple, clean, carefully mended. When she looked up at him, she froze.
Her mouth fell slightly open.
She did not scream. Did not step back. She simply stared at him, unable to form a word, her gaze sliding from his face to the motionless girl in his arms.
He inclined his head slightly.
"Excuse me for disturbing you, ma'am."
His voice was calm, low, devoid of any authority. It carried neither command nor expectation—only a simple, almost awkward request.
"Could you add one more place at your table for this child tonight?"
He paused briefly.
"Of course, I will compensate you for the meal."
A faint sound came from behind her.
"Mom…"
A child approached, clinging to the fabric of her dress. He could not have been more than six or seven years old. His eyes, milky white, focused on nothing. They remained motionless, turned toward the void.
Blind.
At such a young age… in a world this backward, he thought. It's cruel.
The woman instinctively placed a hand on the child's shoulder, gently pulling him close, while continuing to stare at the stranger.
"If that isn't possible," he added softly, "I'll leave. Don't worry. Please, feel free to decide."
A brief silence settled.
Then the woman slowly shook her head.
"No… no."
She took a deep breath.
"I was just… surprised."
She looked at the little girl again.
"She can stay. Of course she can stay."
He nodded, relieved.
"Thank you, ma'am."
Then, almost automatically:
"Allow me, then, to—"
"No."
The word was firm, without harshness.
"I won't take any payment."
He frowned slightly.
"I insist."
She raised her eyes to him calmly.
"Don't insist, sir. Who would charge a man asking for a meal for his daughter?"
The sentence struck him more than he had expected.
A man… This woman is truly a good person.
He remained silent for a moment, then inclined his head more deeply.
"Then I won't insist any further. Thank you very much."
He gestured toward the back of the land, where a solitary tree stood on a small rise.
"I'll be over there, near that tree. If you need anything."
He bent down and gently set the little girl on the doorstep, at her height. She did not react.
"Listen to the lady carefully, alright?" he murmured.
The woman offered a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry."
He nodded.
"Very well. I'll leave her with you, then."
Without another word, he straightened and slowly rose into the air. A few moments later, he reached the solitary tree and sat on one of its branches.
The night stretched gently around him. In the distance, the fields rippled under the breeze, dark and silent, while a few hills barely cut their shapes against the star-filled sky. From time to time, his gaze returned to the lit farmhouse—a small patch of warmth in the darkness, fragile proof that life went on here, despite everything.
Alright… I've definitely been transmigrated into another world.
The conclusion settled without panic, without unnecessary dramatization. It was there—simple, obvious. There was no longer any room for doubt.
He had his character. His body. His wings. His abilities.
Even without a system, even without an interface, he could still feel them. Not as icons or lines of text, but as extensions of himself. Natural. Instinctive. As obvious as the movement of his fingers or the beating of his wings.
It was unsettling.
In the game, everything passed through menus, delays, calculations. Here, his perception was different. Broader. Deeper. It felt as though his very mind functioned differently, as if his brain had been sharpened, freed from certain human limits. Information assembled faster. Decisions formed with an almost disturbing clarity.
My intelligence has changed… it has definitely increased.
He lowered his gaze to his hands.
Another issue imposed itself, heavier.
Today, he had killed.
Easily.
Too easily.
The man had deserved it—he had no doubt about that. His actions were unforgivable, and the sentence had been just. And yet… if this world was real—and everything suggested that it was—then that execution had been the first human life he had taken. And despite that… nothing. No shock. No nausea. No remorse. Not even a delayed hesitation.
He felt absolutely nothing regarding the murder.
That, on the other hand… is unhealthy.
Not enough to paralyze him, but enough to deserve attention. That detachment was dangerous—not because it made him cruel, but because it made killing mundane. Acceptable. Easily repeatable.
I'll have to be careful about that. I must not become someone who kills over nothing.
He engraved that thought into a corner of his mind, like a silent reminder. A line he must not cross lightly.
And then there was that summoning.
Above an entire capital.
He let out a short breath, almost a sigh, as his gaze drifted toward the invisible horizon where the city now lay.
Damn… what an idea.
If he had truly wanted to draw attention, provoke fear, establish himself as a potential threat from the moment he arrived, he could not have done it any better. Such a spectacular appearance left no room for doubt. To them, he was no longer a mere unknown. He had become an uncontrollable factor. A symbol. A possible danger—one they would sooner or later try to understand… or eliminate.
Excellent publicity, he thought with a hint of irony.
He slowly rubbed his forehead, without real irritation—rather with the lucid weariness of someone measuring the consequences of an act already done.
For now, he had no concrete plan. And, surprisingly, that lack of direction did not worry him.
I'll see where this goes. No need to rush.
This world did not follow the mechanics of a game. There were no immediate rewards, no clearly marked path for hasty decisions. Here, acting too quickly could be far more dangerous than waiting. Observing. Understanding. Adapting. That was probably the best course of action, at least for now.
And then, if there were ever a real need…
He knew he was not alone.
The seven archangels of the original sins would always answer his call when summoned. An ultimate insurance. A last resort he preferred not to use lightly, so as not to impact this world too severely.
He lifted his head slightly, letting his gaze drift one last time over the nocturnal landscape stretching before him.
For now… I'll simply discover this world.
The little girl slowly approached the tree.
Her steps were hesitant, almost silent, as if she feared disturbing something by moving forward. The light of the farmhouse remained behind her, casting her elongated shadow over the damp grass, while the dark silhouette of Elohim took shape among the branches.
He lowered his head slightly toward her even before she spoke.
"So… did you eat well?"
"Yes."
Her answer was simple, but different. A little more presence. A little less emptiness.
He climbed down from his branch and sat on the ground.
"Come, sit down. You must have questions… let's talk for a bit."
She hesitated, then settled in front of him, her legs awkwardly folded beneath her, taking up as little space as possible, as if she were afraid of occupying too much.
He observed her for a moment before continuing, his tone calm and even.
"To begin with, can you tell me your name?"
"Diana."
"Diana… My name is Elohim."
"And your age? Do you know it?"
"I think I'm… eight or nine."
"Then let's say eight. It'll be simpler. I suppose you don't know your date of birth either?"
She shook her head.
"Then from today onward, this day will be your birthday."
Diana looked surprised, but said nothing.
"You must be wondering why I chose you among so many others, and why I brought you with me. So I'll explain everything."
She raised her eyes, attentive.
"Do you know what an ability is?"
"Yes."
"There are several types. Some are active, like this one."
[Levitation]
Diana's body gently lifted off the ground. She let out a surprised breath, her legs swinging awkwardly in the air. He smiled and gently lowered her back down.
"There are also passive abilities. I have a particular one: the Vision of Midas. It allows me to recognize people with exceptional magical potential. In my world, that's about one person in ten million… here, let's say there might be one or two in your entire country."
He looked at her calmly.
"And you, Diana, are one of them."
She blinked.
"A person with such potential should not be condemned to fade away in insignificant labor. Where I come from, people like you are treated with the same respect as kings."
He let his words settle before adding more softly:
"But the choice is yours."
Diana did not move. Her eyes, once extinguished, now perceived possibilities.
"You don't need to decide right now. You can stay with me. If you do, I'll teach you magic, help you grow stronger, progress, and understand this world. I can make you into a powerful and respected woman."
He paused.
"But this life will not be easy."
His gaze grew more serious.
"I come from another world, and my appearance—as well as my existence—will not please everyone… unlike the kind lady who fed you tonight."
He inhaled softly.
"You could also choose to leave. I could take you to a city, with enough money for you to start a comfortable new life. The choice is yours. Take your time, think carefully… and in the coming days, if you have questions, don't hesitate to ask me."
Diana slowly nodded.
He then raised his hand, hesitating briefly before extending it toward her, as if weighing the significance of that simple gesture.
Diana tensed immediately.
He slowed his movement, then placed his fingers on her hair with infinite gentleness.
"Don't rush yourself. You have all the time you need now. I'm here for you."
She nodded, without pulling away.
He then took out a large white fur and handed it to her.
"You'll sleep better with this."
"Thank you…" she murmured.
For now, he thought, let's simply take care of her. Make sure she lacks nothing.
The reason for his arrival in this world could wait.