CHAPTER FOUR
The Protector Who Should Not Exist
The heavens did not close.
The tear remained—
a wound in reality, hanging above Earth like an open eye.
The world waited.
Billions of humans stood frozen beneath the sky-screen, unable to breathe, unable to blink, as if the entire planet had become a single creature holding its breath.
The Creator had spoken.
Then Earth had answered.
And now…
there was silence.
Not peace.
Not calm.
The kind of silence that comes before a sword falls.
Humanity Between Hell and Heaven
On the streets of New York, people still screamed.
Some pointed upward, tears streaming down their faces.
Others collapsed, laughing hysterically.
A man grabbed a stranger by the shoulders.
"Did you see that?! Did you SEE THEM?!"
His voice cracked.
"Myths… the myths are real!"
The stranger could only whisper:
"Does that mean… we're not abandoned?"
Across the world, the emotional whiplash was unbearable.
Just minutes ago—
Earth had been sentenced.
No protection.
No guardians.
No hope.
People had tasted despair so absolute it felt like the universe itself had turned its back.
And then—
gates of light opened.
Legends stepped through.
Hope returned like lightning.
Too fast.
Too bright.
Almost painful.
In Beijing, an old woman fell to her knees in the middle of the street, sobbing.
"Heaven didn't leave us…"
In Cairo, young men shouted praises, raising their fists toward the sky.
In Rome, priests trembled as the Vatican bells rang without anyone touching them.
In Tokyo, thousands stared upward in perfect disbelief, their minds unable to reconcile reality.
Fear became awe.
Awe became worship.
Worship became terror again—
because the tear in the heavens was still open.
And the Creator…
was still watching.
The Weight of the Protector
The barefoot old man hovered calmly above the highest gate, his robes stirring in wind that did not exist.
He looked ordinary.
Too ordinary.
Yet the moment he stood there, the atmosphere changed.
The pressure in the air was suffocating.
Even the myths behind him—
the dragon silhouettes, the immortal warriors, the laughing monkey—
all remained silent.
Respectful.
Like disciples before a master.
The voice returned.
Not angry.
Not loud.
But sharper than any blade.
"Earth…"
"…was never meant to awaken."
The Protector did not bend.
"You speak as if Earth is yours."
The Creator answered:
"It is."
A pause.
Then—
"You are an anomaly."
The Protector smiled faintly.
"No."
"I am a remnant."