『3rd POV』
In the countryside of the Lucia Continent, tucked just outside what would someday be called Elkia, a humble wooden house stood under a curtain of gentle rain. Inside, the soft patter of water against the roof was broken only by the rhythmic clicking of chess pieces.
Tet, newly reborn yet already impossibly ancient, sat cross-legged on the floor—eyes sharp, vibrant, calculating. Across from him, a boy named Riku mirrored his intensity. Still young, still soft-faced, but already bearing a quiet gravity.
The room was small, dimly lit, and cluttered with scraps of childhood—wooden toys, weathered books, remnants of a life lived in stolen moments of peace. Tet found the setting disarming. Honest. Real.
'I need a way that is more precise, tactics that are more efficient. I need a superior strategy,' Tet thought, moving a knight with the faintest curl of a smile. "Your move, Riku," he said, voice layered with mirth and something quieter, more curious. "Let's see what the human spirit looks like under pressure."
Riku's eyes scanned the board—not with fear, but focus. "Every piece matters," he said, almost to himself. "Every move brings us closer."
Tet's gaze didn't leave him. This wasn't just a game. This was a data point. An echo. A beginning. And Riku—Riku was the one who'd imagined him into being. The first to believe, even without knowing.
There's something curiously brilliant about him. Not just in the way he moves the pieces—but in how he sees the whole board, like he's chasing something no one else can see. I didn't know gods could be born from imagination. Or that one could be born from… him.
He made me—not with a prayer or ritual, just a thought. A game. A name whispered into the quiet corners of his mind. But thoughts are fragile things. And if he ever stops thinking about me… will I disappear too?
Something shifted.
The air grew still—not with calm, but with hesitation. Even the clouds seemed to flinch, as though the sky itself had caught its breath. The rain no longer sang against the rooftop; it whispered. The scent of something sharp and metallic drifted in, threading through the damp wood and old pages that filled the little room.
Tet narrowed his gaze. The Aether curled strangely at the edge of Riku's shadow, trembling like a wire stretched too tight. Something unseen was coiling, preparing to strike.
Then came the sound.
Not thunder. Not footsteps. A hum—thin, cruel, buried beneath the patter of rain. The kind of sound that slips between your ribs and makes you remember that war isn't all fire and fury. Sometimes it's silence, breaking apart.
"You're full of good answers," Tet said. "But what happens when the rules change? When the board flips, and you don't know the game anymore?"
Riku paused, puzzled.
Then—explosions. Distant, but not distant enough. The tremors grew louder. Closer.
Tet stared at the board, at the boy, at the fragile walls that had kept this little world intact. It was crumbling now.
"Remember this moment," Tet said softly. "Even in despair, the game continues."
The room shuddered violently. The light outside turned white-hot. The sound of war rushed in.
Tet's form began to fade—light unraveling from shadow, presence turning to possibility. He vanished not with fear, but with quiet resolve.
Because this game was only just beginning.
『Tet's POV』
Hi there. Tet speaking—Old Deus, manifested concept of play, and current squatter in the heart of the void. Don't worry, I'm house-trained. Mostly.
Currently squatting in what most people would melodramatically call "the void"—technically, it's just the Spirit Circuit's core. But hey, I'm not above dramatic flair. It keeps things interesting.
Been in Disboard about two months now. Not exactly by choice. I wasn't born in the usual way. See, gods like me aren't born—we're believed into being.
Why not an infant, you ask? Please. I don't do crying or diapers.
See, I'm not your typical lifeform—no cells, no stardust, no awkward biological mishaps. I'm the result of a concept someone whispered into existence. Let me break it down for you—nicely, so no one gets a migraine.
Metaphysical Ether is the root of me—the pure idea. I'm not flesh, not thought, not even memory. I'm a spark on the edge of imagination, born when someone dares to believe that play has purpose. You can't see it. You can't touch it. But it's always there. I am the Concept of Games. I don't die unless the very idea of games dies. And let's be honest… that's never happening.
But here's the twist: being an idea isn't enough. You can't high-five a concept, after all. To interact with mortals, I need Physical Ether—the costume imagination hands me. Think of it as soul-cosplay. The God of Forge? Shows up as a literal forge. Fire, metal, the works. Me? I'm still figuring it out. The image is fuzzy. The only person imagining me isn't even sure I exist. So right now, I'm just the whisper between thoughts.
Because only one person believes in me.
Just one.
A boy named Riku.
He doesn't think I'm real—but that belief? That seed? It's enough to keep my existence from unraveling entirely.
So for now, I sit at the center of the world, watching, waiting. I can't manifest yet. Not fully. Not while belief is this fragile.
But Riku… he was the first. The first to imagine me, name me, challenge me.
And I won't let that go.
He's walking into a war no one walks out of. A chessboard soaked in blood, ruled by gods who play with people like pieces.
So, I gave him a little push.
It's a strange thing, interfering. I'm not supposed to move the pieces. Not yet. Not while I'm still only half-formed, still floating on the edge of belief.
But watching him walk blind into a game rigged from the start… something in me recoils. Not in logic. In instinct. In… care.
Maybe it's against the rules. Maybe I'm bending more than just boundaries. But if I don't tip the board, even slightly… he won't live long enough to finish the match.
Maybe this time, he lives.
Maybe this time, the story changes.
And when it does?
I'll be waiting.
Here at the core. At the source of the Spirit Circuits. Where all play begins.
Your move, Riku.
Let's make it interesting.