The sun of Araksha is mercilessly hot. The further one moves from the center of the city, the more ferocious the heat becomes. Weeds lose their moisture before they can even take root and wither before they can bloom. Humans are no different. They are born, they live, and they struggle to leave something behind, but in the end, they scatter and vanish like a handful of sand. Yet to you, even that must be nothing more than a speck of dust. Thousands of lives and hundreds of seasons are likely just grains of passing time to you. I hate that. The hot sun was shining down on the massive golden city. The roofs of the palace built of gold burned dazzlingly in the sunlight, and the streets of the kingdom, carrying thousands of years of history, overflowed with a golden hue. In the midst of that brilliance, I opened my eyes deep within the archives built of high-quality wood. The scent of old wood and the cool air brushed against my lungs.

And there, next to me as I opened my eyes, was you. A god, and the trace of the oldest history.