After Hexin responded, the brown-haired boy stared blankly for a long moment.

…This idea is completely absurd. And yet, I can’t stop myself from wanting to believe it.

I’m losing it. Totally losing it.

Muttering to himself, the boy scratched his head. “Then do you think that person—whoever it is—might go all the way and help us out of this mess?”

Hexin considered. “It’s possible.”

The boy pressed his lips together, wanting to say more. But perhaps even the heavens thought it too ridiculous that they were still chatting so calmly in such a place.

Suddenly, a scream tore through the rain like a spear of sound, piercing everyone’s ears.

“T-The… the ritual circle—! It’s activated! The summoning was a success—!!!”

With the scream came a pillar of crimson light shooting into the sky. At its peak, a black gate cracked open.

—Pitch black, swirling like a vortex, a hole that led to a world not their own.

Someone caught a glimpse of its edge in their peripheral vision and immediately reeled, nausea rising violently in their throat. The brown-haired boy clutched his chest, pale, but what filled him wasn’t just horror—it was despair. Deep, absolute despair.

“…What kind of god—?! This isn’t divine, it’s evil! No god could be like this!”

He looked like he might vomit up his organs.

At first, he’d thought the ritual was just another insane invention of the noble class to torment civilians. But now… this was a thousand times worse. A million.

How dare they summon something like that? Did they even understand what they’d done?

A bolt of lightning split the sky. The children on the pyre staggered to their feet and tumbled off the stack of hay in panic.

From a distance, the priest clasped his hands and dropped to his knees, voice distorted with ecstasy.

The rain poured harder.

“Ahh… the god has manifested. I succeeded. I summoned a god—”

Pop.

The priest’s bulging eyes froze in place before his entire body erupted into a fine mist of blood.

Crimson droplets sprayed across the nearby nobles, soaking them in gore. The pale world was instantly dyed bright red.

Descending from the black gate was something like a hybrid between a bee and a human. Its triple-jawed mouth chewed slowly. After devouring the priest, it darted toward the nobles—too fast for the eye to follow.

It all happened too quickly.

The grand, ceremonial square became a hellscape in the blink of an eye. Screaming. Chaos. The nobles who once sneered and laughed now fled, crawling and shoving each other. Soldiers were tossed to the monsters like kindling. From the black gate, more and more abominations poured forth.

“It’s over… this is the end…”

“It’s not over!” the brown-haired boy shouted to the despairing children. He turned to Hexin, who was still seated, unmoving. He thought Hexin had gone into shock. “Can you still stand? Take my hand!”

But Hexin only gave him a meaningful smile. “You’re a good one.”

And then he rose, calmly stepping around the boy and walking to the edge of the platform.

The boy froze.

As they brushed past each other, Hexin cast him a fleeting glance. In that instant, the boy felt as if he were staring into a galaxy—nebulae, stars, the birth of worlds.

It wasn’t a gaze exchanged between humans. It was a higher being looking at a mortal from beyond the veil.

The god of dreams had acknowledged the one with a hero’s heart. The boy remained caught in that gaze, his nausea soothed, his dread replaced by quiet peace—as if wrapped in a gentle dream. The world before him seemed reborn, like someone drowning who had finally broken through the surface and could breathe again.

“You…” the boy whispered to Hexin’s back.

But Hexin felt so distant now. Untouchable, like a mirage at the end of the horizon.

An impossible thought rose in the boy’s mind.

He froze.

On the platform, Hexin stood tall, his gaze lifting past the burning land to the distant sky—like he was about to ascend with the wind. A dormant power stirred in his body, rising from slumber.

“You know,” Hexin said softly.

“…What?” the boy asked, barely able to form the word.

“He’s coming to get me.”

Moments ago, Hexin might still have passed for a flawless boy. But now, his beauty had begun to transcend the limits of human definition. Just standing there, he emanated a seductive, dreamlike aura, drawing everyone in. The flames and chaos below seemed muted—like they belonged to another world.

The boy’s heart pounded wildly. He barely heard what was said.

Then—silence.

Someone walked out from the far edge of the abyss.

The insectoid monsters halted mid-motion. The nobles who had been howling in pain froze mid-scream. It wasn’t that the hunger or pain stopped—it was that something deeper took hold.

Something ancient. Sovereign.

Throughout history, countless people had imagined such a presence. Painters tried to capture it in brushstrokes. Poets sought it in words. They poured their lives into describing what beauty and divinity might look like.

But now that he had appeared, all of it was rendered meaningless. Their efforts were trash. Their praises, proof of how little they understood.

No one even registered how he had arrived.

Their minds went blank.

The god who had walked out of the abyss vanished—and reappeared within two steps, crossing thousands of meters in an instant.

On the platform where Hexin stood, a sleeve brushed through the air. A pair of pale hands appeared from behind and gently wrapped around him.

Cool blue hair, threaded with tassels, cascaded down onto Hexin’s neck.

He shifted slightly. Behind him came a quiet laugh.

The voice was like a siren’s song—low and smooth, with an enchanting lilt that made limbs weak and thoughts scatter.

Because of the angle, Hexin couldn’t see who was behind him. But everyone below could. Judging by their stunned faces, the visual impact was shattering.

Two beings who shouldn’t exist in this world stood side by side, and in that instant, the entire world fell silent.

“…A god?”

Someone finally spoke—slow, rusty, like a machine grinding back to life.

“Has the god come to take his offering back?”

But the thought didn’t last even three seconds.

The boy in the god’s arms shifted, seemingly a little uncomfortable, and turned his head.

Hexin had known the god of beauty intimately—his character card was among the ones he’d claimed. But seeing that face in person still made his breath catch.

No wonder he was canonically the most beautiful god.

A divine masterpiece, crafted by countless designers, refined with endless filters, rendered perfect beyond comprehension.

The god, perhaps pleased by Hexin’s dazed expression, lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to his eyelid.

Cool lips brushed over trembling lashes. It was not lustful. It was pure—an intimate benediction. A good morning kiss filled with calm and care.

The god of beauty smiled wider and spoke:

“Welcome back, brother. Did you have a good dream?”

The sound of hundreds gasping filled the air.

And in that moment, the brown-haired boy—who alone had witnessed it all—realized:

That wasn’t a god coming to claim his sacrifice.

It was a god who had come to retrieve his most precious treasure.

The world fell into complete silence.

They were the gods of dreams and beauty in this realm—each other’s only equal, the closest two beings in existence.

Even within the dream, Hexin perfectly embodied the role of the dream god. He asked, “Are you my younger brother?”

The god of beauty furrowed his brows slightly. Perhaps only the person before him had the power to make this emotionless god frown. His eyes held a weary, familiar kind of resignation. “I’m the older one.”

The dream god tilted his head. “But I feel like I should be the older brother.”

The dream god, now at 90% awakening, clearly had some kind of attachment to the idea of being the older twin. It fit perfectly with the setting note that read: “the youngest of the three brothers, but seems to have issues with his ranking—believes he should be the one taking care of the others.”

The god of beauty reached out to cover his younger twin’s dreamy eyes, unwilling to acknowledge how deeply affected he’d been by that gaze. His voice, hardly a scolding, was soft and low. “Don’t act cute with me.”

Hexin: “…??? I wasn’t.”

The other only chuckled, hugging him a little closer, resting his head against Hexin’s shoulder with a quiet, content sigh.

His eyes still covered, Hexin’s world was dark. He shifted slightly, silently asking the god to move his hand.

But the god of beauty didn’t.

Instead, a strange sound rose outside—a series of muffled cries, like something had been silenced mid-scream, a throat crushed in the act of shrieking.

Out of view, the god behind him watched with cold detachment as the filth of the land was purged. An overwhelming divine power swept through the earth, effortlessly extinguishing every abyssal monster and worshipper of false gods.

From below came stifled, choking sobs. Some nobles reached desperately for the high platform, too afraid of death to maintain dignity.

But the twin brother blocked them all from Hexin’s sight.

Looking down at them, he said with calm disgust, “Don’t look. Ugly, filthy things… stare too long, and you’ll start to have nightmares.”

Hexin thought, of course. Among all the supreme gods, the god of beauty had the most severe cleanliness obsession. He couldn’t even tolerate his own feet touching the ground—only letting his brother carry him, apparently treating him like a walking air purifier.

Did the dream god understand his brother? Of course he did. No one in the world knew each other better than they did. And so, he tolerated that cold brutality. If ever their opinions differed—which they rarely did—they would address it directly.

So Hexin simply said, “Someone helped me. They weren’t all evil.”

Behind them, the brown-haired boy jerked in shock, lifting his head.

The god of beauty glanced his way, gaze icy enough to freeze blood. But he quickly turned back to his twin. “I understand what you’re saying.” He paused. “Your recent awakenings… you’ve been paying more attention to humans.”

The dream god thought for a moment, then replied seriously, “Humans are both complicated and pure. I often don’t understand them, but… sometimes, they move me. I can’t deny that at times… they’re quite charming.”

“Is that so.” His twin didn’t deny it, but his tone was unreadable.

They sat quietly together, their forms gently leaning into each other like one being.

Then the hand covering Hexin’s eyes was removed.

The world he saw now was clean—purged of all aberrations. It was as if catastrophe had never touched it. The insectoid creatures from the abyss were among the weakest class of monsters—enough to destroy a country, but not even worth noting to gods like them.

And up in the sky, the still-open black gate flickered with colossal eyes. The true threats lay there. Yet even they paused, sensing the rising danger.

The god of beauty didn’t hide his power. And the dream god’s aura, though still awakening, had begun to leak. The smarter beasts knew what it meant to trespass into a god’s domain—they hesitated.

Hexin cast a glance skyward. The monsters froze, unable to look directly at his radiance. Power and beauty—combined, it left them paralyzed. Then Hexin turned to his brother. “Is it immature of me to think this way?”

His brother leaned gently against him, that breathtaking beauty a vision only the two of them were allowed to witness. “You have all the time in the world to understand it. With me here, there’s no need to rush growing up.”

Hexin still seemed uncertain.

So his brother gave a rare smile. “Alright. I’ll try to like humans.”

The god of beauty disliked being touched by anyone. Though they had always been together, the dream god often slept because of his nature. And each time he did, he couldn’t help but worry about his brother being left alone.

What Hexin didn’t know… was that there was a kind of creature in this world called a simp. And his brother had, time and again, quietly destroyed anyone who tried to approach in his absence.

He was… very busy while his twin slept.

So upon hearing that his brother was willing to develop a hobby, the dream god immediately gave his support.

The god of beauty added, “If your affection for humans is a ten, let me pay the first nine-point-nine. You can like them—but not too much. If you give your heart and they don’t return it… it’ll hurt.”

From the black gate above came whispers of disbelief. The abyssal creatures scurried and buzzed.

The gods of the abyss… are siding with humans?!

But the twin gods paid them no mind. To them, this was just a quiet conversation. Their world contained only each other.

The dream god asked, “And what if you don’t get what you hoped for?”

“I will. Because only you have the power to hurt me.” The god of beauty turned to him. “Would you ever hurt me?”

Hexin shook his head. “Of course not.”

“I know,” his brother said.

From the moment they were born into the darkness of the abyss, when the world was void and lightless—they had been each other’s light.

Hexin rubbed his eyes, visibly sleepy.

Knowing his brother well, the god of beauty opened a new black gate and gently pulled him toward it. “Sleep. Your powers haven’t stabilized yet. I’ll stay with you.”

“Mhm…” Hexin yawned. “Will you sing to me?”

The god’s gaze shimmered. “A lullaby?”

“Yeah—anything. When you sing, I don’t fall into strange dreams. I can sleep soundly.”

His voice faded to a murmur.

Together, they walked forward, unbothered by the world around them.

No one dared block their path. Wherever they passed, all parted before them like tide from a divine current. People stared, unable to help themselves. Just the gods’ presence made their skin burn, their minds blur. They felt themselves shrink, insignificant, as if glimpsing a dream they were never meant to see.

Hexin was drowsy and unaware.

But the god of beauty didn’t glance at them—not once. He was colder than ever, as if he had never stepped into their world.

The brown-haired boy stood at the threshold, watching them disappear through the gate. As Hexin vanished from sight, a strange emptiness settled in his chest.

“…They’re so close…”

He murmured, not realizing the envy and sorrow in his voice, which disappeared into the wind.

Elsewhere, the elder twin laid his brother down gently in their palace. He lay beside him, not even bothering to remove his robe. Their long, flowing hair intertwined, a misty dream woven from stars and silence.

A deep blue curtain drifted down around them, swaying like fog. In the open air, a soft song echoed—like a siren’s lullaby carried from distant, fabled seas.

For a moment, the world fell into peace.

Everything else—the chaos, the abyss, the shadows—was kept outside.

This world belonged to them alone.

We were born as twins. We are each other’s halves.

We will never be apart.

—Good night, my dearest brother. Sweet dreams.