The wind howled across the desolate landscape, sweeping through endless fields of white snow and jagged mountain ridges. It was deathly cold, the kind of biting frost that turned flesh numb within minutes and froze breath in midair.

This was no place for ordinary mortals. In this forgotten corner of the world—silent, remote, and cloaked in eternal winter—something ancient stirred.

A storm of divine pressure rolled through the air. At its center stood a towering figure—three heads glaring in unison, six muscular arms wielding six devastating weapons: a gleaming sword, a crushing hammer, a long and wicked spear, a rune-etched bow, a brutal mace, and a heavy axe. Radiant heat pulsed around him in waves, pushing back the cold with godly fury.

This was Triglav—the supreme trinity of the Slavic pantheon. The merged essence of Perun, Svarog, and Dazhbog—Sky, Earth, and Underworld made flesh and wrath. A divine force born from desperation and vengeance.

Across from him stood a single man.

Golden-haired, blue-eyed, and exuding a casual arrogance that was entirely out of place in the frozen wasteland, Edward—known in these lands by another name, Edik, stood motionless, gazing at the deity with mild annoyance.

"Guys," he muttered with exasperation, "did you really have to pull a triple fusion for little old me? Couldn't you just, I don't know, leave and live out your miserable long lives? Why do you have to make things harder?"

The voice that responded was as heavy as thunder. Three heads spoke as one, each filled with rage.

"You insolent bastard. You killed my pantheon, and you expect me to leave you alone? Alone, we might not have stood a chance. But with our combined might, even you will fall!"

Edward sighed and cracked his neck. "Since you wanna die so badly, let me fulfill your wish."

Inside his mind, he sent a thought:

["Guys, who wants to take this one?"]

Saber's voice replied first—blunt and dismissive.

[Too weak.]

Rider followed with a shrug in his tone.

[My powers are not suited for this type of combat.]

Gilgamesh scoffed.

[Are the weapons I lent you not enough for this pathetic brute?]

The others remained silent.

Edward was just about to settle on some less-than-honorable tactics when a deep voice chuckled from the depths of his soul.

[Very well. Since I haven't helped you out till now, allow me to be of service, Edward.]

A grin spread across Edward's face.

[About damn time!]

Back in the real world, Edward met Triglav's enraged eyes with a smug expression.

"You're about to get nuked, Triclops!" he declared. "Equip: Lancer!"

A surge of brilliant energy erupted from Edward's body. The snow and sky lit up with white-gold flames, and the wind scattered as if repelled by divine will. Triglav raised one arm to shield his many eyes from the blinding burst.

When the light faded, a different figure stood in Edward's place.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with ash-gray hair and a regal, pale complexion. A crimson armor clung to him, detailed with golden filigree and two sun-shaped brooches at his shoulders. In his right hand, he held a radiant spear, the tip forged like the sun itself, crackling with solar heat.

This was Karna, the Son of the Sun god, hero of Indian mythology Mahabharata.

Edward took a few experimental swings with the spear and laughed lightly. "This feels amazing. It's like the power of the sun in the palm of my hands."

"How dare you ignore me!" Triglav roared, no longer willing to stand still.

With a burst of divine speed, he lunged forward and unleashed a flurry of attacks. All six arms moved with deadly coordination, his weapons whistling through the air with enough force to shatter mountains.

Clang! Clank! Clang!

The spear spun in Edward's hands with incredible grace. He parried, deflected, and dodged each strike, his footing sure and his eyes alight. Karna's calm confidence merged with Edward's innate battle instincts, giving him an unnatural rhythm.

Yet the pressure was immense. Triglav's assault was relentless, the strength behind each blow immense. Edward was fast—but not reckless. After several exchanges, he began to feel the strain.

"Persistent bastard, aren't you?" he muttered, leaping back through a wall of kicked-up snow.

He steadied himself, holding the spear aloft. The golden weapon flared with scarlet fire. A grin touched his lips.

"Let's see how you like a mini nuke to the face, Triclops."

The divine heat gathered at the tip. He called its name with purpose.

"Burn to cinders—Brahmastra Kundala!"

He hurled the blazing spear forward, the air itself howling in its wake. Triglav's many eyes widened in alarm.

"No! That's bad!" he bellowed. "The power of Sky, Earth, and Underworld—condense into shield!"

A protective dome of shimmering energy formed around him, a complex fusion of elemental domains.

Then it struck.

Boom!

The explosion was deafening. Blinding. The earth cracked and melted. Fire roared outward in waves, the snow turning instantly to steam. Even the rock beneath the mountain shivered under the divine impact. The protective dome held—but only just. It cracked violently, then shattered.

Triglav screamed as fire consumed his form. He emerged from the blaze scorched and wounded, his armor seared and divine skin blackened. But he still stood.

Edward gave a low whistle. "You're quite durable, I'll give you that."

He grinned, stepping forward again. "So, what are you going to do about the next one?"

He exploded upward into the sky, flames blasting beneath his feet. The clouds parted violently, and the blazing sun emerged above, merciless and searing.

Triglav's expression twisted. Anger turned to fear. He could sense it, something worse was coming.

Up above, Edward raised his hand.

He chanted softly. "Feel the mercy of the King of Gods."

A blade of pure light materialized at his back, then another, and another, replicating like a celestial wheel ticking forward. Time slowed. Sun's heat bent reality itself.

Below, Triglav gathered his fading strength. He poured everything into defense, erecting a final shield of raw divine essence. His instincts screamed, If this hits and I'll die!

"You will be destroyed with this one strike..."

The air itself cracked. Day blurred into dusk.The world turned black and white.

Edward finished the chant, his voice like a whisper from heaven and hell alike.

"And the world shall reach its eternal sunset."

He hurled the final spear.

"Vasavi Shakti!"

BOOM!

A huge explosion of heat went off like a nuclear blast. Crimson and Yellow flames surged with absolute annihilation. The world itself burned under its wrath.

The mountains vanished beneath waves of fire. The eternal snow evaporated. Thousands of years of frost were undone in seconds. What had been a frozen wasteland became a scorched, cratered plain.

Triglav's roar echoed one last time before silence consumed all.

When the smoke cleared, nothing remained of the Slavic god. Not even ash.

Edward landed softly, heat still rippling from his armor. He glanced around, then exhaled.

"Man, it feels good to be on the launching end of the nuke," he muttered. Looking across the melted terrain, he added with a faint smirk, "Seems this land can now be inhabited by people. I hope that's the end of those Slavic bastards."

He turned away, boots crunching lightly on the glassy new earth beneath his feet.

His job was done.

But as he was about to leave, he felt a disturbance in the surrounding, and it started crumbling and fading away. Before everything returned to darkness, Edward saw a different world. It was beautiful and mysterious.

" This was probably a dream, huh?" Edward remarked as he waved at the man sitting on a throne, who looked at him curiously.

Then he woke up.

****

Edward woke up with a startled gasp, his chest rising sharply as the breath caught in his throat. The remnants of some distant, fading nightmare clung to him like mist,gone before it could take shape. His muscles tensed instinctively, ready to sit up, when he felt it, the soft weight resting gently across his torso. He looked down.

And there they were.

Nestled close against him, their bodies warm and tranquil, lay Hippolyta and Hera, their arms wrapped around him, their faces calm in sleep. The corners of Edward's mouth lifted into a small, genuine smile. He exhaled slowly, the tension ebbing from his body as he closed his eyes once more, letting the serenity of the moment wash over him.

It had been centuries since he returned to Themiscyra. Centuries since he set foot on this sacred island of women and warriors. Life here had been peaceful, calm in a way the outside world rarely allowed. After his long and brutal journey across pantheons and mythic realms, after the wars, the betrayals, the battles, he had come back, battered and silent.

When he shared his experiences, Hera and Hippolyta hadn't said much. Not at first. Seeing his condition, hearing all he had endured, they had simply embraced him, refusing to let him leave again until he recovered. Their firm presence had grounded him. And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to stay still.

He had returned here during his earlier travels, yes, but never for long. Not as often as he should have. Not as often as they deserved. Guilt had gnawed at him. That guilt had lingered. So he remained. Not for days or months, but for over a century.

It wasn't all peace and quiet, of course.

Hippolyta hadn't said anything at first, but a few years after his return, she'd spoken up, her voice quiet but steady. One of the Amazons, Meerena, had left Themiscyra, venturing out into the world of men. She never came back. No one knew what had become of her. Her absence cast a long shadow.

Then there were the threats. Unknown forces had tried to breach their shores. Armadas that emerged from beyond the horizon, dark sails and burning ambition. But the sea itself turned against them.

Hera, empowered with Edward's divine domain over the oceans, unleashed the wrath of the tides. Entire fleets sank beneath the waves, dragged into oblivion before they could make landfall. She had cultivated the gift Edward gave her—molding it until her dominion rivaled even Poseidon's.

Edward opened his eyes again and glanced down, gently running his fingers through their hair. They stirred slowly at his touch.

Hippolyta yawned, her head brushing against his chest as she blinked sleepily. Beside her, Hera's eyes fluttered open. The Queen of Olympus gazed up at him with a sigh, her expression mixed with knowing sadness and resignation.

"Today is the day, right?" she asked softly, her voice laced with reluctant acceptance. "You're leaving again."

Edward leaned down and kissed her forehead, brushing her cheek gently with his thumb. "Sorry, dear," he murmured. "I've stayed as long as I could. But the world hasn't stopped moving."

Hippolyta turned his face toward her and kissed him, slow and tender. She looked torn and conflicted between love and understanding, but her voice was clear. "It was wonderful to have you stay with us for so long, husband. But you're not the type to settle down and live peacefully."

Edward chuckled, his voice warm with affection. "You know me so well," he said. "I'll rest when there's nothing left for me to do. But until then, the world's not going to save itself."

The three of them rose, washed, and dressed. Morning light spilled through the open stone archways of their home. They joined Diana for breakfast, fruit, bread, and the fresh produce of Themiscyra.

Diana had changed much since the little girl he once knew. The child full of wild curiosity and boundless energy had grown into a strong, radiant young woman. She carried herself with calm confidence, her posture regal and sure.

She was powerful now. graceful and deadly in equal measure. But some of that youthful spark remained. Recklessness, curiosity, and an explorer's heart still stirred within her.

Thanks to Edward's guidance, she had matured well. His teachings helped her temper emotion with wisdom, strength with restraint.

Occasionally, she still ventured outside the island with him, experiencing the wider world firsthand. And perhaps because of that, her desire to leave permanently had lessened. Edward could only wonder how that would influence the future.

But as always, the hour arrived when farewells had to be said.

The goodbye was long, quiet, and filled with unspoken feelings. Hera held his face between her hands and whispered her farewell words. Hippolyta's embrace was fierce, unwilling to let go even when her strength told her she must.

Diana stood tall, a warrior now, but there was moisture in her eyes as she hugged him with pride.

And then Edward left Themiscyra once again, returning to the world of men.

His travels took him back through lands he once visited. He walked among the people he had lifted up, granted second chances to, taught magic and peace.

Africa had bloomed magnificently. Where once the soil was dry and cracked, now lush greenery stretched for miles. The cities were vibrant, built from stone and magic alike.

Tribes that once warred now cooperated, their ancient traditions preserved even as they embraced civilization. The magical teachings he left behind had evolved beautifully.

But there was an issue.

They worshipped him fervently, obsessively. "The Father of Beginning," they called him. Songs were sung in his name, temples erected. Priests declared his word sacred. He had left behind knowledge… and they had made it into a religion.

Edward cringed at the sight of his own golden statue, twenty feet tall, surrounded by chanting worshippers. He slipped away from the city unnoticed, mentally noting to come back and put a stop to this. Eventually.

In Moskva, at the heart of what would one day be Russia, the people had endured the cold. The land remained frigid, but where Edward had once melted the eternal frost, the earth beneath had proved fertile.

Villages had grown into towns, and their resilience was unmatched. The people were strong and wary of outsiders, but their traditions were deep and proud. He left feeling satisfied.

But the true marvel laid in Vinland.

The land he had once gifted to the Norse settlers had flourished beyond expectation. They had advanced rapidly, more than five hundred years ahead of the rest of the world.

Runic magic intertwined seamlessly with their technology. Tall structures powered by mystical energy dotted their cities. Their warriors wielded blades inscribed with ancient glyphs.

And more importantly, they had the strength to defend what they had built.

Edward smiled as he walked unseen through the capital, noting the disciplined guards, the thriving markets, the libraries filled with magical theory. It was a civilization thriving because they believed in learning and strength both.

China, however, was in chaos.

The Han Dynasty had crumbled, and the land was engulfed in civil war. Edward watched from afar as armies clashed, banners raised high, drums echoing in the distance. It was the time of the warlords. The coalition against Dong Zhuo had just formed, and he observed with interest. Sitting atop a small hill, he grabbed some roasted peanuts from a passing merchant and sat down to enjoy the spectacle.

His gaze followed a particularly large warrior on horseback, who was fighting three men at once. The brute swung his blade with deadly grace, his every strike shaking the battlefield.

But then a voice shouted from below, "Look! That's the golden ship of the Victorious Monkey King, Sun Wukong!"

Heads turned, fingers pointed. More voices joined in awe and panic.

Edward blinked, sighed, and vanished in a flash of light.

It was time to move on.

So far, the world had shifted in many ways. Tragedies that once seemed inevitable had been prevented. The Mycenaeans still stood. The Greco-Persian wars had ended swiftly. The Peloponnesian wars never even began. And in their place, new civilizations had risen, each shaped in some small way by his touch.

And for now… that was enough.

****

Year 1389

Londinium, Britannia

Two figures walked side by side beneath a cloudy sky, their steps measured, deliberate. A man and a woman, alike in more ways than just the striking beauty of their features. Their skin was pale, untouched by sun or time, and their clothes were exquisitely black, as if darkness itself wove their garments.

The man wore a tailored coat with fine detailing, sharp yet timeless, while the woman's dress flowed around her like smoke, elegant and slightly ethereal.

The people around them noticed. Some with curiosity, others with unease. Men glanced at the woman, captivated by her aloof beauty, her eyes ancient, but warm — yet none dared approach her. Women glanced toward the man with equal intrigue, though his expression remained cold, detached, as though he belonged to a different reality altogether.

The man grimaced slightly as the wind carried the scent of the streets. His voice was low, and carried the sharp edge of disdain. "I really don't see the point of this, sister. The smell is awful, and the people are rather annoying."

The woman beside him gave a soft laugh, her tone teasing but affectionate. "Come now, little brother, you promised to spend the day with me. Besides…" Her eyes sparkled with interest. "I suddenly feel there might be something interesting inside."

They approached the weathered tavern doors, the wooden frame bearing signs of age and countless stories. With a push, they entered.

Inside, noise and laughter swirled around them like a storm of human emotion. The tavern was bustling ; filled with the warmth of firelight, the clatter of tankards, and the scent of roasted meat and spilled ale. It was alive in a way that only mortal places could be.

The man curled his nose. "This just feels like a waste of time."

His sister gave him a playful side glance and walked ahead toward the bar. "Come now, Dream. Have a drink. Listen to the people. Experience their lives for once. See them on their terms."

He followed reluctantly, his eyes scanning the room with mild disapproval. The woman took a sip of ale from a crude wooden mug, then chuckled, "This, however, is terrible."

The man sat beside her, silent for a while, before focusing his attention on the surrounding voices. Fragments of conversation reached him, complaints, laughter, laments.

"This is His Majesty's third poll tax in three years! What else could we have done?"

"We've got war, plague, and two bloody popes fighting. Until that strangely handsome fella called Edward resolved them … but mark my words, one can't save everyone every time. The end of the world is nigh."

Morpheus turned toward his sister. His posture was casual, but his tone retained that signature depth of quiet gravitas. "I received a delegation from the Faeries. They've been thinking about migrating."

The woman, Death, arched a brow, curious. "Migrating? To where?"

"Vinland," Morpheus answered. "They say that land still retains mystery. They would be welcome and safe there. All due to one man."

She rolled her eyes slightly and tried to pull him back from work talk. "Brother. Forget about work. Listen to the people."

With a resigned sigh, Morpheus gave in and turned his focus once more to the room. Conversations drifted past him. Some told crass jokes. Others shared stories barely coherent from drink. Yet suddenly, both siblings stilled.

Their attention shifted to a corner table. A group of drunken men were arguing. The subject, unexpectedly, was what had caught their attention.

"Look, I've seen Death. I lost half my village to the Black Death, before he showed up. I fought under Buckingham in Burgundy. It's not like I don't know what death is. Death is… stupid."

"You're a fool, Hob."

"No, I'm telling you. Nobody has to die. The only reason we die is... is 'cause everyone does it."

Morpheus glanced at Death. Her face remained unreadable, though her eyes shimmered with the weight of centuries.

Then, a new voice joined the conversation . deep, calm, amused. "I believe otherwise."

All heads turned toward a man cloaked in shadow at the back of the tavern.

"Oh yeah? And what do you think of death, friend?" One of the guys asked.

The stranger gave a soft chuckle. "I have seen Death more than enough for one lifetime. Death… is rather beautiful."

The other men scoffed. "Oh, bollocks. What's so beautiful about death when you're choking on your blood or stabbed by a sword? Or the damn plague?"

But the cloaked man smiled faintly, unfazed. "Don't you see? Death is equal for all. Rich and poor, king and peasant . All stand on the same level before it. It's death that gives life its meaning. Knowing any moment could be your last , that's what makes us fight to savor every second. Our lives show their meaning in death by what we achieved, who we were, how we lived."

Morpheus gave Death a knowing glance. "A rather high praise for you, dear sister. Seems you've got an admirer."

But before she could answer, Hob Gadling , the drunken man, raised his voice again.

"Well, be that as it may… I've made up my mind. I'm not going to die."

Morpheus arched a brow. "Why would any sensible creature crave an eternity of this? I know of one man who's lived over a thousand years… he should be bored of it already."

Death gave a sly smile. "You could find out."

"How?" Morpheus asked with smirk.

"I could grant him his wish." Death returned the smirk.

He chuckled lightly. "Do that and he'll be begging for death within a century."

"Care to bet little brother?" She arched an eyebrow.

Morpheus gave a small chuckle. "One hundred years of life. Then I'll ask if he still wishes to live."

Death extended her hand, her smile coy. "Done."

As Morpheus approached Hob to make the offer, Death's eyes strayed back to the corner, to the cloaked man. Something about him unsettled her. Curiosity, and a feeling she couldn't name, made her step forward.

"Hello, good sir," she said gently. "Pardon the intrusion. But I wanted to ask… why do you think Death is beautiful?"

The man chuckled, warm and familiar. "Because it's true. After living a long life, sometimes you think dying might not be so bad , especially if a pretty lady is holding your hand."

Death froze. Her breath caught. That voice , it had changed, matured, mellowed — but she recognized it.

She stepped back sharply, nearly knocking over a stool. "I… um… sorry for bothering you. I should be on my way."

The man smiled, tilting his head. "Did I offend you? If so, apologies."

She shook her head quickly, retreating. "No! It's not like that! I... really have to be somewhere."

Just then, Morpheus arrived after talking with Hob, his curiosity piqued by his sister's uncharacteristic reaction. He looked between the man and Death, then arched an amused brow. "So. You've been talking to your admirer, sister?"

Death didn't respond and looked away rather awkwardly.

The man lifted his gaze toward Morpheus and smiled. "Huh. Is that you, Morpheus? Been a while, hasn't it?"

He reached up and lowered the hood of his cloak.

Morpheus's eyes widened slightly, his cool demeanor briefly shaken.

"It's a rather small world indeed. It looks like we meet again, Edward Elric. You haven't changed much."

****

Timeskip and cliff kun strikes again 😏