The One Who Writes Existence-Chapter 41: Gift

Zar stepped forward, his presence an unspoken force that filled the celestial balcony. Astraia still ignoring him. Her arms remained crossed, her emerald gaze fixed on the endless stars, as if his existence was merely background noise.

Zar sighed. "Alright, I get it. You're pissed."

No response.

He frowned. "Astraia—"

Still nothing.

[Oh, she's really mad] the System whispered in his mind, far too amused.

Zar clicked his tongue. "Look, I didn't ignore you on purpose. I was... busy."

Silence.

"I would've answered if it wasn't—"

More silence.

Zar groaned and ran a hand down his face. "Fine. You win."

He reached into the void and pulled out the small, sleek box. The moment it appeared in his palm, Astraia's eyes flickered toward it—just for a second—before snapping back to the stars, as if she hadn't noticed at all.

Zar smirked. "Here. For you."

Astraia's posture stiffened.

For the first time since his arrival, she really looked at him. Then at the box. Then back at him.

Her expression shifted—curious yet cautious, her usual regal demeanor cracking ever so slightly. She hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides before, almost shyly, she reached out and took the box from him.

Then, as she held it in her hands... she froze.

The shape. The size. The elegant simplicity of its design.

Her entire face turned red.

Zar blinked. Oh no.

[Oh yes!!] the System practically purred. [She thinks it's a ring.]

Zar internally screamed. Please don't overthink this. Please don't overthink this.

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Astraia's fingers trembled slightly as she slowly, carefully, opened the box—her expression a mix of anticipation and overwhelming shyness.

Then, the contents were revealed.

Inside, suspended in a field of shimmering energy, was a dress.

Not just any dress.

A masterpiece woven from threads of pure starlight, stitched together by the cosmic forces of the multiverse itself. The fabric shifted between hues of deep nebula blues, radiant golds, and ethereal silvers, constantly changing, yet never chaotic. Patterns of constellations danced across its surface, each star shimmering like a tiny universe bound in cloth. It floated, weightless, defying gravity—like a garment not meant for any ordinary world, but for the grandest of multiversal banquets.

Astraia's breath hitched.

For a long moment, she simply stared, wide-eyed.

Then, slowly, her fingers traced the edge of the dress, as if afraid it would vanish if she touched it too firmly.

"...It's beautiful," she whispered.

Her voice was quiet. Almost vulnerable.

Zar crossed his arms, watching her reaction. "Figured you'd like it."

Astraia swallowed, glancing up at him. Her golden eyes held something unreadable—something between awe and disbelief.

"This is..." She hesitated, looking down again. "The first time someone has given me a gift."

Zar stiffened slightly. The first time?

[Oh, you absolute fool] the System cackled. [You just set a goddamn precedent.]

Zar ignored it. Instead, he exhaled and gave a small nod. "Well. Now you've got one."

Astraia lingered on his words. Then, with uncharacteristic shyness, she hugged the gift close to her chest, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile.

Zar watched her carefully. Then, after a moment, muttered under his breath, At least there isn't a ring in it.

[See? Told you. No ring.]

Zar resisted the urge to throw the System into a black hole.

----

----

After some time, as the atmosphere between them eased, Astraia finally asked, "What were those beings I sensed earlier?"

Zar, who had been leaning against the railing, merely smirked. "Why don't you guess?"

Astraia narrowed her eyes. "Zar."

He raised a hand dismissively. "Relax. They're... friendly."

Her brow twitched. "That answer tells me nothing."

"Exactly."

She huffed in frustration, but before she could press further, a disturbance rippled through the divine battlefield below.

Zar glanced down, his expression unreadable. "Looks like the game's getting interesting."

---

Meanwhile...

A lesser god, one of the many contenders in the survival game, finally felt it.

The shift.

The subtle break in the pattern.

His title wasn't for show—he was the God of Causality.

And after watching, predicting, and subtly influencing fate, he had finally uncovered the first real clue to this game's true nature.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.

"So that's how it is..." he murmured.

Just as he was about to make his next move, another god appeared beside him.

The God of Illusions.

"So," the illusionist mused, tilting his head. "What are you doing all the way out here? You found something, didn't you?"

The God of Causality chuckled lightly. "No, bro. Still figuring it out."

The Illusionist raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

The Causality God stepped forward—just a single step closer.

Then—

Without warning—

He struck.

A burst of divine energy erupted between them.

The Illusionist barely had time to react before his form collapsed, reality twisting around him. In an instant—he vanished.

The God of Causality watched the empty space where his opponent once stood.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he smirked and walked away.

The game had just begun.