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Two little boys were playing on the ground. Their identical looks made it clear they were twins.

The children had the appearance of nobles, with golden hair and bright blue eyes.

Arlon immediately recognized them. He had seen them before. But he had forgotten.

Not just once, but twice. Or maybe even three times?

The scene continued.

The two boys played alone, completely absorbed in their own world. They seemed to get along well.

Then, their mother arrived, gently picking them up in her arms. The love between them was undeniable—the children adored her, and she cherished them just as deeply.

Days passed. Arlon lived through each of them, yet at the same time, they flickered by in mere seconds.

The boys grew older. Then, one of them fell ill. He had looked into something forbidden.

In the end, he was confined to his bed. An old man, who seemed to be the village chief, carefully wrapped cloth bandages over his eyes.

Time moved forward again. The boy remained unconscious for weeks, his mother by his side every single day, waiting.

His twin visited him once a day.

And then, finally, he woke.

The old man removed the bandages. The boy's once-bright blue eyes had turned red.

The moment their mother saw them, she broke down in tears.

His twin, still blue-eyed, stood silently beside her, watching.

Time passed once more. The boys no longer played together. Instead, they trained.

While his brother had been bedridden, the blue-eyed boy had learned how to wield a sword.

The red-eyed boy did not fall too far behind. He trained even harder, worked even longer.

But no matter how much effort he put in, he could never surpass his brother.

Their mother never watched them train. But every time they returned, she hugged them both, holding them close.

Afterward, she would always look at the red-eyed boy with sorrow in her eyes—before silently tending to their wounds.

Then came a scene Arlon knew all too well.

The blonde-haired, blue-eyed mother lay motionless beside the blue-eyed boy.

The red-eyed boy's gaze burned, his eyes even redder than before. Whether from grief, rage, or madness—perhaps all three—Arlon couldn't tell.

The twins clashed.

The blue-eyed boy won.

And once again… he did not kill his brother.

But he left.

And Arlon followed.

The world they lived in was advanced—far more advanced than Earth.

They moved from planet to planet, waging war against entire civilizations.

The blue-eyed boy enlisted in the military.

Arlon followed.

The boy climbed the ranks, achieving victory after victory. His name spread across the galaxy.

With every conquest, his planet—no, his civilization—expanded.

But he never smiled.

And yet, his name was known everywhere. Wherever he went, crowds chanted it in admiration.

Strangely, no matter how hard Arlon tried, he couldn't hear the name. He couldn't even read it on people's lips.

Decades passed. Stay updated with My Virtual Library Empire

The wars ended. The entire galaxy fell under his rule.

No one dared to oppose him.

The blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy had become a man. And now, he stood at the very top.

But still, he did not smile.

And he never returned to his home planet.

Then, one day—he left again.

---

Even at the speed of light, the distance between galaxies was unimaginably vast.

To put it into perspective—if someone were to reach the speed of light, it would still take them around 2.5 million years to reach the Andromeda Galaxy, the closest galaxy to Earth.

And no matter how close two galaxies were on a cosmic scale, the ship the blue-eyed man traveled in did not move at the speed of light.

But then again, he wasn't traveling in an ordinary way.

He was using rifts.

Tearing through the fabric of space, the ship slipped between dimensions, bypassing the constraints of conventional travel. Yet, even with such an advanced method, the journey was far from instant.

It still took at least ten thousand years before his ship finally emerged in a distant galaxy.

A new place.

A primitive place.

The moment he landed, the sight before him was chaos.

Fighting.

That was all he saw.

Everywhere he looked, beings clashed—tribes waging endless battles, warriors locked in bloodied duels, cities crumbling under the weight of conflict.

But he did not come here to fight.

He had come to escape it.

So he destroyed his ship, ensuring there would be no turning back.

And then, he simply watched.

Though no one on this planet was anywhere near his level of strength, he had no desire to prove himself.

For the first time in his life, he had no interest in war.

So he observed.

Silently.

Endlessly.

***

He counted seventeen different intelligent species.

Some looked like his own race, their forms eerily familiar. Others resembled beasts, walking on two legs yet moving with primal instincts. And some were entirely alien—shapes and colors beyond his understanding, their existence defying the logic he once knew.

But as he watched, their numbers dwindled.

Seventeen became sixteen.

Then fifteen.

And still, he chose to watch.

At any moment, he could have stopped the wars. With his strength, he could have made them surrender, brought peace to this world with nothing but a word.

But he did not.

Instead, he wandered.

He roamed the planet, seeing all there was to see—the towering mountains, the endless deserts, the deep forests untouched by war. He walked through the ruins of fallen civilizations and across fields still stained with the blood of battles fought long before his arrival.

But even that came to an end one day.

There was nothing left for him to discover. And yet, the war raged on.

So he made a choice.

He settled in a quiet place, far from the endless battles, among the Humans—the species that looked most like his own.

Time passed.

He lived without purpose, without direction. Without even a smile.

But there was nothing else to do.

Every few decades, he moved to a new town, ensuring that those who knew him would forget. It didn't matter in the end—they all died anyway. Humans lived short lives.

Sometimes he farmed. Sometimes he tended to cattle. Sometimes he simply lay under the sky, watching the clouds drift by.

And time, as always, continued its relentless march forward.

Then one day, something changed.

For the first time in decades, someone approached him.

He hadn't realized it, but he had become something to be feared.

His presence alone was intimidating—his aura, suffocating. But more than that, it was his silence. His solemn, unreadable expression sent shivers through those who crossed his path.

No one spoke to him unless it was absolutely necessary.

But she was different.

A girl, no older than twenty, stepped into his garden as he sat idly, lost in thought.

She didn't hesitate. She didn't cower.

Instead, she smiled.

"Hi," she said, her voice light and unbothered. "Sorry to bother you, but I've been watching you for a while now."

She wasn't afraid.

"Can you help me?"