The Lofty Heavens
Only those who have reached the pinnacle of their respective domains can ascend to the seat of a Constellation.
The gods, having completed their divinity through arduous trials, carried powerful egos and often preferred living with an air of arrogance. Without the judgments of other gods to enforce the rules of the heavens, order and balance in this celestial realm would have been impossible.
“This is outrageous! I was here first!”
“Heh, no way. You stepped out of line just now.”
“It only looked like that because the line shifted!”
“Out of line is out of line.”
For this reason, it was an extraordinarily rare sight to see gods queuing up in an orderly manner.
Next to the line was a crooked sign written in a childlike scrawl:
[Akashic Archive Seeking Backers and Investors!]
At the front of the line, a handsome blonde man dressed in ornate armor, with a sword at his side, was striking an elaborate pose as he enthusiastically explained something.
Sitting in front of him on an absurdly high chair was a small girl, looking down at the male god.
The chair was so tall her short legs didn’t even reach the floor, but she insisted on using it. She refused to look weak—it was a matter of principle. She’d rather endure the discomfort of the rigid chair than allow anyone to dismiss her, or worse, her beloved Apostle.
“Hm... So, you claim your story rivals even that of the Magitech Engineer?”
A voice emerged from a tiny frog figurine sitting on the chair’s armrest, crowned with a little golden crown.
“I find that hard to agree with. Even your sword would turn pale hearing your tale!”
It was the voice of the Wrathless Magitech Engineer.
“Because, my friend, your sword is literally steel gray! Hahaha!”
The usually stern and wrathful Engineer’s booming laughter reverberated through the communicator.
“...Hahaha. Truly... ingenious. I must note that down,” the blonde god muttered, trying to keep up.
“......”
The girl pressed her temple, trying to ease the headache that was steadily building.
A stalwart ally in every other way, the Engineer’s newfound obsession with humor (according to his definition) after shedding his wrath was utterly exasperating.
Whenever she tried to tell him to tone it down, he’d insist it was part of his "charm." They were truly a couple made for each other.
With a dismissive wave of her hand, the girl signaled to the male god.
“Wait! I still have much to say! Just a little more time!” he pleaded.
But before he could continue, a hulking, shirtless man with rippling muscles dragged him out of line.
The scar running across the burly god’s face gave him an intimidating presence.
“Courage! Please, just one more chance! I beg you!”
“Sorry, Jimmy.”
The muscular god called "Courage" shrugged and tossed the other god to the side of the line like a sack of flour.
“I’ve already made a contract with her, Jimmy. A contract is a promise, and promises must be kept.”
Courage locked eyes with the girl, and she gave him an approving nod. He was reliable, at least.
The girl gestured for the next candidate to step forward.
An elf-like god with green hair and pointed ears approached, bowing slightly.
“Pleased to meet you, God of Dreams. I am...”
Oh no.
The girl’s head started to droop.
Sleepiness was creeping in.
She tried to fight it. After all, if she couldn’t uncover fascinating material to help her Apostle, what use was she?
But the weight of her eyelids grew too heavy to resist.
And with that, they closed.
* * *
“What... is this...?”
A woman found herself surrounded by a soft, swirling mist, visibly confused.
I was hosting a memorial for him when I detected an intruder.
The last thing I remember was charging at that intruder...
What is this strange, dreamlike space?
Deciding that staying still wouldn’t solve anything, she resolved to move forward.
She had no sense of up or down, no understanding of where she was or where she needed to go.
Even as a devotee of Courage, the oppressive atmosphere unsettled her. Still, she shook off the fear and pressed on.
Clutching a [Limited Edition Curator Figurine] close to her chest, she managed to quell her anxiety.
Despite being an Apostle, she found strength not in holy relics but in merchandise—a bizarre irony.
The foggy, pitch-black void stretched on endlessly before her.
“...Grant me strength.”
He was gone.
But in his final moments, he chose sacrifice and left behind his cherished will.
The enduring bond of love and mentorship from one Curator to his successor.
‘I’m sorry, Monica... I’ve placed a terrible burden on you.’
‘I would have done anything for you... but this is the end.’
‘Don’t worry. You can accomplish anything. After all, you’re my disciple.’
Flashes of the Curator’s final moments flooded her mind.
Although these scenes had never appeared in the game, she accepted them as her own memories.
“Yes... I am his disciple and his love. As long as his will lives within me, I have no fear.”
Feeling as though the Curator himself was smiling beside her, she cast off her fear entirely and took a bold step into the deep darkness ahead.
* * *
“Ugh.”
I felt like my mind had been contaminated.
The thought that my past life would be interpreted like this... it was beyond imagination.
Using my dream powers, I read the subconscious of the woman’s mind. I barely held back the urge to vomit.
When did I ever say lines like that?
In my past life, I simply left the stage gracefully to set up the weekly boss.
What were those bizarre flashbacks and over-the-top dialogue?
Why had she rewritten everything in her head and believed it?
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Still, I had to admit, fan works like these were a good thing for [Akashic Archive].
Even if I didn’t profit directly, such creations strengthened the community and expanded the game’s reach.
Many successful games owe much of their charm to fan contributions.
I wanted my game to have that culture too, but...
“This... isn’t it. Not like this!”
Why was I suddenly made into a gay romantic icon?!
If it had been a female deputy curator, fine, but this just felt... off!
Still, I pieced together what happened amidst the cosmic horror-level mental assault.
Bar Monica, the lowest-ranked Apostle of Courage, was a first-year academy student who adored the Curator character.
Unable to accept his death, she held a memorial service in an abandoned temple.
Her bizarre behavior?
That’s when I returned with snacks for my Constellation.
Honestly, I couldn’t believe this was happening.
Even so, I couldn’t help but feel... touched.
The Curator was modeled after my past life, and the ceremony felt like a funeral for the lonely, unnoticed end I once had.
It was oddly comforting.
“Still... no forgiveness for defiling our Constellation’s shrine. Or for making me into some romantic hero.”
So, maybe just a little punishment...
* * *
Back in Reality
A goddess who had been circling the unconscious Apostle of Dreams noticed a bag on the floor.
With a gesture, she summoned a small booklet from within the bag.
Calmly flipping through its pages, her expression shifted.
This... this is indecent!
Though horrified, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
By the time she finished reading and tucked it safely into her robes, her face was flushed with a mix of emotions.