Galaxy's First Ruler

"He is here again."

In the sky, there was a Red Dragon, spanning thousands of miles. Only a few scales on its body could have covered up the entire town underneath it. Two men looked at the mythical creature through a hole in the roof as the shadow, cast by the Dragon, became a night for the town.

"He indeed is."

Unlike the bleeding and cowering sentient beings, who had heard the Red Dragon's roar, these two men were casually standing at their place. The older of them took out a paintbrush as a paper materialized in front of him and started to paint this terrifying but beautiful scene.

Colors came running at the tip of the brush as if they were a part of a race.

The Red Dragon, despite its vast size, didn't take long to pass over the town. But miraculously, the painting had also been completed within those few moments. 'Miracle' was the right word to describe this painting, as one could hardly differentiate it from Reality.

Even the raging heat left behind the Dragon seemed to be imprisoned within this painting.

"How is it?"

The old man's head had almost touched the roof. His long white hair reached down to his knees and his short white beard was combed neatly. There were no freckles on his face, but a trace of tiredness was still present. He wasn't overly muscular and his lean figure was the embodiment of a bamboo tree's toughness.

Nothing was worth remembering about this old man, save for his eyes. It felt like someone had dug out his original pupils and had replaced them with seven-colored pearls.

The colors of a rainbow churned within his eyes, like a confluence of seven rivers with their color and personality.

"My Lord, it's brilliant."

The other person, who replied, had no distinct features. His robe, his face, his eyes, and everything about him seemed to be covered in countless shadows. The reverence in his voice was undeniably apparent.

"You think? Hmm… It's just passable."

As the old man shrugged, the paintbrush along with the painting vanished. Both men looked at the tip of the Red Dragon's tail on the horizon and saw it approaching the Sea beyond many levels of the Death Separation.

"My Lord, can he cross it this time?"

The old man heard the question and a slight smile came upon his face. He turned towards the Shadow-Wearer as if looking into his eyes. No shadow could last in the presence of those seven colors, fluctuating within the old man's eyes.

"This isn't the question of 'Can'. Even an ant can cross the Sea of White Death."

The Shadow-Wearer took a deep breath, hearing the reply, and couldn't help but ask more.

"You mean anyone can cross it? Then why the Red Dragon couldn't a few months back?"

"Haha! He couldn't because he wasn't willing enough. The Dragons are known for their mighty Perception. Alas, the Will has nothing to do with it."

Creak!!!

The Old man left the pondering Shadow-Wearer and sat down on a chair. The chair creaked under him but it didn't dare to fall apart without the Old man's permission. The Shadow-Wearer too approached the chair, but sat down on the floor, like students in front of their teacher in the old times.

"My Lord, you… I have found out in the last centuries that… that you have been on the other side of the Sea of White Death. What lay beyond the end of the Separations?"

The Old man felt quite amused at the question, as shown by his arched-up eyebrows and playful smile. Soon, the seven colors in his eyes deepened as he recalled a distant memory.

"You want a history lesson?!"

The old man looked at the Sky, recovering its color, through the hole and asked the man on the floor. The Shadow-Wearer got taken aback and an unseen flash of light glowed in his eyes, covered by the shadows.

He knew the worth of every single word spoken by this old man. Even if it would be only a single sentence, a lesson in history from him could surpass thousands of archaic scrolls. He put his forehead on the warm wooden floor and reverently said.

"My Lord, your student awaits your teachings."

The old man nodded at him and gestured him to straighten his posture.

"What are the general facts known about the Four Separations?"

"My Lord, it is known that the four kingdoms in the Galaxy have no distinct boundaries. Instead, there are four strips between them, stretching from the center of the Galaxy to its outermost layers. These four strips are called the Four Separations. And currently, we are in the Death Separation, which separates the Kingdom of Eternal Servant from the Kingdom of Swordless."

The Shadow-Wearer gave a general outline and looked at the Old man expectantly.

"Reasonable explanation, but not entirely correct."

"What…"

"The Separations don't originate from the center of the Galaxy. There is another region that lies between them and the Galaxy's center."

For the first time, fear took over the Shadow-Wearer as all shadows shuddered.

"A… ABYSS?!"

The old man's slight nod gave an icy shiver to the Shadow-Wearer's spine.

"My Lord, then… how, NO… What did you see beyond the Death Separation?"

The Old man's hand reached out towards the Shadow-wearer and patted his head.

"Isn't it obvious? I saw DEATH."

The Shadow-Wearer felt the warm sensation of that hand and before he could ask more, the old man cut him off.

"Let's go, they have gained consciousness."

The Old man stood up and approached a door in a corner. With every step, he became smaller and frail. He lost his hair, and the colors in his eyes disappeared. As he opened the door, no trace of his past self from a second ago could be found on him.

Creakkk!!!

Lying against the legs of tables. drunk men were struggling to stand up, holding their bottles of rum and vodka. And many were still coughing out blood as their ears rang in remembrance of that Roar.

"Look at yeh fucking roaches! Let Death claim anyone who doesn't clean up his shit fromth mine tavern's floor?"