I've been through a lot in both of my lives. I've faced death and experienced reincarnation. Yet, nothing has ever astounded me quite like this.

Metatron? The Voice of God? Can this really be happening? Why has such an "honor" been bestowed upon me? Why am I so out of the loop, as oblivious as a blind kitten?

I need to regain my composure. Zanh Kiem is seated beside me, waiting for a response. Why on earth would he even entertain the notion that I might be the reincarnation of Jesus? Memories from Izao come rushing back, reminding me that despite the familiar names of religions here, they differ significantly from those I'm familiar with. Here, figures like Buddha, Jesus, and Mohammed are perceived as individuals born with the souls of Angels. Yet, from this viewpoint, the statement "Jesus is the son of God" still holds true.

However, I am certain that I don't possess the soul of an angel. Of that, I'm completely sure.

"No, I am not the reincarnation of Jesus of Nazareth," I state with as much conviction as I can muster. "And I can prove it."

"How so?" the Creator inquires, his relief palpable.

"I deeply desire to obliterate Eshin. Not just defeat them, but to annihilate them entirely, as if they were rabid beasts. Would Jesus ever harbor such feelings?"

"Hmm. You have a point. Thank you for clarifying. But now, everything seems even more perplexing."

"I share your sentiment," I admit, matching his puzzled expression.

"You have the authority to command me now. Could you reveal your true identity? You can then order me to keep it a secret. Please. I feel the world teetering on the brink of an abyss, and I'm at a loss as to how to prevent its descent."

"I can't. Rui is privy to my secret, and if I were to disclose it..."

"I understand."

"But..."

"Yes?"

"Just give me a moment to think."

A realization dawns on me. The key is close. I can sense it.

Hold on.

Key.

That's it!

The four numbers: "1041".

The birth year of El Cid...

This has to be it!

It's a posthumous message from Hyungang Tu Chong!

It can't be anything else. Only that cursed raig mentor, with his twisted vision, could have instigated this chaos... And he did. Strangely, his demise doesn't upset me as much now.

"Si... Sir," were the words Abel de Diaz addressed me with. From the outset, he must have thought I was the reincarnation of Campeador! He didn't misspeak; he was trying to say "sire" but corrected himself. And his odd "audience." It's not peculiar at all in this context, nor a mere slip of the tongue.

There's a grand scheme unfolding around me, of which I'm utterly unaware. The same can be said for the leader of the Third Palm, who sits beside me. It's as if we're both in the dark, on the same journey. This realization brings clarity to my muddled thoughts.

"I can't reveal who I was in a past life. However, I can tell you whom Hyungang Tu Chong believed I was and whom Abel de Diaz assumes I am."

"I'm listening."

"Hyungang Tu Chong was certain that I was the reincarnation of Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar."

"I'm sorry, who?" Zanh Kiem's eyebrows shoot up, clearly unfamiliar with the name.

"Another name for him: El Cid Campeador," I try again.

"What the..." The Creator's reaction is palpable, and I hear him mutter something in Russian: "Хрен редьки не слаще!"[1] He then places his head in his hands, looking deep in thought. "The circle... The Spiral of Time... Everything returns to its origin... The Treaty is void... Where flap of Wing decides whether World should live or die."[2]

The last line reminds me of a quote from the novel "Dragon Song" by Anne McCaffrey, a book that, to my knowledge, never existed in this world!

"Oh!" Suddenly, the Maker reaches into his pocket, pulls out a flask, and takes a few sips. The color returns to his face as he says, "By the heavens! Oh, why was I born in a time of Change!.. Not for nothing that this is a curse."

"But I'm not El Cid!" I respond, not hiding my frustration. "Hyungang Tu Chong was mistaken. I recall an entirely different life!"

With a deep exclamation, Zanh Kiem stands. "No, Hyungang wasn't mistaken. I'm sure of it now, as he was."

"That's absurd!"

"No, Maestro. We, the Makers, can think, analyze, and err. But when Enlightenment strikes, it's different. Enlightenment is never wrong."

"But I don't have any memories of..."

"Do you recall all your past lives?"

"Just one."

"The last one. And the one before that?"

"I don't."

"In a past life, you were El Cid. You were the Last King of Men." And with that, he kneels before me, paying no mind to the dirt on his pristine trousers. "Sire..."

"Stand up! Right now!"

"As you command, Sire."

"Enough with the theatrics! Sit down!"

"Forgive me. I got carried away." He takes his seat once again.

"How serious is this situation?"

"You have no memories of El Cid's life?"

"None."

"Then it's as grave as it can be."

"Are you trying to make a fool out of me, Zanh Kiem?"

"That wasn't my intent. I apologize."

"Then clarify!"

"In 1099, a Treaty was established between humans and shapeshifters. This agreement acknowledged the supremacy of shapeshifters. A Creator ratified this treaty. The world at that time was turbulent, not just because of wars and conflicts. The very essence of the world was in turmoil, on the brink of destruction due to the Phenomenon and the emergence of shapeshifters. When the Treaty was signed, the world found its balance. It wasn't just the conflicts that settled; the world's very energies became tranquil. Twelve shapeshifter kings signed it. On the humans' side, there was only one signature... Yours, Sire."

"How could a single individual decide for everyone?"

"I'm not sure. But that detail isn't significant. The World acknowledged that signature. Everything else is irrelevant."

"But that was over nine hundred years ago!"

"Time has come full circle," The Creator muses, shaking his head. "You've returned. The Treaty is void."

"Why is it void?"

"I haven't seen the original, but it seems there was something specific in its phrasing. All I know is that it's void now."

"So, what's next?"

"You now clad in the Angel... Metatron... You're the Voice of God. The decision to renew or terminate the Treaty rests with you."

"Terminate? That could lead to war, with millions, no, billions of casualties!"

"Where flap of Wing decides whether World should live or die..." Zanh Kiem murmurs.

"A wing?"

"A wave of your hand, clad in the gauntlet of the First Angel's armor, it appears." The leader of the Third Palm then glances at my hands, an evident unease in his eyes.

"And no one will oppose me?"

"Please, realize this! As the Voice of God, anyone challenging your decision will be waging war against all the Sees. It's a choice between the World living... or not."

"Stop it!"

"I'll hold my tongue."

"I wasn't issuing a command!" I exclaim, frustration mounting. "How am I supposed to communicate with you now? Continue behaving as you always have."

"It won't be simple."

"Then make an effort!" His response is a deep sigh, followed by a reluctant nod. "Another question."

"Yes?"

"Can Abel de Diaz choose who receives the First Angel's armor?"

"Absolutely not! Only a Creator can make that decision."

"But the package had Abel's signature."

"In that situation, he was merely acting on behalf of the Holy See."

"Damn!"

"I concur."

"Can I discard this armor?"

"But can you truly?"

"No," I admit, realizing the folly of my words. It's not just that the armor is unique; it's an extension of me, part of my very being.

"That's what I thought."

"But I can't even wear it in public." The thought frustrates me beyond measure.

"Why?"

"So that people recognize the Voice of God in you? Are you jesting?"

"Am I?" The Maker replies, his familiar warm and genuine smile returning. "Across the globe, fewer than fifty people can recognize the Angel in this armor. Here in Novilter, only I have that ability. No image, photo, or video can differentiate the Angel from ordinary armor. Wear it without worry. Besides, it provides such defense that even I'd reconsider facing you in combat, perhaps it'd be simpler to just surrender. And that's not even factoring in the Break."

"How can it be? One single powerful shot..."

"And a variety of factors might interfere: the sniper might blink, sweat could cause his finger to slip, a bee could sting him, a bird might unexpectedly relieve itself on him right as he's taking the shot, or perhaps a sudden gust of wind disrupts his aim. The Creators' blessing isn't just a meaningless phrase."

"Oh, I see."

"Yes, to most, you appear to be donning a state-of-the-art clan armor. Only those who are truly informed and privy, like Tunk or the heir, can identify it as belonging to the inquisition. And given Abel's interest in you, they likely won't question its origins."

A wave of relief washed over me upon hearing this. This armor, it's intoxicating! Merely pondering the idea of removing it brings discomfort.

"So, what's OUR next step?" I asked, a simple yet crucial question hanging in the air.

"I'm not sure," Zanh Kiem admits, shrugging. "To be honest, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, regardless of any worldly treasures, Master Maestro." He has stopped addressing me as "sire", a slight progress. "Such a decision isn't one you can pass onto another. You signed the Treaty nine centuries ago, and now it falls to you..."

"I didn't sign anything!"

"The Holy See believes otherwise," The head of the Third Palm retorted, brushing aside my protest.

"I don't really ca..."

"I'd advise against making light of it. The Creators aren't merely individuals with unique abilities. They resonate with the Universe, with our very world built on their foundations. This isn't just metaphorical."

"I might not fully grasp what you're saying, but I'll take your word for it."

"That's wise," The Maker responded, sighing deeply. "Do you have any instructions for me, Master Maestro?"

"Why revert to this dynamic? This 'you're the superior, and I'm the subordinate' routine?"

"So, I should carry on as I have been and address the tasks I've been tackling?"

"Yes."

"Is that all?"

"No. One more thing. You're the head of the Third Palm, equivalent to a Western Inquisition Bishop, right?"

"That's correct."

"It's time to eliminate all these ambiguities! Can you directly contact...?" My finger gestured skyward.

"I can," He responded, clearly uncomfortable with my implication.

"Would you call them?"

"I've never done it before."

"Don't you think the situation warrants it?"

"Alright." Resigned, The Maker retrieved his phone and dialed a number.

After two rings, the call connected, and without any intervention from Zanh Kiem, it switched to speakerphone.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"The circle has closed," A powerful voice asserted. "But the Spiral of Time has completed the coil too late. Don't stress about the Treaty; it will soon be inconsequential. Our World is collapsing. Breakthroughs are growing more frequent. If this continues, in a year, they'll manifest daily where humans reside. No, it's not your error. We erred. Please forgive us. And Zan, we'll be unreachable from here on. We're departing to fortify the World. Pray we prevail. Continue living as you have; your life, like everyone else's, provides a modicum of stability. It holds back... Much like the triumphs of the Break Knights — they reinforce the Boundary temporarily. This information is confidential; I'm only sharing it with Maestro due to its importance. Maestro, there's something you must recall. I can't pinpoint it, but it's vital. Your reincarnation at this juncture isn't random. You bear the Angel Wing's mark. Now, you're Our Angel, Our Metatron. Hopefully, you aren't the Rider in Black. The armor's acceptance of you kindles hope. Your actions will seal the World's fate. The status of one door — opened or kept shut — will dictate everything. We can only offer you time to find that door. The likelihood that We alone can salvage the World is slim. That's all. I was just waiting for your call."

"But what about Eshin?"

"Your task hasn't been canceled, Zan. Eshin's actions are hastening the End. Stopping them is the utmost priority!"

"But..."

"I've said all there is to say... Time is running out... Goodbye."

The call ended abruptly.

"I never imagined I'd witness the end of the world," the Maker said, aimlessly twirling his phone in his hands. "But there's a silver lining!"

"What are you talking about?"

"The Creator has a point. There's no need to worry about the Treaty. In a year, our world will be gone."

"In two years," the previously silent phone came alive again, and another commanding voice spoke, "If Eshin is defeated, we'll have two more years. Wear my Angel as if it were yours, Master Maestro. My time has come as well. Farewell."

We sat in silence, absorbing the enormity of the news. After a while, Zanh Kiem finally pocketed the phone, suggesting, "We could buy a year. Perhaps we should get to work?"

"I envy your calm," I muttered.

"Both of us know that death isn't the end," the Maker remarked with an unexpected grin. "We don't just believe, like most people. We know. Am I wrong?"

"When you put it that way, you're absolutely right."

"Why consider any other perspective?" the head of the Third Palm quipped, winking. "This one suits me perfectly."

"Thanks," I responded, a smile forming despite the gravity of our conversation. "So, back to work?"

"I just hope you took the message to heart," the sensum interjected seriously. "What I mean is, no one but us should know about the impending End. We need to treat that information with the utmost discretion."

"I don’t exactly have a plethora of confidants," I replied, though Zanh Kiem's intense gaze made it clear he wanted more assurance. "I get it... I'll keep it to myself."

"Good," he replied, visibly relieved. "Also, don’t actively seek out this 'door.' Just live your life as ordinarily as you can, given your circumstances."

"But didn't the Creator suggest the opposite?"

"No, you need to grasp the entirety of his message, not just parts of it. His advice to 'live normally' applies to both of us. As for the door, based on my understanding of prophecies, you'll come across it in due course. You just need to recognize it when you do."

"That easy?"

"Perhaps in theory. In reality, it might not be so clear-cut."

Considering I had no clue where to start searching for this mysterious door that would supposedly "fix everything", I wholeheartedly accepted Zanh Kiem's interpretation.

"Who knows? Things might just sort themselves out," the Maker mused as he rose from his seat. "Perhaps the Creators will manage to save the world on their own after all."

"I really hope so."

"I see your spirits lifting, Master Maestro," the sensum remarked as he brushed the dirt off his trousers.

Isn't my armor supposed to guard against aura scans? Wait, he's a Maker, and his capabilities can override such defenses.

"Speaking of which, I just remembered something," I began, and Zanh Kiem patiently awaited my next words. "Not long ago, in terms of events, but seemingly ages in time, I said something to the Break Knights. I never imagined destiny would take my words so literally."

"What did you say?" The sensum asked, a hint of apprehension in his voice.

"No one but us."

"Ah, I see!" His demeanor relaxed. "It's quite fitting for our current situation. 'No one but us.'" He seemed to savor the phrase. "Quite apt, really."

"Shall we get back to work?"

"Let's."

We leisurely made our way towards the port, discussing our plans and collaboration in detail. We decided to maintain things as they were prior to my acquiring the armor. The Maker also advised me, quite strongly, to keep my true identity a well-guarded secret. For finding the Door necessitated my survival. And if the shapeshifters ever learned of the Last King of Men's return, my life would be at great risk. The revelation that my soul has lived numerous lives, including one as Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, was a lot to digest.

Ordinary patrolmen granted us passage without any inspections. They looked our way apprehensively but didn't question us. However, the clan's special forces guarding the operational headquarters cast peculiar glances in my direction. Initially, I was unsure of their intentions, but Spark proposed it might be envy. Their armors were certainly special, but they paled in comparison to the "Shield of the Holy See."

Besides Nein, Alir, and Maya, Mr. Tunk was also present near the familiar heavy truck. Naturally, he was overseeing the operations related to Eshin, if my memory served correctly.

"Wow!" exclaimed the curator of the clerics from the House on the Hill as he noticed our approach. "Esteemed Zanh Kiem, I see you've brought reinforcements. Was the support provided by Novilter not adequate?" He didn't sound too pleased with his own conclusion.

"What?" The Creator was momentarily caught off guard by the statement, but after glancing back at me, he burst into laughter. "No, Mr. Tunk, this isn't a reinforcement. This is just Master Maestro's new attire."

"So that's what was in Legate Abel's package!" Nein exclaimed in surprise, leaping up momentarily, but immediately quieted down under his superior's stern gaze. "I'll keep quiet... I promise..."

I waved at Maya, and her eyes sparkled with a triumphant glint, as if she was the one donning such exquisite armor.

"Sir!" Tunk gave me a slight bow. "Good to see you again."

"Likewise, Mr. Tunk." I realized I needed to adjust the modulator; my voice sounded unnaturally deep.

"So," Nein chimed in, breaking the brief silence, "from the wetsuit manufacturer, we've learned where the experimental samples were sent. Our team will reach there in twenty minutes. We've also located the Sharp Knives' broker. As suspected, he's deceased, but we found his encrypted contract book. When will it be handed over to me?"

"My team would prefer to examine it first," Mr. Alir replied, hesitant to share the information with the clerical Investigator.

"I assure you," Zanh Kiem intervened, placing a hand on his subordinate's shoulder, "Nein has a knack for decoding. Save us time and hand him the book immediately."

"You can't possibly..." the criminal curator began but was swiftly cut off by his colleague.

"Give the book now," Tunk's voice carried an undertone of menace, an unmistakable sign that he was on the edge of anger, betrayed only by the slight hissing transformation of his teeth. "I'm in charge of this operation, and you will follow my directives. The book will be here in ten minutes. Is that clear?"

"Yes." Alir gestured in a sign of submission and acquiescence. "I'll issue the order immediately." With that, the shapeshifter headed towards the operational headquarters.

"If no one has any objections," Maya started, "I'd like a moment with Master Maestro."

"Of course," Zanh Kiem responded with a nod.

Maya gestured for me to follow, and we moved away from the group.

"Congratulations on your upgrade!" She was the first to break the silence, ensuring we were out of earshot. "It looks incredibly cool! Not as impressive as your Projection, but close! Did you see the clansmen's envious glances at your armor?" Her observation was undeniably accurate.

"Thank you," I admitted, feeling a bit flattered since I was quite fond of the armor myself.

"How was your visit to the Abode of Knowledge?"

"It went well," I replied, momentarily debating if I should mention the photograph on Hyungang Too Chong's desk. Opting against it, I chose not to stir up fresh wounds.

"Good to hear," she nodded, then continued, "Halley reached out to me a short while ago."

"And?"

"Everything on the guys' end is settled as well!"

"Settled?"

"Yes! They've come to an agreement on all fronts: concessions for students, enhancing raig-authority interactions, establishing a support service for the Knights, addressing censorship issues, and so on. They've met all our demands. Some solutions seemed nearly unattainable, but they managed to find a middle ground through collaboration."

"That's fantastic news."

"Crixus, based on what Halley mentioned, did an outstanding job. You were right, Master. We should always look for the good in everyone, and I was mistaken." The young Knight bowed in remorse. "Toward the end, the heir participated in the discussions, even offering apologies. He pledged the entire country's efforts to safeguard the raigs and ensure they have everything they need." I gazed at her, a gnawing sensation taking hold of my heart. Could it be true that she would perish in just a year or two? No, I mustn't dwell on that thought. Otherwise, it would be easier just to end myself right away, as Zanh Kiem said. But she continued, "The treaty has been signed and ratified! Maestro, why the odd look?"

"Nothing, just ignore it. I've recently developed an odd allergy."

"To what?"

"To the word 'treaty.'"

[1] TLN: The saying, "radish is not sweeter than horseradish," carries a straightforward meaning. I've retained it in its original form since the Maker seems to be drawing from Maestro's past memories. As we know, the territories that stand in for Russia in this world don't even share the same language.

[2] TLN: The rhyme is from either Chapter 2 of "Dragonsong" or Chapter 3 of "Dragonflight" by Anne McCaffrey. The author seems to refer to a professional translation, where oftentimes there's a significant deviation from the original - entirely different phrases, line counts, with only the core message remaining consistent. The original lines read: "Worlds are lost or worlds are saved From those dangers dragon'braved." It doesn't align well with the given context, so I retained "a translation of a translation" (after spending a good 30 minutes searching for the original).