Bleary-eyed and with an unpleasant hangover, Atlas hobbled over to his fridge.

He didn't need the fridge. He just wanted some sense of familiarity in his new life.

"B Vitamins… Eggs…" Atlas mumbled to himself, eyes half-closed, his body moving at a quarter of its usual speed. "Need sustenance. Recharge the battery…"

Strange. No fluttering wings.

Atlas half-expected it and dreaded it, but as he cooked up his breakfast like a normal human, the silence remained.

Toast, eggs, and brown tea. Not sweet tea, not coffee.

The quiet stretched on as he ate, sipping his tea bit by bit. Memories of the magic and forge system slowly returned.

'Shit… I upset Wisp,' Atlas thought, grimacing as he lowered his mug. 'It's not gonna be happy with me… Shit, I'm not happy with myself after that.'

The all-too-common feeling of 'I did something stupid' hit him- an old, familiar sensation from drinking.

Back on Earth, he would have just shrugged it off and vowed to do better. But here, it felt different. There was guilt. Shame. There was no escaping his actions.

Sighing, Atlas finished his tea and brewed another before stepping outside. The moment he did, he spotted Wisp fluttering around where his CDIM would normally be.

"You better sit as you are if you want me to help you anymore!" Wisp angrily chirped.

"I'm sorry," Atlas apologized, setting his mug down and sitting seiza-style, his head hanging in shame. "I was just stressed out from this whole ordeal- this god task- and I was missing my old life…"

"You missed your mundane life clocking in for someone else's benefit?" Wisp fluttered angrily over him. "Lies, Weaver Atlas! You lack self-control! Self-discipline!"

"Not really… Who else has to deal with this sudden experience?"

Wisp pulled at his hair, making him wince. "You blew up the Forge gene system for some stupid, mediocre, barely sustainable, outdated gimmick system that will become irrelevant the moment you advance to the space age!"

"And with toys made for a god like a child," Wisp pecked Atlas's head in frustration. "You nearly fried your arm! You could have injured yourself- and me- beyond the system's repair!"

"I'm sorry…" Atlas closed his eyes as Wisp's angry rant continued.

He couldn't fight back. The bird was right. He was wrong.

All he could do for the next several hours was meekly accept its berating.

He wasn't about to piss off the one thing that was actually helping him survive- something he had finally come to terms with… in the worst possible way.

-------------------

Year: 500 Divinity: 182 Divinity Deposit: 182 (99.99 Years Remaining)

----------Believers: 6676---------

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

Common 6500 ( +6 Divinity per Century, + 0.000006239 Gene Points per Century) Specials: 176 ( + 176 Divinity per Century, + 0.00000176 Primordial Points per Century, + 0.000000176 Gene Points per Century)

-------------------

Blood dripped from Atlas's forehead after hours of being poked and yelled at.

'Ah… Twenty-two years waiting to be angry with me… that's a long time to hold a grudge,' Atlas thought. It was both shocking and impressive at the same time.

His gaze drifted to Wisp, sipping on a Coke through a straw. For a brief moment, he thought about the old ones that had literal cocaine in them.

Payback, despite being in the wrong, crossed his mind as his head throbbed from Wisp's constant attacks-but he kept it as a normal Coke.

'Would cocaine even affect it?'

Wisp continued sipping, bug-eyed with enjoyment, but still carrying that lingering air of frustration. It wasn't something a mere Coke could dissipate in one go. From his interactions with Wisp, Atlas had learned that merit- not sweets- was the key to smoothing things over.

At least, that's what he assumed.

"Those four lost specials- are they because of the Black Primordial Dragon?" Atlas asked, wiping the blood from his forehead.

"Yes," Wisp chirped curtly. "Brilliant observation."

"..."

"Erm... You said the current forge system is outdated? Why? There are plenty of references to cyborgs and robots created artificially with magic. Mechas, golems, even some space-"

"It's second-rate," Wisp sighed. "Don't get me wrong, in the early stages, it's a powerful system. And later on, it can add unique buffs to your strategies. But if you're designing a universe that expands beyond a single planet-"

Its eyes narrowed.

"Which I doubt you'll manage if you keep drinking like that- then planetary weapons will render armor obsolete."

"Sure, there will be goliaths in space, enhanced super-beings even- but on a macro level, armadas of spaceships and armies will outweigh single units."

"That... doesn't feel right? What if you have a unit that can EMP hundreds of ships at once?"

Snorting, Wisp shook its head. "If you have something like that, and swords and armor are still relevant, I'd be surprised."

"The forge can be adjusted for future technologies though, can't it? I can have multiple forges depending on the era?"

The obnoxious 'I'm right' slurping stopped. Wisp tilted its head. "I've personally yet to see a Weaver design anything beyond mere swords and armor."

"But have others done it?"

"…Yes, but the mastery and knowledge required would take centuries to design these things from scratch."

"Who said it needs to be done entirely from scratch? We have a god system, a cheat system. Also..." Atlas tilted his head. "You just brought up something I've been wondering about."

"Yes, Weaver Atlas?"

"Has my life been extended at all? Or is it still as long as a normal human's?"

"What do you mean? You've been alive for over five hundred years now."

"Yes," Atlas frowned. "But I've been asleep for ninety-nine percent of that. I mean in normal, relative terms. If I lived a standard sixteen-hour waking cycle, sleeping eight, for- I don't know- normally sixty to eighty years, I'd be dead. Has it changed? Will I live for hundreds or thousands of years?"

"As a Weaver, your soul is eternal until we say otherwise. Your physical body is just a vessel. It doesn't matter. Right now, its aging process is frozen, so you need not worry."

Atlas let out a breath as both relief and unease settled within him. He was eternal? As long as he didn't piss off the "system"- or whoever Wisp reported to. So not really eternal.

Another question tickled the back of his mind.

Has anyone ever rebelled against the system?

If so, where were they now? Was he just another unit like the ones on his planet? Easily erased with a few button presses?

A shudder ran through him.

It was a harsh revelation to realize how insignificant he had been before becoming a Weaver. And now, even as a Weaver…

He was still insignificant. And he knew the questions stirring within him were dangerous to his health.