Chickennoodlesoup1

Who is Aether? Wasn’t he Leonardo just a while ago? No way… the Museum, him? He can’t survive in there. The number of beings and phenomena are absurd. A mere miner couldn’t possibly—

From Leonardo to Aether, he is now a tour guide. Knock. Wake up. He is here to guide you, from the highest realm to the lowest era. He knows every hole, every cult, nothing too small or too hidden in a realm brimming with mysteries. His story—his original story—has brought together hundreds of races.

His vision awakening in the Museum, his eyes shining as bright as stars upon opening them—was it heaven at first? It’s more like hell now. He’s diverged from his original path, now fully entangled in the Museum, no longer just an era, a mere thought, or a simple story.

He is a practical officer among the five tour guides.

The eras continue to form, the copies continue shaping concepts, and the sages continue to watch over 21 realms. But his story has only just begun. From floor to floor, wonder to wonder—he is lucky to be the son.

From the brightest city to the farthest reaches of the 20th realm, evolution, an impediment to the term "growth," this is Aether. Your, yes, your, uninvited guest.


https://discord.gg/Pjz9taHPjs.  [Discord guys!!}

Museum Of Narratives

"People hate Father, they hate him, for how smart he is, they hate him for his pride…" Aymara's voice trembles, raw and frayed, her fingers digging into the bedsheets until the fabric groans. "I mean I do have to admit, he is irritating in a few areas…" She swallows hard, as if confessing a betrayal, "…but he's an innovator, in a world where knowledge isn't treated with respect—not anymore, not now that it's spilled into every gutter and alley like cheap wine." Her laugh is bitter, sharp enough to cut glass.

Xaltal stands rigid by the door, his silence volcanic. When he finally speaks, his voice is a guttural scrape of steel on stone: "Assassins exist. They lurk and reek of rot. Your father carved miracles from scrap metal and arrogance. Never doubt that." He turns to leave, the click of the door latch echoing like a guillotine's drop.

The cold slams into Aymara the moment he's gone. Her scream dies as a hand clamps over her mouth, leathery and reeking of grave soil.

Shadow in Tides