Beyond Imagination

The Stade de France, located in Paris, is the largest and most versatile modern venue in France. A grand complex that seamlessly integrates sports competitions, artistic performances, and recreational activities, it was chosen as the opening venue for Alicia Banderas' world tour—her Paris debut set to unfold within its vast arena.

Alicia Banderas clearly commanded a legion of devoted fans. Even before the concert began, the stadium and its surroundings were packed to the brim, an ocean of eager faces anticipating her arrival.

Under the strict protection of police officers and security personnel, Alicia and her team navigated through the frenzied crowd, finally breaking through the fervent waves of admirers and making their way backstage.

Fanmuir, however, had been waiting there long before their arrival.

For this concert, he had taken special care to craft an exquisite golden mask, a masterpiece of delicate artistry. In addition, he had woven a subtle illusionary spell upon himself—a minor enchantment that softened his appearance, rendering his presence slightly blurred yet entirely natural to the eye.

At the scheduled hour, the concert began.

Though the Parisian night was bitterly cold, the enthusiasm of the audience burned hotter than ever. Thousands of fans waved their specially designed golden glow sticks, transforming the stadium into a shimmering sea of gold. Waves of ecstatic cheers surged through the air, punctuated by wild screams that echoed in fevered anticipation of their idol's presence.

And then—at long last—Alicia Banderas emerged, stepping into the floodlights, bathed in the radiance of a thousand golden beams.

"Bonsoir, mes amis de Paris! How are you tonight?"

The moment her voice rang out, pandemonium erupted.

Thunderous cheers. Deafening whistles. Roars of excitement cascaded through the arena like an unstoppable tidal wave.

Fanmuir could hardly comprehend how such a simple greeting had triggered such an overwhelming reaction. The sheer intensity of the audience's passion left him in awe, but more than that, it made him realize just how privileged he was. Alicia Banderas—an artist adored by millions—chose to reveal her gentleness and warmth to him, and him alone.

As he gazed at Alicia, her face radiant with sincerity, beloved by all, he couldn't help but sigh inwardly. The power of an idol was truly boundless.

In pursuit of reinvention and artistic evolution, Alicia had specially commissioned Fanmuir to compose two entirely unique pieces for her performance.

The hypnotic beat of soul-stirring drums seemed to rise from some distant realm, their wild and primal rhythm reverberating across the vast arena. Then, as if carried on the wind, Alicia's ethereal voice drifted in—delicate yet commanding, weaving seamlessly into the pulse of the drums. The instant her voice filled the air, the entire stadium fell into a hushed trance.

In that moment, the audience was no longer in Paris. They had been transported—spirited away to the boundless, untamed wilderness of the Eurasian steppes.

Rolling grasslands stretched endlessly beneath an open sky. Wild lions tore across the plains with unbridled speed. Herds of zebras galloped in reckless abandon. Giraffes wandered in languid grace. The vast, breathtaking imagery unfolded vividly in the minds of every listener, immersing them in a world both beautiful and mysterious.

Then, like a tidal wave crashing upon the shore, an eruption of cheers swept through the stadium. Frenzied shouts and ecstatic roars filled the night, a testament to the sheer power of the performance. The audience was utterly enraptured—spellbound by the unparalleled thrill of the music.

Alicia cast a grateful glance toward Fanmuir, who stood behind her, his features obscured by the intricate golden mask. If not for him, this moment, this extraordinary spectacle, would never have come to life.

As the familiar melody of a world-renowned classic filled the air, the crowd once again exploded into rapture. Nostalgia and exhilaration surged through the audience, their emotions cresting like a storm-tossed sea. The name "Alicia Banderas" was screamed with reckless abandon, voices hoarse from unrelenting adoration.

At that moment, she held their very souls in the palm of her hand.

Perfection.

A song that had once defined an era had now ascended to an even greater height—refined, reborn, and utterly flawless.

Then came the final piece.

A masterpiece steeped in the deep hues of blues, where Alicia and Fanmuir engaged in a mesmerizing exchange of improvisation—her voice and his instrument entwining in perfect harmony, pushing the concert to its true, breathtaking climax.

The night had witnessed an unprecedented triumph.

Even after Alicia had bowed and left the stage, the crowd refused to disperse. Their chants echoed relentlessly, pleading for more, unwilling to let the moment end.

It was only after she returned for a fifth encore—expressing her profound gratitude and solemnly promising to return to Paris for another concert next year—that the show finally came to a close.

The resounding success of Alicia Banderas' Paris stop on her world tour became the hottest headline in the entertainment industry. Every major media outlet flooded their reports with unbridled praise, proclaiming the triumphant return of the celestial songstress. Across the globe, her name echoed once more, and the press, with no hesitation, adorned her with the title "Queen of Pop."

Yet, amidst the frenzy, another figure emerged—a mysterious man who had accompanied Alicia onstage.

His presence became an enigma, a subject of wild speculation. The exquisite golden mask he wore, coupled with the intentionally blurred photographs in every newspaper, rendered him unidentifiable. The world demanded answers, but Alicia Banderas remained silent, refusing to disclose his identity. And so, Fanmuir became a mystery—one the world could not unravel.

Music critics across continents unanimously hailed Alicia's performance as a must-watch masterpiece, fueling an unstoppable surge in her popularity. With her fame reaching unparalleled heights, the paparazzi's pursuit of her intensified like never before. The scrutiny was relentless.

Fearing exposure—fearing that their secret connection would be uncovered—Alicia Banderas had not seen Fanmuir since that night in Paris.

The separation weighed on her heart with a crushing intensity.

How she longed to simply say thank you.

How she longed to share music with him again.

But as her star burned ever brighter, that longing became nothing more than an unattainable dream.

Now, Alicia was leaving for Spain to rest and recover.

Yet, as the plane awaited her departure, Alicia felt no joy in her triumph. No euphoria in her success. Only an aching sorrow, an inexplicable emptiness.

On the way to the airport, she picked up her phone.

"I'll miss you." That was all she said.

··························""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Mount Olympus, also known as Olympos, is the highest mountain in Greece. Located in the northern part of the country, near Thessaloniki, it serves as the natural border between Thessaly and the administrative region of Macedonia. Its highest peak, Mytikas, rises to an elevation of 2,917 meters.

In Greek mythology, Mount Olympus is the sacred dwelling of the gods, its very name derived from the ancient meaning "the place of light." In the mythological world of ancient Greece, it holds the same status as paradise—a celestial realm where gods, demigods, and their servants reside. The Olympian gods bestowed upon this mountain a divine, radiant power, making it a symbol of both majesty and mystery.

Spanning an area of 500 square kilometers, with a circumference of 150 square kilometers and an average diameter of 26 kilometers, Mount Olympus experiences a Mediterranean climate. Summers are warm and dry, while winters are cold and damp. For every 100 meters of elevation gained, the temperature drops by approximately one degree Celsius. The mountain is home to an astonishing variety of over 8,000 plant species and countless rare creatures, including western roe deer, wild cattle, foxes, golden eagles, vultures, robins, and white storks.

In ancient Greek mythology, Mount Olympus was not only the dwelling place of the gods but also the very heart of the world. The Greeks believed that Greece was the center of the Earth, and Olympus was the center of Greece. With its abundant natural treasures and an atmosphere steeped in divine energy, it became the ultimate haven for those seeking to refine their martial skills, master sorcery, or cultivate immense magical power.

Yet, for all its allure, Olympus was a land none dared covet. The reason was simple—it had long been claimed by the mightiest force in the Western world: the Pantheon. Thousands of years ago, the Pantheon established its dominion over this sacred ground, imposing an unbreakable decree—no warrior, magician, or cultivator was permitted to train within a thousand-mile radius of Olympus without its explicit permission. Any violation would be met with swift and absolute extermination.

Despite the widespread resentment toward the Pantheon's authoritarian rule, none dared to defy it. Their power was simply too overwhelming. With an unbroken lineage stretching across millennia, the Pantheon not only produced a ceaseless stream of formidable warriors but also possessed an endless trove of mystical artifacts and powerful relics. Even the strongest factions in the mortal world approached them with deference, wary of provoking their wrath. Lesser clans, such as the Alpine Alessandro family, could not even claim the right to offend the Pantheon, let alone challenge it.

Yet, the true fame of Mount Olympus does not stem solely from the presence of the Pantheon. More than anything, it is known as a gathering place for practitioners of the mystical arts. A place where seekers from across the world come together, under the noble pretense of "exchanging insights" and "exploring the mysteries of the divine." Here, all are welcome to discuss the secrets of the gods.

But is knowledge ever truly shared without reservation?

Would any supreme force—or any master of unparalleled skill—truly lay bare their hard-earned wisdom for others to claim?

However, as the saying goes, one may cultivate flowers in vain, while willows grow unbidden into a dense grove. Just like ordinary mortals, cultivators too have their essential needs—though theirs are not as simple as firewood, salt, soy, and oil. Instead, their necessities take the form of celestial treasures, divine elixirs, and enchanted artifacts. Typically, cultivators train in seclusion within their personal abodes, leaving little opportunity for large gatherings. As a result, many find themselves holding rare and priceless materials but struggle to locate a skilled alchemist or artifact forger. Likewise, some desperately seek specific mystical ingredients, yet have no means of acquiring them.

It all began when one cultivator exchanged his Millennial Crimson Amaryllis for a single sacred pill from an alchemist. This simple transaction sparked a trend—one after another, cultivators began bartering their rare finds. Though no grand cosmic truths were unveiled in these exchanges, the ability to obtain what they needed left all parties satisfied. Recognizing the inevitability of this trend, the Pantheon simply went along with it, allowing the gathering to retain its "Mysteries of the Divine" name. In reality, however, it had become little more than a marketplace, no different from those in the mortal world.

From that moment on, whenever cultivators sought rare treasures or had mystical artifacts to trade, they would flock to Mount Olympus. Naturally, the Pantheon—acting as both the host and organizer—became the greatest beneficiary. Not only did its influence grow exponentially, but the world's most precious treasures steadily converged upon Olympus, granting the Pantheon unparalleled access to first-hand information.

And in any era, information is power. The one who holds it holds dominion over all. This truth is just as unshakable in the world of cultivation as it is in the mortal realm. Once the "Mysteries of the Divine" gathering was established, several ancient, reclusive super-clans joined forces with the Pantheon, taking on the role of cunning middlemen. They bought low and sold high, occasionally even adopting tactics reminiscent of modern empires—disposing of their outdated and inferior "weapons" by selling them to second- and third-tier cultivation families, all while acquiring legendary artifacts in return. Ever since this marketplace came into existence, these hidden super-clans and the Pantheon have amassed boundless wealth, with the latter reigning supreme above all.

Profit—the eternal pursuit of humankind. With such staggering fortunes to be made, the Pantheon and the ancient super-clans spared no effort in expanding their customer base. To encourage even greater participation and attract an even broader array of celestial treasures, they collectively issued a decree: anyone is permitted to conduct trade freely within the "Mysteries of the Divine" arena, and while within this sacred ground, personal safety is absolutely guaranteed.

But beyond the borders of Mount Olympus?

There, the Pantheon and the ancient super-clans would turn a blind eye.

The Throne of Zeus stands to the east of the entrance to Mount Olympus. Towering at an altitude of 2,902 meters, this peak rises with an imposing majesty, its summit piercing the heavens, standing proudly above the surrounding mountains.

A slight distortion rippled through space—Fanmuir materialized out of thin air at the foot of the Throne of Zeus. As he inhaled the rich, dense spiritual energy suffusing the air, an unbidden sense of admiration flickered across his mind.

"Truly, this is a divine realm upon the mortal plane—the training ground of the world's supreme force."

Lifting his gaze, he looked up at the mountain, its sheer cliffs soaring skyward like an unshakable titan.

"So this… is the legendary Pantheon and the 'Mysteries of the Divine.'" Fanmuir murmured to himself.