Five million years ago—

The races of the Origin Continent had not yet been enlightened. Civilization itself was still asleep.

After quietly observing for a while, Daniel activated Time Stream once more, rewinding the current of time to the very instant before the human Awakeners were released into this era.

When the shimmering flow of light subsided, his gaze turned toward the woman beside him—Kartora.

The moment Kartora arrived, she did not pause to marvel at the scene. Instinctively, she released her mind power, scanning every grain of sand, every hidden fluctuation within the air. When she sensed Daniel's consciousness echoing with her own, she responded in kind. The two began to communicate through thought rather than voice, their words crossing through the silent temporal field.

"It seems this place is indeed the Land of Origin—the domain tied to the ancient God of Time."

"Crossbridge," Kartora continued softly, calling Daniel by the codename only a few still remembered, "I understand what worries you. But I believe that if I can become the first ancient god to seize the Seat of Time, then nothing disastrous will occur."

Her tone carried a confidence that bordered on defiance.

"To be frank," she added after a pause, "we can no longer move forward—to an age older than this. This is as far as the Time Stream will allow us to go. That is why I've made my judgment here. At least, with my current strength, I cannot truly reach the beginning of time itself."

For most beings, a span of five million years was an unfathomable abyss—long enough to turn empires to dust, to erase even the memory of existence. Yet to the River of Time, such a stretch was nothing more than a ripple, a brief flicker of light.

And even so, Kartora had reached her limit.

To reach the very beginning of time from here was no longer a goal, but a delusion. Even with all her might, the path ahead was blocked by forces older than creation itself.

Kartora stepped closer to Daniel, her arms encircling him briefly before her figure flickered, reappearing beside an enormous cliff that split the sky in two.

Through her perception, she could feel that deep within that ravine lay the faint pulse of a divine seat—a godly authority that resonated with the Time Domain.

Seeing the shift in her expression, Daniel nodded. Without hesitation, he raised his hands and began to shatter the entire mountain range piece by piece.

Although he did not know what would happen once Kartora truly absorbed the divine position of time—after all, it belonged to the pantheon of ancient gods, whose systems differed from all modern deities—Daniel knew there was no avoiding this attempt.

At least in theory, this was Kartora's only path to godhood.

And even if he refused to assist her, she would undoubtedly try to seize that power alone. Leaving her to attempt it without guidance could lead to chaos—perhaps even her death.

Daniel was not the kind of man to forget his debts. He chose, therefore, to act.

"Are you ready?"

His tone was solemn as he looked at Kartora.

She nodded gently, her long silver hair fluttering in the cold temporal wind.

"Please," she said softly, "do whatever you must, Lord Daniel. No matter what you do to me, I will not resist."

"Relax," Daniel murmured. "It will be fine."

He drew forth a blade that gleamed like moonlight—a weapon older than legends—the Dagger of the God of Thieves. With it, he prepared to perform the impossible: to cut and divide Kartora's very soul.

The dagger was one of Daniel's ultimate trump cards. Normally, he used it only to dissect divine materials or extract fragments of forgotten relics. It had never once been turned upon another living being.

Even for those close to him—Milla, for instance, who had begged more than once for him to craft a soul-duplicate or teach her the method—Daniel had always refused.

He had always replied with the same answer: This ability cannot be taught. It is a Talent Exclusive Skill.

And yet this time, he was willing to break that rule—for Kartora's sake. He would even ensure that her consciousness survived the division.

After a century of companionship, Daniel had come to understand Kartora's intentions—many of which she had never spoken aloud, yet which he had sensed through her mind waves.

At this point, her thoughts lay bare before him.

Without further hesitation, Daniel pressed the dagger to her chest. A line of light traced through her soul—a thread as delicate as glass—and the division began.

In an instant, a pure white soul floated before him, radiant and whole.

Kartora stood beside him, her eyes glimmering with awe. Though she was a Fake God of the Time Domain, having witnessed nearly all phenomena that existed across eternity, she had never seen such a sight.

"Lord Daniel… this is… truly extraordinary."

Daniel did not reply. He was already drawing from his dimensional storage, summoning an array of exotic materials—each one humming with ancient power.

After mixing and refining them, he began to shape a body to house Kartora's divided soul. The process was meticulous, each motion precise as if he were sculpting the very laws of existence.

When it was done, the new vessel stood before them—a simplistic wooden figure, roughly human-shaped but clearly incomplete. Its limbs were smooth and featureless, its joints carved with runic channels that pulsed faintly with divine resonance.

Daniel had made it intentionally crude.

If he had used higher-grade materials to forge a perfect body, it might have rejected the Time Domain's energy. Only certain sacred substances—such as the roots of the Reincarnation Tree—could fully contain Kartora's essence.

Using anything else would limit her power, perhaps even tear her soul apart.

Thus was born the Puppet Kartora.

Daniel infused the pale soul into the wooden shell.

A surge of temporal light burst forth, distorting the surrounding space. The puppet's eyes fluttered open—brilliant, crystalline, and full of confusion.

"Lord Daniel," she whispered, her voice still mechanical, "what… have you done?"

A brief pause followed. Then her expression changed, realization dawning like sunlight.

"Wait—I understand now."

Although she had only just awakened, she already knew everything. The memories, sensations, and final thoughts of her original self before the soul-split were all shared with her.

To her, she was Kartora—no less real, no less alive.

Her gaze drifted toward her counterpart—the original Kartora standing beside Daniel. Her lips curved into a gentle, resigned smile.

"So, my purpose… is to absorb the ancient god's Time Seat, and then fuse with you afterward."

"Ha… to think that the moment I open my eyes, I'm already a sacrifice. What a cruel kind of birth."

Her tone carried no bitterness—only a strange, bittersweet calm.

For in truth, she was Kartora—merely another facet of the same soul, copied and reshaped.

The real Kartora, however, looked deeply pained. Guilt clouded her expression.

"I'm… truly sorry," she murmured. "I never wished for it to be this way."

But before she could say more, her body began to flicker.

The air around her rippled as if time itself were unstable. Her form flashed erratically—like a lamp struggling under failing current.

Her face turned grave. She turned toward Daniel, her voice urgent yet full of sorrow.

"Forgive me, Lord Daniel. Something's wrong… I can't stay any longer."

"I must return immediately."

A bright vortex began to form behind her—a temporal gate, humming with divine energy.

"I'll leave this portal here," she said quickly. "Once you've found the Thread of Life, you can use it to come back."

She hesitated for a heartbeat, her eyes lingering on him with a mixture of fondness and regret.

"Until next time."

Before Daniel could respond, her body dissolved into countless particles of light, vanishing into the temporal rift.

The sound of the wind returned to the silent cliffside.

Daniel stood there, watching the last shimmer of her departure fade into the void. His expression was calm, but his eyes revealed a trace of worry.

"Be careful, Kartora," he murmured. "You too… take care."

Beside him, the wooden puppet—her eyes faintly glowing—remained silent, staring into the same void where her other self had disappeared.

Time itself seemed to hold its breath.

And thus began the legend of the Puppet Kartora, born not of flesh but of divine craft—an echo of a goddess, standing at the threshold between mortality and the endless flow of time.

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