Myriad Heavens: Rise of the Rune God

Runar’s main body first appeared at the outermost edge of Willith’s universe.

The membrane of her realm stretched before him like a vast, faintly luminous curtain separating ordered existence from the raw multiversal void. Up close it was not a simple barrier. Layers of interlocking laws shimmered beneath the surface, constantly adjusting to keep the internal physics stable while rejecting the chaotic pressures of the outside. He did not cross it. He simply stood in the empty space beyond, golden light still faintly clinging to his form, and waited.

Willith’s presence gathered almost immediately. Her projection formed in front of him — calm, composed, and carrying the quiet authority of a Universe Will who had managed her domain for a very long time. The projection was more detailed than usual; he could see the subtle weariness that came from centuries of careful maintenance, and the sharper edge of someone who had recently watched an Advanced-tier predator get dismantled in her backyard.

"You’re leaving," she said. It was not a question.

"Yes." Runar’s voice was steady. "The sector has nothing more for me right now. I’ll continue outward."

Willith studied him for a moment. Her gaze lingered on the denser golden light around him, then on the quiet confidence in his posture. "And the deal?"

"I haven’t forgotten," he answered. "Once I’ve established myself further and made a name, I’ll still send reincarnators toward both your universe and William’s. A deal is a deal."

She inclined her head slightly. "Good. The Multiversal Reincarnation Academy is not a place one enters lightly. You’ll need weight behind your name before they take you seriously. Reputation, verified achievements, preferably something that makes the examiners stop and recalculate their assumptions. Walking in as an unknown mid-Advanced will only get you polite rejection."

Runar gave a small nod. "I know. That’s part of why I’m leaving."

A short silence settled between them. There was no dramatic farewell speech. Both of them understood the nature of the path he was walking. Still, Willith spoke again, quieter this time.

"The void beyond this sector is not the same as the quiet stretches you’ve been traveling. Older currents. Stronger residual laws. Places where even Advanced-tier beings vanish without leaving traces. Try not to erase any sectors by accident while you’re out there."

The corner of Runar’s mouth lifted. "I’ll do my best."

He turned and vanished into the deeper void without another word.

Willith remained where she was for several long seconds, watching the fading golden trail he left behind. Her expression was complicated — a mixture of residual caution, reluctant respect, and something close to dry amusement.

"The multiverse," she murmured to herself, "has welcomed another monster. I only hope they are ready for him."

---

Only a short time later, Runar appeared outside the membrane of William’s universe.

William’s presence arrived even faster than Willith’s had. The star-core-like Will formed in front of him, arms loosely folded, expression already carrying a familiar mix of resignation and wry acceptance. Unlike Willith’s more formal projection, William’s form felt casual, almost human in its posture.

"So the day finally came," William said.

"It did." Runar looked at the familiar membrane behind William. The same quiet universe that had once felt vast to him now looked small, almost fragile against the scale of what waited beyond. "I’m heading out."

William exhaled. "I figured. You’ve already outgrown this little corner of the void. Honestly, I’m surprised you stayed as long as you did after the dragon."

"I’ll still honor the agreement," Runar said. "Reincarnators will come when the time is right. Better quality ones, once I have access to higher-level backing and resources."

"I never doubted that part," William replied. "You’re many things, but you’re not the type to break your word. That’s one of the few comforting traits you have."

Another brief silence passed. The void between them felt heavier than usual.

Runar gave a simple nod. "Take care of the sector. And keep an eye on the family if the clone ever needs support."

"I’ll try to keep it from being eaten by the next hungry lizard that wanders through," William said dryly. Then his tone softened just a fraction. "Don’t die out there. I’d rather not like to hear from your family that the main body got himself erased because he poked something he shouldn’t have."

"I don’t plan to."

Runar turned and disappeared once more.

William stared after him for a long time. The residual pressure of Runar’s presence still lingered faintly in the void, denser and more refined than it had been even a few months earlier. Eventually a low chuckle escaped him.

"That monster has finally begun his journey," he muttered. "Well... my universe was fun while it lasted. Now it’s time for the multiverse to have its own fun. Let’s hope it survives the experience."

---

Runar accelerated.

The moment he fully committed to speed, the void itself seemed to stretch and compress around him. Sectors blurred past on every side. What would have taken ordinary Multiversal beings days or weeks to cross vanished behind him in fractions of a second. Thousands of sectors flowed by like distant lights streaking across a night sky. Universe clusters, empty stretches of primordial void, residual battle scars left by ancient conflicts — all of it became a continuous stream of motion.

His perception remained sharp even at that velocity. He could still feel the faint signatures of distant Wills, the occasional flare of a Multiversal aura, and the deeper, older currents that ran through the true multiversal void. Some currents carried the residue of long-dead principles. Others felt almost alive, as if the void itself remembered wars that had ended before most current Universes had formed. The scale was incomparably larger than the quiet sector he had just left. Entire regions existed where no stable Universe Will had claimed territory for eons. Other stretches were densely packed with competing domains, their membranes pressed close enough that residual law conflicts created permanent storms of unstable energy.

While he traveled, Runar kept part of his attention on the permanent link to the clone. The connection remained clear and steady. He could feel the quiet presence of the family compound, the soft background of familiar auras, the occasional flicker of Nyla testing her new system or Cassia analyzing something. The knowledge that the link held steady was a quiet anchor. He did not linger on it, but he did not close it either.

He also tested the refined Principle of Devour in small, controlled ways as he moved. The principle responded with a smooth, almost eager readiness, far cleaner than the crude version the dragon had used. Where the dragon had simply swallowed, Runar could now feel the subtle distinctions between different types of residual energy, the way certain ancient scars in the void resisted consumption, and the faint traces of principles that had once belonged to beings far stronger than anything the previous sector had contained.

While he traveled, Runar reached into the vast archive of memories he had taken from the Void Devouring Dragon. One particular recollection rose clearly to the surface.

In the memory, the dragon hovered before an ancient structure floating in a relatively empty stretch of void. The ruin was massive — a fractured complex of dark stone and unknown metal, covered in layers of eroded runes that still carried a faint, stubborn authority. The architecture did not match any style the dragon had encountered in its long life. Some sections looked almost organic, as if the stone had once grown rather than been carved. Others were precise geometric lattices that seemed to reject the surrounding void’s natural chaos. The dragon had tried multiple times to force its way inside. It had used raw power, stolen principles, even partial applications of the Principle of Devour. Nothing worked. The barrier covering the ruin remained intact, not by overwhelming strength, but by a kind of absolute refusal — as if the structure itself simply did not acknowledge the dragon’s right to enter.

Frustrated, the dragon had eventually sealed the location with its own methods and left, intending to return once it grew stronger. It had never returned.

Or it never got the chance to. It’s dead after all.

Runar’s inner voice was calm and faintly disdainful as the memory finished playing.

*With the countless principles that dragon had accumulated, it still couldn’t break such a flimsy barrier. What a stupid dragon. It never once tried to understand the runes. It only tried to devour them.*

He adjusted his trajectory slightly, locking onto the residual coordinates buried in the memory. The sealed ruin was not far by his current standards. At the speed he was maintaining, he would reach it very soon.

As he drew closer, additional details from the dragon’s memory surfaced. The runes covering the ruin were not purely decorative. Some of them bore structural similarities to the early rune work he had studied in his childhood — the same foundational logic, only vastly more refined and layered with principles he did not yet recognize. The thought made something quiet and focused settle in his chest.

*Myriad Heavens: Rise of the Rune God,* he thought with a trace of dry self-awareness. *And I barely touched runes after the early years. Maybe this is the universe’s way of reminding me.*

*Let’s just hope,* he continued, *that no one else has discovered it in the meantime. Or if they have, that they were as unsuccessful as the dragon.*

The void continued to streak past him in silence. Behind him, the familiar sector and its two Universe Wills grew distant. Ahead of him, the first true destination of his wider journey waited — an ancient ruin that a Void Devouring Dragon had failed to open, now sitting quietly in the dark with whatever secrets it still guarded.

Runar’s golden eyes remained steady.

The journey had officially begun.