“Alright, done.” Gaius stared at the small screen in front of him, which was now currently bringing families together…forcibly. It was simply teleportation, making use of the emotive bonds that lingered between family members, and after making sure that the new arrivals would also be subject to such an influence, he closed the screen and looked up.

Keeping past bonds and his goal of eliminating all historical animosities felt a bit at odds, though.

Gaius decided to start on his main goal for today, which was checking on the monument of Weiwu. He could have done it from up high, but given that the monument was about the person who had saved his life and that of the others, Gaius wasn’t going to be perfunctory about paying his respects.

With a simple thought, the two of them were now hovering above a lush, green hill. This hill was at the very centre of Celestia, a hill of verdant green that only had one path leading directly to the top. Despite the hill’s height, the path up there had a gentle slope, as if someone had manipulated both gravity and space to turn it into a path that even children could tread on.

“I think he would have liked this place,” Gaius replied quietly, his words low and nasally. “It’s peaceful, and it can watch over all life in Celestia.”

Isabelle glanced at him, shocked, and then held in hand. “I think he’ll be happy here too. Don’t beat yourself up over his death, okay?”

“I’m not,” Gaius replied. “But he really led a miserable existence. Being created just to watch over the Abyss is not an enviable fate. He had so much power, but there was almost nothing he could do with it. He had no way of interacting with anyone else for tens of millennia. Forcing himself to remain sane, he continued to eke out a pitiable existence for no personal gain.”

“It was a good thing that I awakened him, then,” said Isabelle.

Gaius grunted, and the two of them began to descend. Up close, Gaius could appreciate the fine details of the monument Oculus had created for the deceased Chanter of Innocents. The statue of the great god was clad in a travelling cloak, the hood on it pulled back to reveal a face lined with wrinkles. His eyes, although made out of stone, had been infused with a lifelike quality.

A gentle smile completed the face of the statue.

Gaius stared at the huge sculpture, and then walked over to the small plaque at the bottom.

“Weiwu, the Chanter of Innocents. One of Orb’s original gods, he watched over the Abyss and protected all life for a hundred thousand years,” Isabelle read out loud. “He will not be forgotten.”

Gaius stared at the plaque, before generating a small wreath of chrysanthemum flowers. He didn’t know why he chose these flowers, but it felt appropriate to him.

Laying it down on the plaque, he clasped his hands together and inclined his head.

“The others never got to say goodbye. I’m sorry. You deserved far better, for everything you’ve done for me, my family and Orb.” He shook his head. “La-Ti was crying for three days when he heard about you. He got mad at me too, can you believe it? He’s stopped playing checkers ever since. It’s a game he’ll only ever play with you.”

Taking a deep breath, Gaius tore his gaze away from the sculpture of Weiwu. “Oculus, you dummy. You should have also created your own monument, right? At least to prove that you existed, even for a few months. Do you know how much it hurts for the people who knew you to create something for you?”

Isabelle’s breathing, which was also ragged like his, forcibly steadied itself. As a gentle touch fell on his hand, she said, “Let’s do it. Let’s create one for him.”

Gaius nodded, and a sphere of rock, as tall as Nakama, appeared in front of him. Producing two knives, he handed one to Isabelle, and then paused. He didn’t know where to begin.

“…It’s hard,” said Isabelle. “In the first place, a single eyeball is really hard to sculpt out. Oculus was quite the accurate anatomical model of an eyeball, right?”

Gaius stared at the sphere of rock glumly, and then willed the two knives to vanish. “I don’t know where to start. Oculus never really told us anything about himself. He just wanted to help me. What would he want to be represented as?”

“It might not be in my place to say—”

“That’s rubbish. What do you mean, not in your place to say?” Gaius placed his hands on his hips. “You were there with me the whole time. You definitely are qualified. Sheesh. Puff up yourself! Be more confident!”

Isabelle rapped his head. “Dummy.”

“What was that for?” Gaius asked, rolling his eyes. He didn’t really need an answer, though; it was simply her way of showing appreciation. “Anyway, what idea do you have?”

“I think Oculus should be represented as a sun. Or a star.” Isabelle gestured at the rock. “After all, his sole purpose was to guide you, right? To illuminate a suitable path, when you were struggling against the Five Lands’ aggression. I couldn’t do anything for you, but…”

Gaius rubbed her head. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“But Oculus could bring you out of your depression. He gave you ideas, helped you find your path,” said Isabelle. “For you, he was the guiding light. I think that he would be happy if he was represented as a small sun.”

“A small sun, huh.” Gaius pointed at the stone globe, and it began to levitate. Turning it yellow, he produced a small rectangular slab. “Let’s write something on it, shall we?”

He paused for a moment, and then called out to Nexus, who had left one of his sculptures in Celestia’s control room. The two of them had worked together too, and the little guy would want to leave something behind too.

Moving the little sculpture over, Gaius spent a minute or two to explain what they were doing.

“I think he’ll like that too,” said Nexus. “Say, would you do the same thing for me if I were to ever perish?”

“Dumbass,” Gaius replied. “Obviously. Now, hurry up and get started. I want to make Oculus embarrassed if he ever managed to read this.”

“What a nasty personality…”