Duskware was a sprawling city, and Ethan and Mia spent hours wandering its streets.
They hit the mall first. Ethan bought everything he needed to modernize his countryside home—a washing machine, a microwave, a fridge, and a host of other appliances. The store owner was overjoyed. With most people shopping online these days, big in-store purchases had become rare. He promised to have everything delivered to Ethan's house by the end of the day.
Truthfully, Ethan usually preferred to shop online too. The specs of most machines were similar; what mattered more to him was how they looked and fit together—how they'd create a clean, comfortable living space.
Afterward, Mia led him to a series of hardware stores. He picked up more tools: a high-pressure water gun, an electric drill, a chainsaw, water sprinklers, and other gear for farming and yard work.
"Pack it all up—we'll deliver everything!" the shopkeeper said, barely containing his glee. He laughed and rang up the total.
Ethan had spent close to eighty thousand yuan by then, with just under eleven thousand left in his account. He didn't care. He had no plans to be frugal anymore.
They rode home on Mia's scooter—Ethan driving, Mia holding tight behind him.
On the way, she ran her fingers through his thick black hair... and suddenly yanked out a strand.
"Ow—what the hell?!" Ethan flinched. "Control your hands!"
"Whoa!!" Mia yelped in surprise, holding up the hair. "That was firm! I had to pull hard! What did you do, huh? Seriously, what did you do?"
Ethan sighed. "Why are you so obsessed with my hair? I told you—chemo. I wasn't born bald, you know. I'm just recovering."
"Really?" she stared at him.
"Really."
She still didn't look convinced. And truthfully, she had reason to doubt. Over the past few days, she'd watched him transform—his health improving, his body growing stronger, his face becoming almost unnaturally handsome. Could this really be the result of simple rest and recovery?
Something didn't add up.
"You're way too suspicious," Ethan muttered, ignoring her. He let the scooter bounce over bumps and cow dung on the narrow country road. After all, it wasn't his scooter.
On both sides of the road, rice fields stretched into the distance. Elderly villagers greeted them with warm smiles as they passed.
"Did you two just come back from town?"
"Young people should get out more!"
"You're the only two young ones around here anymore!"
"Hello, Mrs. Li! Hello, Mr. Zhang," Ethan called back. "Just bought some things for the house. Took Chen Xi along to help."
The warm countryside sunlight bathed the road in a golden glow. The sky had begun to darken. It was just past six o'clock, and the first stars had begun to peek through the sky. Unlike the polluted cities, the rural night was pristine and clear.
Ethan looked up.
Even the miniature sandbox world he had created—its days fifty years long, its nights just as endless—surely had skies like this. He imagined the Bugapes gazing upward, just as he did now, wondering about the size of the world and the mysteries beyond it.
"How small their world must seem," Ethan mused. "For them, two hundred years have passed. Five whole generations. For me, it's been two days. One grocery run."
He waved goodbye to Mia, then returned home.
The moment he stepped inside, he called out to the Hive Mind.
"What's the situation?"
"Gilgamesh will die tonight," the Hive replied. "Possibly within the next thirty minutes."
"That soon?" Ethan blinked. "It doesn't feel real."
In the courtyard, he sat quietly with a small paring knife and a fresh orange. He peeled it slowly, the rind curling away in one long, unbroken spiral.
Then the knife slipped.
It snapped in half.
He paused.
"Shame I couldn't pull it off..." he murmured.
But he couldn't help but smile.
The little Bugape who once shouted "Baldy! Baldy!" had become the king of an empire. He'd built a civilization. Written an epic. Ruled a people. Yes, he was brutal. But he had also been brilliant.
He had become something.
All Ethan had done was give him a few tools. A sword. A flame. A potion. But not everyone could take those tools and shape a future from them.
Gilgamesh had done exactly that.
And now, he wanted to see Ethan again.
"Alright," Ethan said softly. "I'll visit. I can't change his fate... but I'll pay my respects."
He stood up and set the orange aside.
But there was another reason for this visit. Gilgamesh's people—the Bugapes—had begun ravaging the sandbox.
They had grown too strong.
Conquest after conquest. Wars, expansion, ecological destruction. The forests were disappearing. Species were going extinct. Civilization was spreading like wildfire—without restraint.
"If I don't stop them now," Ethan thought, "they'll consume everything. I need to slow them down."
He took a breath.
"Restore time to normal speed."
He stepped toward the sandbox.
Blue boot covers on his feet, Ethan entered the world once more.
Step. Step. Step.
The world trembled.
Mountains shuddered. Forests collapsed. Rivers surged. Valleys formed beneath his weight.
Animals ran in terror.
Trees cracked like matchsticks.
Inside the sandbox, the city of Uruk began to shake.
The ground split. Walls groaned. Ant-like citizens clutched each other in panic as the city quaked beneath their feet.
Inside the royal temple, Gilgamesh knelt before a towering statue.
His court knelt with him.
And on his aged, noble face—wrinkled, weathered, yet still beautiful—was a childlike joy.
"He's come!" he cried. "After two hundred years... the Great Beast of Wisdom has returned! The titan who gave us fire, the sword, the blood—he's back!"
Each of Ethan's steps shook the city.
To him, Uruk was no bigger than a dinner plate. But it was exquisite. A sprawling miniature masterpiece of arches, courtyards, and towers, all crafted by ant-sized hands.
It was beautiful.
And yet... fragile.
Their walls trembled because they lacked true engineering. No concrete, no foundation-stones buried deep in the earth. Just stacked stones and primitive architecture. Their craftsmanship was impressive—but limited by their world's constraints.
"They don't even have cement," Ethan noted. "They've reached their limits."
He walked across trampled forests and crushed hills, his eyes fixed on the temple.
There, at its center, stood the Hero King.
An old man now, but still majestic.
His white hair fluttered in the wind. Tears streamed down his face. In his hand, he clutched the Sword of Damocles.
He raised his face to the sky and gazed up.
And met the eyes of his god.