The bell above the schoolhouse rang for the last time that morning. Inside, the students sat in a quiet circle, staring at the old ghost with the fedora and the long coat stitched with stars. His voice was gentle, but each word landed like stone on still water.
BLK: I'm leaving.
A single page fluttered from his desk - his letter of resignation, signed with a spectral thumbprint and sealed with ancient wax. The headmistress had read it twice. Three times, actually. Then cried into a pot of ink. Blook adjusted his hat, the gavel on his belt knocking softly against the desk as he moved.
BLK: I've got one last job to do. And it's gonna take me a while.
His students asked, "How long?"
BLK: Mm...
He paused, looking out the tall window where the clouds drifted lazy and slow over the hills.
BLK: A millennium. Give or take.
The class didn't know whether to cheer or cry. So they did both. He packed lightly. A journal that could never be filled. A cloak that whispered the names of the stars. A teacup that refilled itself when he was most in need. And of course... the fedora.
The village gathered to see him off. Little monsters waved hand-painted signs. Old friends offered apples, scrolls, and very confused hugs. He left at dusk. No fanfare. Just the crunch of leaves and the sound of his boots on dirt as he vanished into the woods. The world had changed in 200 years, but not enough. New cities had grown. Old legends had faded. Peace had made people forget what it cost. But the universe remembered. And so did he.
I walked for days. Over rivers that ran backwards. Through forests that whispered secrets in forgotten tongues. Across fields where time moved sideways. Every step led me further from who I had been, and closer to the stories that waited. Because this isn't just a tale about gods. Or monsters. Or even me. This is about fourteen souls. Some were born under dying stars. Some rose from ruin. Some laughed in the face of death - and others made deals with it. They do not yet know they've been chosen. They do not yet understand the shape of their fate. But they will.
BLK: Gabriel. Lucifer. You better know what you're doing.
The wind didn't answer. But it pushed me forward. And so I walk. A witness once more. To record. To remember. To guide. And when the time is right, to pass judgment - not as an enemy. Not as a savior. But as the one who knows how the story began.
I will tell you the stories of fourteen individuals,
each touched by the divine.
Each given a duty that does not end in death.
Each walking paths no map has ever dared to chart.
These fourteen souls will have their stories written and told, not in their name, but in the names of the seven Heavenly Virtues and the seven Deadly Sins.