Alice in the Land of Steam

Following the call of a great will, countless delicate yet resilient, radiant yet dim, ancient yet new-new threads of destiny, like tides drawn by an invisible force, surged forth from the wheel, overwhelming this war-torn land. They were the most uncontrollable strings and positions in the universe, yet at this moment they meekly connected every unrelated segment of fate, attempting to weave them into a complete structure.

One end of the thread is the fate of living beings: the dying soldiers, the fallen civilians, the terrified children, the helpless women; the other end is the fate of inanimate objects: broken weapons, collapsed walls, scorched earth, even every insignificant grain of dust. All intangible matter and all heartless beings possess their own destiny, indistinguishable and needing no distinction. The power of destiny's reign weaves them together equally, giving them the coordinates for "retrospection."

When all destinies are entangled as before, as if the universe is in a state of darkness, before the distinction between chaos and order has been defined, that enormous, stagnant wheel, symbolizing endless cycles and time itself, slowly begins to turn in the opposite direction, like a wheel retracing its steps, following the tracks it once came from. It turns with extraordinary slowness and difficulty, like an old millstone rusted for millennia, mired in mud, each mesh and separation of its teeth emitting a tooth-grinding, invisible creaking groan. This sound doesn't reach the eardrums, but grinds directly into the depths of every living being's soul, so heavy it's suffocating.

Difficulty represents obstacles, but turning generates power. Driven by the force of fate, time on this land is irresistibly reversing, like the hands of a clock frantically spinning counter-clockwise. This is an abstract description, yet it also has a concrete form: layers of intricate, delicate, beautiful, and magnificent circular patterns gradually emerge in the sky. Each ring's diameter is calculated in millions of meters, arranged from top to bottom, tilted at different angles, surrounding this virtual world temporarily separated from the material world. Its edges are cut into shapes resembling steel saw teeth. After a sudden, piercing click, the saw teeth mesh together, like giant gears beginning to rotate. The speed of their rotation appears so slow to the girl that the sliding tracks at the edges are clearly visible, forming gracefully curved arcs. Overlapping, pitch-black shadows fall, a small portion of which obscures half the sky, bringing night back.

The last cloud shadow was completely swallowed up, a miraculous sight witnessed by all, and the world fell silent.

The inhabitants of Yaras and Petra halted their farm work, the hermits of the Holy Kingdom of Noldorne felt a sudden unease, travelers and adventurers searching for treasure in the Dutch mountains and the scorching sands stopped in their tracks, and even the Siren city-states at the bottom of the distant seas were alarmed. The newly enthroned Lord of Mirror City stood solemnly and gravely on the steps of the Ice Palace, wielding his sword. Dust sprites fled in all directions in the Silent Valley, while the fairies of Paradise trembled under the Queen's wings. On the massive warships traversing the five seas and four oceans, the pirates, usually so unrestrained, now clasped their hands together and offered devout prayers to a god they had never believed in…

In this magnificent and awe-inspiring scene, Saint Charles was the only one who remained conscious. Facing this massive and sophisticated cosmic machine, she did not experience the near-desperate humility or the impulsive, burning desire that mortals often feel. Her eyes were clear yet profound, filled only with pure conviction, as if she had calculated the outcome through intuition, even before the machine itself. In her eyes, fate was never a problem, but a definite answer.

Wheels, millstones, gears… it can be described using any image representing rotation and cycle, but no matter how it's described, the sounds of grinding and meshing are always present: click-clack—click-clack—

It was as if a pair of invisible, gigantic hands had grasped the hourglass of time, bearing an invisible pressure, slowly twisting it, turning it upside down. As the hourglass turned, the direction in which the sand fell naturally changed completely. Pure matter and non-matter, living and non-living, all fell from one end of the hourglass to the other, following the same trajectory, returning to the same place. Withered flowers would sprout again, shattered soil would coalesce and reform, and detached sand would return to the rock face… The past, flowing backwards.

Turning the pages from the end of a storybook forward, the frozen illustrations become time itself.

She stood in the sky, watching the torrents of fire on the ground charge towards the city. The cannon fire of the chariots froze in the blink of an eye, and the pale knights who became targets were already showing signs of death. The armored mechs fought with the Mountain Falcon Knights in the air, the knights casting their grappling hooks with poised motion, and the silver-white mechs waiting to explode were like weightless shadows. The deep-sea whales slowly rose into the air from the rear of the city, and the general's face was filled with determination as he made a desperate gamble... This was the most intense moment of the war.

Taking action now might win this war and change the fate of many, but that's not enough. So, let's continue looking back.

She stood atop the hill, watching the bonfires blaze in the rebel camp, like a shower of stars, their shadows frozen in the dust, like silhouettes against the backdrop of time. The soldiers chatting around the fires contemplated the impending battle; in their eyes, was it the firelight, or the hope for the future? The shadows of Suarez crawled in the darkness, the defenders on the walls gradually losing their way. What froze in the relentless north wind—was it the will to survive, or the enigma of humanity? This was the moment before the decisive battle.

Intervening now might stop the battle and change the fate of many more people. But that's still not enough, so she must continue to trace back further.

She stood in the sunless forest, watching the rebellious fighters, determined to fight to the death, bravely battle the invaders, and how they narrowly escaped after suffering many sacrifices. Despite their defeats, they never lost their fighting spirit, still yearning for that unattainable victory. The leader of the rebels was named the Eagle of Gray Hill, an indomitable eagle of this land, a symbol of freedom, always holding the most steadfast and devout hope, believing that light, like life nurtured beneath the dark forest, was new and ready to bloom. Perhaps it was this belief that led him to that destined turning point, seeing the church steeple quietly rising from the depths of the dark forest… a moment before the spark of revolution was ignited.

Taking action now might change the fate of the entire Grayhill region... but it's far from enough.

Saint Charlotte felt empty.

She wasn't the type to strive for perfection, but if this opportunity only came once in a lifetime, then even missing the slightest possibility would be a source of deep regret. Only by giving her all could she avoid regrets. So, driven by the belief to save many people, to save even more people, to save everyone… the heavy wheels continued to turn, the sand in the hourglass fell like raindrops, and the frozen storybook turned faster and faster, until finally forming a blurry afterimage, guiding one's thoughts towards the fate of everyone.

The flash of the explosion receded from the cannon muzzle, and the shattered fragments reformed; fallen soldiers were pulled up by an unseen force, their bloodied wounds healing in reverse; overturned chariots rose from the ruins, their tracks grinding against the reversed trajectory of time. In the endless, boundless river of time, the fierce peak of war receded like the tide, retreating to the border where the flames first ignited, to the dawn when the horns of rebellion had just sounded, and then to that bloody dusk when the colonizers' iron hooves first trod upon this land…

This moment is frozen in time.

At this point in time, the Ansers region was still an inseparable part of the Kingdom of Noah. Count Grayhill still swaggered about in that magnificent building that would later be known as the Governor's Mansion. The descendants of the Borg family, the protectors of the faith, had not yet been crowned with the title of Eagle of Grayhill by countless worshippers. The greedy one, who considered himself a god, sat high on his throne and was worshipped by others, unaware that he had become a part of the control of fate. Meanwhile, the shadow of the Mindrias Empire's warships had just appeared on the coastline of the Silent Bay. The war that would affect the fate of the kingdom was about to begin. A man named Franzand was in his study, looking at the intelligence he had painstakingly collected about the Axis forces, lost in thought... The wheels of the train were stiff and stuck, unable to turn back any further.

But that's not because Saint Charlotte's power has reached its limit. In fact, as the complete Destiny King, if she wished, she could even trace the entire world's time back to the very beginning when the Goddess created the world. Wherever destiny began, her time would end. What truly limits the trajectory of the wheel is this world—this virtual world created jointly by Alice's fantasy kingship and Ling's faith power.

Its load-bearing capacity has a limit.

If you, who are reading this now, haven't forgotten, you'll know that the power of destiny is not the power to control destiny, but the power to observe destiny. Therefore, Saint Charlotte possesses the ability to trace destiny, but not the ability to change destiny on a large scale, unless through some kind of trickery.

Saint Charlotte had never played games, but because someone was always nagging and making a ruckus around her, she remembered some of the rules of the game world. For example, being injured only deducts health points and does not cause pain; for example, the death of a monster only erases data and can be restored at any time; for example... the mechanism of saving and loading.

If we consider the realm shrouded in the power of fantasy as a completely new game, then Saint Charlotte can undoubtedly change everyone's fate by repeatedly saving and loading. This sounds simple, but it's something only she can do, because saving and loading are essentially the privilege of the game's controller, the "protagonist." But the magic of fate lies in the fact that, within independent yet interconnected destinies, everyone is their own protagonist. In other words, everyone has the right to rewind time and change their fate, only needing a little help.

However, this method has a limitation: it only works within the realm enveloped by the power of fantasy, because the rules for saving and loading only apply within this realm. If the fate being traced becomes too vast, exceeding the realm's capacity, everything will cease to exist.

Saint Charlotte's current point in time represents the limit of the game's boundaries; even a single second further back would cause it to collapse. In fact, even to the naked eye, this realm is already teetering on the brink of collapse, even gradually disintegrating: the sky, like a shattered mirror, cracks open with huge, irregular black fissures, revealing an abyss of nothingness beyond. The earth crumbles in silent tremors, the landscape in some areas beginning to tear and distort, the laws of physics becoming chaotic. Even more terrifying, the underlying structure that constitutes this world is crumbling—countless 0s and 1s, like an out-of-control torrent, gush forth from the cracks, no longer flowing in an orderly fashion, but a chaotic reverse current, disappearing and reappearing, even flashing gibberish. They devour light, color, and form; areas are eroded by this digital decay, like paper dissolved by strong acid, first becoming blurred and transparent, then completely transforming into a surging, chaotic torrent of characters, forming an ever-expanding data black hole.

pity.

Saint Charlotte sighed silently. If she could go back to the very beginning of the story, she would surely have been able to change so many more destinies. But human power is sometimes limited, and even that is less than one ten-thousandth of the universe's potential. In the end, she was unable to fulfill her promise and save everyone.

Enough is enough.

A familiar and calm voice rang in my ears, conveying warm encouragement: You have done enough, Saint Charlotte, and you should be proud of it, not regret it.

Saint Charlotte was startled and hurriedly looked around, but she couldn't see him. That's right, this was a world that had been rewound; how could he possibly be here? It must be because she missed him too much? Deeply missing him, longing to see him again…

Don't worry, Saint Charlotte.

She silently told herself, "Soon, soon, everything will be over."

Because we've reached the final step.

Whether out of guilt or some profound longing, before carrying out this final step, the young girl named Destiny whispered to the great being who had created her, uttering the most sincere prayer of her life—

"Please allow me... to change my destiny."

"Mother." (End of Chapter)