Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 162 Time to Say Goodbye

“Sometimes, true awakening isn’t about struggling to open your eyes, but gently saying—enough.”

The wind has never cared about Ian's heart.

The golden sunlight fills the streets, as gentle as memories that don't want to be disturbed.

Ian sat alone on the old wooden chair at the end of the pier, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers tapping lightly, the rhythm like some unconscious questioning.

The sunlight hit his forehead, leaving a layer of fine light spots through his hair. The warmth seemed like the gentle comfort given by a dream.

The wind blew across the sea, bringing with it circles of damp, salty air and ruffling the strands of hair on his forehead.

His gaze followed the swaying fishing boats at the dock, and it was unclear whether his eyes were following the waves or sinking deeper.

Clea came over.

She was wearing the blue-grey cloth skirt that he was so familiar with, the hem of the skirt swaying gently in the wind, and holding a bowl of freshly cooked hot fish soup.

The steam is rising, swirling in the dim light like a hazy poem.

"Are you daydreaming again?" She squatted down and handed him the bowl, a warm smile on her lips.

"There was another fight at that old shop at the harbor today. Do you want to go check it out? Or... are you just being lazy again?"

She smiled naturally, with mischief and concern in her eyes.

Ian lowered his head and took a sip of his soup.

The salty and fragrant taste was just right, exactly the same as the one he remembered.

"I just want to stay like this." He said in a low and slow voice, as if responding to her, but also as if persuading himself.

Clea sat down beside him and leaned against his shoulder.

Ian didn't dodge, but hugged her tighter.

Her body temperature was real, her breathing was real, just like the kind of dream you don't want to wake up from.

They didn't speak again.

Only the wind chimes at the end of the old street in the distance, tinkled by the sea breeze, tinkled in the dusk.

Like a forgotten melody, it is pulled away from my heart bit by bit.

Night falls slowly.

They returned to the familiar cottage. A wind chime made of conch shells hung in front of the door, and the flowers and plants on the windowsill were still full of vitality, as if they had never experienced the ravages of the sea breeze and nightmares.

Clea was busy in the kitchen, warm steam rising from the pot lid.

Ian sat by the window, watching the tides rise and fall in the distance and the curtains fluttering. His pocket watch was casually put into the drawer - at some point, it had stopped ticking.

"The funds for repairing the lighthouse have been approved." She said while washing vegetables, her tone as cheerful as if she was talking about someone's newborn baby.

"The city hall said they'll send someone to inspect tomorrow, so we should start preparing our plans."

"...Us?" Ian asked, his voice almost inaudible.

"Of course." She turned around and smiled, her eyes so clear that they were suffocating. "You are my most trusted deputy, how can I do without you?"

Ian lowered his head and brushed his fingertips across the windowsill, where a little salt frost had settled.

There was a flicker of ambiguous emotion in his eyes, like hesitation, or farewell.

"Yeah...how could I be absent?"

The lighthouse outside the window still stood as it always did, but the wind that had been howling in the distance suddenly quieted.

It was as if one of the gears in the world suddenly stopped with a slight "click".

Ian frowned slightly, but said nothing in the end.

Morning as usual.

They walked on the cobblestone streets of the town and went to a familiar bakery to choose breakfast together.

Neighbors greeted him familiarly, and he responded one by one, even remembering the names of a few of them.

But he knew that he had never really seen them.

"You have a good memory." Claire smiled and took his arm.

"You have to accompany me to pick out tableware for the wedding later, so don't cheat."

Ian just smiled and didn't respond.

Their conversations were becoming more and more like reality. More and more like life.

He even began to doubt, maybe... it really wasn't bad like this?
Perhaps, those battles, those nightmares, those deaths and struggles were all his hallucinations.

Maybe he never woke up.

Maybe she never left.

Maybe he was never alone.

The wind no longer blows, and the sea no longer roars.

Only her smile—so real, as real as a god's most perfect gentle lie.

"Don't you think... this is good?"

Clea stood at the end of the seaside alley, lowered her head and took Ian's hand.

The evening breeze was cool, carrying the scent of sea salt and night tide. It couldn't blow her skirt, nor could it blow into his heart.

"We can forget about wandering and those meaningless fights..."

She looked up at him, her eyes soft but sad, "Leave the boat to others, we just need to live our own lives."

Ian looked down at her and quietly held her hand.

Her palms were still warm, and her joints were still thin, just as she remembered.

But he knew that the real wind had not returned yet.

At the top of the lighthouse, Ian sat on the familiar bench, looking at the overly calm horizon in the dark night.

At his feet was an unopened bottle of rum, and his pocket watch lay quietly in a drawer beside him, the lid closed, silent.

Clea quietly went up the tower and sat down beside him without saying a word, still so close and familiar.

Together they looked at the boundless night sea in the distance, which was mottled with stars and calm.

After a long while, Ian finally spoke.

"You know... I always thought it would be nice if I could spend more time with you."

Clea chuckled, her voice like ripples on the surface of the water:
"Hasn't that what you've done now?"

Ian looked at the overly calm sea with a gloomy look in his eyes.

“But I still care,” he whispered. “The wind…is no longer blowing.”

She turned to look at him, a hint of confusion in her eyes.

"Have you heard of it?" he continued, his tone sounding like a casual remark, but also like a farewell.

“People on the sea say that when the wind dies down, it means the gods have left the waters.”

After he finished speaking, he slowly stood up, his movements slow but extremely firm.

Pull out a card from your pocket.

It was a dark blue wind-type card, its surface emitting a unique moonlight glow, like the last star in the night sky that refused to go out.

No.556《Wind Whispering Fantasy Realm》｜World System High-level Mystery

He lowered his eyes and whispered:

"You all thought I was asleep... But actually, I just wanted to see her again."

The next moment, the bagpipes on top of the lighthouse suddenly roared, like an old god awakening, like the ringing of a morning bell, echoing throughout the island.

The originally solidified air trembled, ripples appeared on the tide, and the sleeping sea of clouds in the sky began to roll.

Clea was stunned.

She slowly stretched out her hand, her fingertips trembling slightly, and touched the corner of his clothes: "Ian...are you leaving?"

Ian turned to look at her, his eyes filled with light, tears, and relief.

"I could have stayed."

He said softly, his voice like the first crash of waves after the wind, "But that wasn't you."

"It's just a memory I don't want to let go of."

He approached her and gently stroked her cheek, his fingertips lingering on the face that he once did not want to forget.

"Thank you... for letting me look at you again."

Claire looked at him, a relieved smile in her eyes.

She stopped talking, just looked up and caught a strand of hair blown by the wind.

"Thank you... for letting me accompany you for the last time."

The next second, her figure began to disintegrate.

Just like the rays of light shattering in the morning breeze, tiny points of light as tiny as feathers escaped from her body, swirling in the wind, drifting away, and returning to nothingness.

——The illusion is shattered.

The entire town began to crumble, the streets faded, the roofs collapsed like water shadows, the coastline broke into countless bubbles, and the sound of wind chimes gradually faded away.

"Click."

The pocket watch made a crisp sound.

Ian lowered his head and looked at the watch strap that was fastened again on his wrist, the silver surface reflecting the night sky.

He slowly turned his arm, and the pointer was already pointing to the third grid.

Exactly three quarters of an hour.

Lucidity value -30.

“…There’s still time.”

He sighed softly and put the pocket watch back into his sleeve with a quick and clear look.

The wind blew back from the horizon.

In the distance, a whisper sounded in the night sky, like the last lyrics sung underwater.

Inar, the soothsayer of deep dreams.

Her voice was filled with a gentle sigh, hiding the tenderness of the sea mist after sunset: