Love And Deepspace X Heaven Official's Blessing
Summary: when you find yourself teleported into a world you've only read about in books.
A/N: heyyyyy so this was sitting in my drafts for a long time so I decided to finally publish it, not sure if anyone will really read it since this is my first time in either of these fandoms but if you're reading this, I hope you like it💕
The world had long since abandoned gods.
Faith was a relic of the past, buried beneath layers of steel and neon, discarded like a broken circuit. Linkon, the floating metropolis, pulsed with artificial life—holograms flickered above glassy streets, cybernetic enhancements replaced human frailty, and AI dictated the flow of existence.
In this city of progress, myths held no power. The idea of divine beings watching over humanity was as outdated as the dusty relics stored in the forbidden archives. And yet, you still searched for them.
Tucked away in a forgotten sector of the city, past security barriers and abandoned research facilities, you found solace in the hidden archives. Not in the sterile, data-infused histories fed to the masses, but in real books—ones bound in fading paper, ink smudged from time’s relentless march.
One evening, while running your fingers over the spines of contraband texts, your hand halted on something unusual. Unlike the others, this book was pristine, untouched by dust or decay. Its deep, obsidian cover gleamed under the dim lights, the title inscribed in ancient, golden characters that sent an inexplicable chill down your spine.
Carefully, you opened it.
The words inside wove a tale unlike any you had ever read.
"Once, there was a prince who fell from grace, cast down from the heavens, yet he never ceased to rise again. A god, forgotten and scorned, who walked among mortals with a heart too gentle for his own good."
"And by his side stood a man dressed in crimson, a specter of devotion who defied even death to stay with him. The world feared him, named him a monster, yet for the prince, he would burn the heavens themselves."
Their story unfolded before your eyes—a love that transcended lifetimes, tested by suffering and war, yet unbreakable. Your fingers trembled as you turned each page, unable to tear yourself away. The world outside—Linkon’s ever-present hum, the distant drone of aerial patrols—faded into nothingness.
It had to be just a story.
And yet, something about it felt real. Too real. The words didn’t just describe them; they breathed them into existence, as if the book itself were a gateway to something long forgotten.
A strange warmth bloomed in your chest, an ache you couldn’t name. And before you could stop yourself, you did something reckless.
"If only gods were real."
The moment the thought crossed your mind, the lights overhead flickered. A sharp breeze curled around you despite the sealed room. The distant hum of the city momentarily died, as if the world itself had paused.
A shudder ran through you. For the first time in your life, you felt as if someone—or something—was listening.
Days passed. You tried to forget the book’s strange effect, but the feeling it left behind refused to fade. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw them—a prince in white, a ghost in red, standing together against the endless storm of time.
Then came the night of the attack.
The Wanderers struck without warning.
You were on patrol in the lower districts when the alarms blared—a chilling, mechanical wail that sent civilians scattering. The streets, usually lit with artificial brilliance, dimmed under the assault of the void-born creatures.
Wanderers were neither alive nor dead. Shadows of those who had been lost to the void, souls that failed to move on. They had no faces, only the distorted remnants of what they once were, bodies shifting like smoke, claws gleaming in the dim light.
You reacted on instinct. Years of training kicked in as you dodged the first swipe, rolling to the side and drawing your blade—a sleek, plasma-forged weapon humming with lethal energy.
A shriek echoed through the air as you slashed at the nearest creature, your blade carving through its form. It dissipated, but not fully. Wanderers never truly died—not unless something severed their connection to the void itself.
You fought with everything you had, each movement precise, honed through years of combat. But the numbers were overwhelming. For every Wanderer you struck down, two more emerged, twisting from the shadows like nightmares given form.
A swipe caught you off guard, claws raking across your arm. Pain flared, hot and searing. You staggered back, breath ragged, gripping your weapon tighter. Your vision blurred.
This wasn’t a battle you could win.
A pulse of energy rippled through the air, a presence so immense it sent the Wanderers recoiling. The ground beneath you cracked, light spilling through the fractures.
A portal tore open behind you.
Swirling, radiant energy unlike any technology you had ever seen pulsed at its core. It didn’t belong to Linkon. It wasn’t part of the city’s controlled teleportation systems.
And yet, something deep within you recognized it.
With no other option—outnumbered, exhausted—you stepped forward.
You landed on solid ground, but it was not the steel and neon of Linkon.
The air was different—crisp, untouched by artificial interference. The scent of blooming flowers and fresh earth filled your lungs, so real it made your head spin. The light was soft, golden, as if the sky itself had been painted by hand.
Gone were the towering buildings and glowing screens. Instead, endless mountains stretched into the horizon, their peaks kissed by mist. The trees swayed gently, their leaves whispering secrets in a language you could almost understand.
Your breath hitched. This place… it wasn’t Linkon.
Two figures stood not far from you, framed by the setting sun.
One was dressed in pristine white, his robes flowing like silk spun from clouds. His face was ethereal, delicate yet filled with a quiet strength, his dark eyes reflecting something vast—like he had seen eternity itself and still chose to be kind.
Beside him stood a man clad in crimson, his posture relaxed yet carrying an undeniable air of danger. A single silver butterfly rested on his shoulder, its wings shimmering in the fading light. His gaze, dark and unwavering, locked onto you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.
Recognition struck like lightning.
Names, once confined to the pages of an old book, spilled from your lips in disbelief.
The words barely had time to leave your mouth before the world tilted.
Your knees buckled. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you, was a hand reaching for you—soft, warm, real.
