Chapter 1025: The Rite of Passage

For a fleeting moment, the continent of Tal’Rond, bathed in countless artificial lights and decorative projection walls, fell into about two seconds of silence and darkness. All traffic halted, every light extinguished, and the projection screens faded back to their original dull gray. The great protective shield flickered and vanished. The icy winds from the Arctic seas swept in like the arrival of a new era, flooding this sealed kingdom. Beyond the horizon, under the sky caught in the “dusk” phase of the polar day, the raw, unfiltered glow of the sun shone directly upon the land of dragons for the first time in millions of years.

In the next instant, across Argondor, Apasol, Upper Tal’Rond, and Lower Tal’Rond—in every corner of the dragon realm—dragons both inside cities and out suddenly stopped in unison. Even those soaring through the skies ceased flapping their wings and plummeted straight down. It was as if every dragon had lost its soul in that moment. Then, one second later, those immobilized dragons began to awaken one by one: those falling toward the earth rose again, those crawling on the ground lifted their heads, and those lost in stimulants and illusions blinked open their eyes. Countless pairs of eyes converged on a single place—the City of the Gods at the heart of Tal’Rond.

Helragor lay prostrate on the ground, hearing a low rumble from deep beneath the earth. The shutdown of the weather controllers had unleashed a howling hurricane high above. A cold, mechanical consciousness was entering his mind. Omega’s awareness began to take over his body according to protocol, but he still retained a sliver of free will. Driven by this last fragment of self, he slowly lifted his head and looked toward the god standing at the edge of the terrace.

The golden-haired figure withdrew their gaze. The chaotic dragons that had blanketed the skies over Tal’Rond gradually pulled back their eyes as well. Helragor could feel thousands upon thousands of gazes returning from distant Loren to this continent. Though it may have taken only two or three seconds, to him it felt like centuries had passed. Finally, the god’s eyes settled on him.

Immense, terrifying, chaotic, maddening—a crushing despair washed over him. Helragor felt his mind boiling, but this time, he did not bow his head. Instead, he propped himself up with his hands and began to struggle, millimeter by millimeter, trying to stand.

The god stood calmly, expressionless, watching the struggling dragon priest. Their voice was cold and clear, like a frigid wind sweeping across a million years: “Are you ready?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Even if it means becoming part of Omega?”

“As long as the chains are broken, new shoots will grow from the ruins,” Helragor finally straightened his body. For the first time in a million years, he met the god’s gaze directly. “We will become the soil, and the seeds… have long been sown.”

“Very well.” The god stood before him, bathed in unfiltered natural light that slanted across the skies of Tal’Rond like a magnificent orange-red cloak draped from the heavens. Between the glow and the clouds, a vast, distorted phantom flickered faintly. Slowly, the god opened their arms as if to embrace the realm and spoke softly, “Then today… you come of age.”

In the next moment, the “truth” once hidden beyond mortal perception shattered the fragile barrier of reality. The chaotic dragons that had darkened the skies of Tal’Rond suddenly appeared in full, their twisted limbs stretching for kilometers, countless eyes, mouths, and arm-like appendages revealed in the glow.

At the same time, the golden-haired woman on the temple terrace vanished in a burst of light. The high dragon priest stood upright, expressionless, watching the scene. Closing his eyes as Helragor, he then reopened them slowly as a branch of Omega.

The last dragon in Tal’Rond to retain self-awareness disappeared. Now, tens of millions of dragons awoke as Omega.

From birth, every dragon had been implanted with a resonance core capable of directly connecting to the Omega network. Each dragon was an extension of Omega’s flesh and blood. This was a plan executed over millions of years, generation after generation waiting for this day—when Omega would awaken from slumber, and all dragon wills would be mechanically taken over. In a sense, the dragons of this world… perished on this day.

With the dragons’ “extinction,” the bridge between mortals and gods vanished. The chaotic dragon above Tal’Rond shifted almost instantly. Its semi-illusory body, formed from countless chaotic limbs, convulsed violently. Limbs shattered and disappeared amid the turmoil. The writhing mass rapidly shrank and weakened, evaporating fiercely. In less than a minute, it contracted from covering the entire continent to just a third of Tal’Rond’s size. Another minute later, it shrank to the size of a city, finally stabilizing at that scale—still vast and sky-darkening, but no longer invincible.

Countless dragon flocks flew in from every corner of the realm. Buried deep underground, ancient weapon arrays long sealed away stirred awake. Old missile silos opened their doors, and ancient sea-fort cannons rose from the depths. On this cold, endless polar day, the dragons’ long-overdue rite of passage—delayed by 1,870,000 years—had finally arrived.

…

The spectacular scene, like a fiery meteor shower, lasted for several full minutes. The burning fragments that shattered and scattered over Winterhold far exceeded what the iron-gray giant could theoretically produce. It was as if not only a fallen god but a portion of the god’s realm had been drawn into this world by the explosion.

Then, everything finally ceased. The skies above the Winterhold fortress cluster cleared and calmed once more.

The dusk light poured down from the horizon, bathing the still-warm battlefield in golden rays. The hundreds of miles of defensive lines, scorched earth, rising smoke, wounded survivors, fallen soldiers, shattered fortifications, and the castle still standing proud in the sunset—all were drenched in this magnificent glow. For a brief moment, it felt as if all things in the world had frozen in time.

The howling north wind rose again, stirring dust and distant snow, rousing some dazed soldiers and commanders staring at the sky. Yet, not a single soul in the entire Winterhold region cheered. No one realized the battle was over, nor that the overwhelmingly powerful “enemy” had truly fallen. Everyone was lost in profound confusion. Only after several minutes did scattered shouts begin, and commanders received word from above: “The battle is over.”

Rosetta Augustus stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of the Arcane Hall. From here, she could hear neither the cheers of the battlefield nor the cries of the dying and wounded. The world had fallen silent, as if the fierce battle had been nothing but an illusion. She lifted her head and saw the strangely shaped flying machines and soldiers still circling above Winterhold, while the incredible white spider had vanished without a trace.

Not far behind her, the communication crystal buzzed, its runes lighting up in sequence. The voice of Palin Winterhold came through: “Your Majesty, are you alright? We had an accident here just now… We saw what happened in the sky, we…”

“We won,” Rosetta said calmly, her gaze never leaving the sky. “Looks like our neighbors had some strong cards hidden… This time, that’s a good thing.”

“Glad you’re safe,” the voice of the Count of Winterhold came immediately. “Part of the main wall on the west side of the castle has collapsed. Your position may not be secure. Please leave there as soon as possible—I’ve sent people to escort you from the Arcane Hall.”

“No, wait a moment,” Rosetta interrupted. “I still have some matters to attend to.”

“Your Majesty?”

“You and Duke Pedinan down the mountain handle the post-battle affairs first. We have a huge mess to clean up,” Rosetta said steadily, with an unmistakable tone of command. “Though the enemy is defeated, the damage they left behind is still spreading. The faster we manage the aftermath, the more lives we can save. Also, there’s something else—we’re seeing fragments falling from the sky in the final moments, scattered across the battlefield. No one knows what effects they might have. Take the mages who can still move and collect those remnants as much as possible… The Cecilians should be mobilizing as well.”

“Yes, Your Majesty! And you…”

“I’m safe here. I’ll contact you later. Until you receive my orders, don’t let anyone near the Arcane Hall.”

“…Understood.”

The Count of Winterhold’s communication ended. Rosetta exhaled slightly, then turned back to the center of the Arcane Hall. She glanced at the illusion walls, shattered by the final magical shockwave, and the somewhat disheveled hall. The impact from the god’s fall and the close-range explosion of the Oblivion Wound had damaged the sturdy hall—cracks in the walls, slight roof damage, debris and dust thick on the floor, and a set of tables and chairs in the center covered in dust.

“Not exactly a place for guests… but it doesn’t matter anymore.”

She muttered casually, summoned an invisible gust to blow most of the dust off a chair, and sat down without ceremony. Then she picked up an overturned teacup, wiped the dust from its rim, grabbed a nearby teapot, and poured herself a cup of now-cold black tea.

After a sip, she sat quietly, as if waiting for some fate to arrive. Behind her, one by one, faint, nearly transparent figures silently emerged from the air.

Any noble scholar familiar with the Augustus family would recognize these apparitions immediately—

George Augustus, Marjorie Augustus, Corendina Augustus…

They were the deceased members of the Augustus family, Rosetta Augustus’s blood relatives from the past two centuries.

Some of the figures were solid and clear, while others had become so faint and ghostly they were barely visible. They stood quietly behind Rosetta, patiently waiting together. Their wait didn’t last long. Soon, the phantom of Marjorie Augustus spoke out in a hollow, ethereal voice, like a sigh: “The time is nearly upon us.”

Almost the instant those words fell, an invisible wind suddenly swept through the empty arcane hall. The fading light of dusk outside the floor-to-ceiling windows carried with it a suffocating stillness, as if death itself had seeped in. The ceiling and floor of the hall were instantly dotted with countless flickering lights, as if a multitude of whispers filled the space—dreamlike murmurs drifting from every direction. Then, before Rosetta, a hollow eye formed, composed of countless twisted, chaotic lines, flashing into existence with a sharp, frantic scream:

“What is happening?! What have you damned mortals done to me? Why can’t I return to my divine realm? Why can’t I contact my true self? Why… why is my power fading away?”

“Welcome back,” Rosetta said calmly, gazing at the “Eye of God” that had suddenly appeared before him. For the first time in decades, his expression was light, almost cheerful. He even smiled as he raised his teacup. “Would you care for some black tea? It’s blended with ancient dust and the smoke of godslaying battlefields.”

“You…” The Eye of God snapped its gaze toward Rosetta, then quickly noticed the vague figures standing behind him. “Augustus… you insignificant mortals… so this is your doing?!”

“Compared to the God of War, your performance as a fragment from the ancient era is truly pathetic—at least the God of War fought until the very end,” Rosetta said, setting down his teacup and slowly rising to face the Eye. “Confused? Don’t understand why your power is draining so fast? Don’t know why you can’t reach your ‘true self’? Or why you can’t return to your divine realm?”

The chaotic outline around the Eye trembled—whether from anger or anxiety, it was hard to tell. Rosetta spoke deliberately, revealing the truth:

“It’s simple. Civilization has changed. The era you remember… that was from some ancient age, long before countless cycles of civilization. Your ‘true self’ is a dream god who vanished into the annals of history long ago. That god and their divine realm no longer exist. The mortals who once sustained you have been completely wiped out. The intelligent beings in this world today have no connection to them. We are the remnants of the Gondor Empire, not descendants of the Rebellion.”

“You think you know this world well? You think you control the situation?”

“Unfortunately, what you know has been filtered by us—for that, we have prepared for two hundred years, across many generations.”

Rosetta laughed—a brilliant, radiant laugh he hadn’t shown in decades. One by one, the figures behind him began to laugh as well. Under the Eye’s furious glare, he said with great delight:

“So here is the answer—the times have changed, but we never told you.”

(End of chapter)