Chapter 1055: About the Third Story

Thirty minutes later, Calador finished his inspection of the entire camp and returned to the high platform, where the three leaders were waiting.

“How’s the situation?” Andar looked toward the red dragon who had just landed on the platform. “Any dragons in the camp praying or doing anything like that?”

“No, none of the dragons are praying,” Calador shook his head, a strange expression crossing his face. “Logically, no one should be praying… We paid such a heavy price to break free from the shackles and mental corruption. To turn back now and try to rebuild the gods—that would be throwing all that sacrifice away.”

Andar frowned, but Barlogel beside him spoke gravely: “…Yet not all dragons have clear minds. Under severe stress and the mental haze caused by the backlash of enhancers, those with weaker wills might still pray to supernatural forces for salvation. After all, for a long time, such prayers were their ‘instinct.’”

“But normally…” Andar shook his head. “The shackles can’t be rebuilt in such a short time. At least not within a single cycle of racial memory. Even if the shackles and the steel seals were to return, it would require massive faith to support them. This isn’t something a few survivors, pressured into ‘conversion,’ could achieve—besides, Calador already checked. There isn’t a single dragon praying in the camp.”

“But Tal’Rond is vast,” Barlogel said, glancing into the distance as if searching the wilderness. “What if… somewhere else, a large number of survivors have awakened and chosen to rebuild the church, and their numbers exceed that threshold…”

“That possibility is too low,” Andar said immediately. Then he noticed Heragor had been silent all along and asked, “Heragor, you’ve been quiet. What are you thinking?”

“I think you’re all right,” Heragor finally lifted his head from his thoughts, his gaze slowly sweeping over his two old friends. “We paid a huge price to perform the Rite of Passage. Its effects are irreversible for at least one cycle of racial memory. Besides, I don’t believe the dragons’ will is so weak that they’d bow so quickly. Even if some of our kin can’t bear the pressure and start praying again, the number of surviving dragons in Tal’Rond is far too small, and the time too short… The ‘Presence’ cannot return. That’s not how theory works.”

Andar and Barlogel exchanged a look, both seeing the gravity reflected in each other’s eyes. Andar was the first to look back at Heragor. “But you did feel something just now, didn’t you?”

“I did… but don’t you find it strange?” Heragor’s expression turned serious. “Why was I the only one who felt it? There was no echo in your minds at all.”

Andar and Barlogel exchanged thoughtful glances. Heragor continued, “If ‘It’ really had returned, then ‘Its’ voice should be everywhere. That’s the most basic authority of a god, and no individual will can block it. Since you can’t hear it, what I heard isn’t the voice of a ‘god’…”

Barlogel frowned. “You mean…”

Heragor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked toward the ruins of Argondor, squinting as if carefully sensing some subtle connection in the air. This perception lasted several minutes before he withdrew his gaze. “…I felt it again just now. But you probably still heard nothing, right?”

Barlogel and Andar shook their heads.

“I vaguely saw it,” Heragor breathed softly, moving toward the edge of the platform. A faint golden glow began to ripple around him, gradually revealing the massive form of a golden dragon. “I have to go there and confirm.”

As he spoke, the hundred-meter-long golden dragon spread its enormous wings in the twilight. The roar of magic stirring the air filled the space as Heragor took to the sky, swiftly heading toward the depths of the Argondor ruins.

Barlogel and Andar stood on the platform, momentarily stunned by the leader’s sudden departure. After a few seconds, Barlogel finally spoke, “I’m worried about his state—Andar, something seems off with the leader.”

“…He’s served as a high priest devoted to the gods for over a million years. I suspect that long ‘infusion’ has changed him deep down,” Andar said in a low voice. “This change might not have affected his will, but it could have altered his very essence. Calador, you and Dukmor keep watch over the camp. Barlogel and I will follow and see what’s going on.”

…

Heavy, murky clouds gathered once again, shrouding Tal’Rond’s already dim sky. The last rays of the great sun were blocked, and the Argondor ruins sank into darkness as if cloaked by midnight.

Heragor flew over the ruins. The golden dragon’s silhouette streaked through the darkness like a shooting star. His gaze slowly swept over the city below, now completely transformed. His eyes traced the rolling ruins, the collapsed districts, the crumbled peaks, and the once magnificent palace walls and ornate roofs buried among the mountain debris.

Though the dim light cast everything into shadow, a faint golden trail appeared in Heragor’s vision. He clearly saw something invisible to mortal eyes rising from certain ruins, flowing like tiny streams converging behind a distant hill.

Alert and cautious, he circled the hill. A pile of completely collapsed rooftops came into view—though unrecognizable now, Heragor immediately recognized some familiar structures.

This was part of the “Upper Sanctuary,” once atop Argondor’s highest peak. The faint golden streams were converging here, and the process seemed nearly complete.

Heragor lowered his altitude and flew toward the rubble. A golden glow shimmered around him, and as he landed, he shifted into human form—smaller and more agile for exploring the collapsed ruins. The once grand halls and doorways, where dragons once strode proudly, were now reduced to narrow cracks.

After searching for a while, Heragor found a fissure along the side of a crumbling roof that seemed to lead deeper inside. Squinting, he confirmed the faint golden light flickering within, then without hesitation slipped through the gap.

The passage was narrow but still navigable in his human form. The path ahead was dark and winding, like a deep cavern. Heragor summoned a small orb of light to aid his vision. Without the gods’ protection, he had lost most divine powers—true sight, insight into time and space, immortality—and now had to rely on mortal magic to move about.

After crawling through the twisting, collapsed corridors for an unknown length of time, the space around him suddenly opened up. He moved forward a bit more, and the light dimmed—

The orb had entered a larger chamber, and the surrounding emptiness reduced its illumination.

Heragor quickly sensed the atmosphere, then waved his hand. More orbs appeared, floating to all corners of the room, fully lighting the space.

He saw a twisted, crumbling place. The curved walls and floor told him this was the circular hall he once knew so well. His gaze fell involuntarily to the center—the former high seat, where the god had long stood.

For a brief moment, he thought he saw a familiar figure standing there, face calm and indifferent as always, watching him. But the vision vanished instantly. There was no familiar presence—only something else, something unexpected.

Heragor froze. In that moment of hesitation, two familiar presences arrived behind him: Barlogel and Andar had finally caught up, following Heragor’s trail into the relatively intact circular hall buried in the ruins.

The chamber was brightly lit by the orbs, revealing every detail. Barlogel and Andar squeezed through the tiny hole that remained of the door. Their eyes immediately fell on Heragor, who stood ahead. Just as they were about to greet him and ask about the situation, they noticed his gaze and followed it to the center of the hall.

“This is…” Andar’s eye twitched involuntarily, a complex mix of caution, tension, and absurdity flooding his mind. “Is this what you sensed?”

Heragor stepped forward to the old high seat, his eyes fixed on a faintly glowing golden dragon egg. After a long moment, he nodded. “…Yes, this is it. Now I’m certain.”

“What is it?” Barlogel asked instinctively from behind.

Andar said expressionlessly, “Can’t you tell? It’s a dragon egg.”

“Of course I know it’s a dragon egg!” Barlogel snapped. “I’m asking where it came from—how did this egg get here?!”

“If my senses and guesses are correct, it probably wasn’t here just minutes ago,” Heragor said with a complicated expression. “I saw some kind of… ‘thing’ coalescing and flowing. It emerged from all corners of this land, converging in this hall to form this egg. This all just happened.”

“…Some kind of prearranged setup?” Andar immediately made the connection. “Look again—could this be… ‘It’?”

Without Andar’s prompting, Heragor was already studying the egg carefully. Having been deeply infused by the gods in the past, his very essence had changed, allowing him to perceive information invisible to ordinary dragons. Using this special sight, he observed the egg for a long time before shaking his head. “No. ‘It’ hasn’t returned. At least, I’m certain this is not the ‘god.’”

“This… defies explanation…” Barlogel frowned deeply. As a former scholar, he was now caught in profound confusion. “This doesn’t fit any of the theories we know…”

“So this is the part of ourselves that has remained unknown for a million years.” Andal glanced at Balogur, but at that moment, a flicker in his peripheral vision caught his attention—something near the pale golden dragon egg.

It was a metal plate of unknown material, lying quietly among the rubble and shattered stones. It seemed to have been buried here for ages, patiently waiting for an outsider to discover it. The instant Andal saw it, a strange thought crossed his mind—though the temple had collapsed, though the entire city had been razed to the ground, this metal plate had not been buried so deep as to be lost forever. It was as if some inexplicable force was weaving fate and coincidence, guiding it to appear right here, right now before him.

Heragor noticed the plate as well. Following a sudden instinct, he stepped forward, reaching into the debris to lift it out. His gaze fixed on the small square object, barely a foot across.

The next moment, as his eyes settled on the metal surface, words began to emerge on it, as if written by an unseen hand. The instant Heragor read them, his expression froze, mirrored by Balogur and Andal as they stepped closer behind him:

“Article One: ‘Divinity,’ as a natural phenomenon, is essentially immortal.

Article Two: What mortals perceive as ‘gods’ are merely ripples created by the interaction between this natural phenomenon and the mortal ‘observer group.’

Article Three: Though divinity never perishes, the interaction between gods and mortals is controllable—it can be ended, redirected, actively strengthened or weakened, or otherwise interfered with.

Article Four: Both gods and mortals are but tiny waves within a greater ripple.

Article Zero: If you are reading this, it proves all of the above is true. If you—”

Suddenly, Heragor felt a wave of dizziness. In that brief instant, he glimpsed additional words following Article Zero. He even understood some knowledge that should have been beyond his comprehension—knowledge that could not be true. But the next moment, that space was blank. He no longer saw what he had just seen, nor understood what he had just understood. He didn’t know if the first four articles had changed, or if his perception of the world had been rearranged. His gaze naturally drifted downward, and he no longer remembered that there had been a further conclusion after Article Zero.

Some memories drifted away like wind, leaving only imperceptible ripples in the mind of the high dragon priest.

At last, Heragor saw new words appear at the very end of the metal plate:

“Entrust all of this to Gawain Cecil—this is a necessary element of the third story.”

(End of chapter)