Chapter 1088: Memories of the Divine Era

As brilliant sunlight spilled over the ridge of the eastern mountains, the massive sun gradually climbed to its zenith. Its faintly patterned gaseous corona radiated a soft, hazy glow. Under the dazzling light of this colossal sun, even the barren wasteland at the border seemed infused with a surge of vitality. The distant mountains and nearby vegetation gleamed vividly in the sunlight—Bersethia lifted her gaze to the sky, her platinum eyes shimmering with a delicate golden glint at the edges. Then she withdrew her gaze and nodded slightly to Gawain beside her. “The weather control team did well. This clear weather looks like it’ll last for days.”

Gawain glanced toward the approaching convoy from the town. Vehicles were steadily arriving at the edge of the venue. Some delegates had already disembarked and, guided by their escorts, were heading to designated waiting areas. Most of them looked somewhat bewildered. This stark, barren place hardly resembled the kind of grand setting one would expect for such an important gathering. Beneath their feet, only sparse wildflowers and grasses grew; beyond lay untamed forests and thickets; further still, only rocks and desolate hills stretched into the distance. For these high-ranking attendees, this was worlds apart from the opulent halls and grand assembly spaces they were used to.

No red carpets, no music, no ceremonial guards. And of course, no magnificent domes or stately tables and chairs. This was no mere simplicity.

But those who had come here were no ordinary people. They possessed a certain composure and patience. So, despite their confusion and the faint stirrings of doubt, the delegates arriving one after another kept their reservations to themselves. They waited patiently for what was to come, many already fixing their eyes on the open ground where the elves stood. Some spotted the Silver Queen and their expressions steadied.

“They should be brought here, to the edge of the wasteland, instead of resting easy in their safe zones,” Gawain murmured as his gaze swept over the delegates. “If they never see this desolation with their own eyes, they might never realize that an apocalypse-level disaster is ‘frozen’ right beside them.”

“When I heard you planned to hold the meeting at Wasteland Monitoring Station 112, I guessed your intention,” Bersethia said softly, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Setting the venue here isn’t just about showing neutrality and fairness during the negotiations between Cecile and Typhon—there are many neutral zones between the two nations, and the elves’ northern outposts aren’t all on the wasteland border. Yet you chose the place closest to the Grant Wall.”

She lifted her gaze, sweeping over the delegates who appeared calm but many of whom were frowning as they looked toward the murky clouds hanging over the Gondor Wasteland.

“But bringing these people, used to safe zones, so close to the wasteland… isn’t that a bit too much pressure? Even the soldiers at the outposts don’t casually roam the wilds when off duty.”

“I trust the security arrangements at the venue. Besides, we have some ‘new members’ with exceptional combat abilities here,” Gawain smiled faintly. “With safety guaranteed, letting everyone breathe the air of the wasteland border is good for their mental resilience.”

“You’re right,” Bersethia nodded gently. “Ah, it’s time.”

“Prepare the venue,” Gawain said. At the same time, the elven attendants beside him and Bersethia signaled to the nearby mage technicians broadcasting live. Instantly, all the mage-net terminals focused their crystal lenses on the Silver Queen and the massive rune-inscribed stone.

In the next moment, Bersethia placed her hand on the surface of the giant rune stone.

A surge of overwhelming magical power poured into the stone. The ancient spell matrix embedded within the runes was instantly energized and filled with magic. The runes flickering faintly on the stone’s surface burst into brilliant clusters of light like exploding stars. Drawn by the immense power, a roaring sound like a raging tide echoed from the sky.

Almost instinctively, everyone looked upward.

They saw a vast, sky-blue cyclone forming out of thin air, slowly spinning around the giant stone at the surface. Thunder rumbled incessantly within the vortex. Beneath the thunder and cyclone, countless faint, ghostly illusions began to take shape between heaven and earth. Though hazy, they radiated a solemn majesty that seemed to come from an ancient age, stirring awe deep in the soul.

The crowd was stunned by this near-cosmic spectacle. Those who had been focused on the wasteland moments before now completely forgot their previous thoughts. They watched as the ancient visions emerged from the air: moss-covered stone pillars, austere stone platforms, vines draping across the tops of the pillars… These illusions gradually descended from the sky, touching the earth with a thunderous quake. One by one, the visions solidified into reality. The ground itself seemed to come alive, writhing and merging swiftly with these relics from a forgotten era.

A vast open-air assembly hall had appeared, spanning all the ages remembered by the elves, crossing the boundaries of existence and oblivion, descending from a long-forgotten dimension into the prime material world.

Dozens of towering stone pillars encircled a massive circular platform. Moss and vines clung to the pillars’ weathered surfaces. Around the base of each pillar were stone tables and chairs arranged in a ring. From the tops of the pillars hung banners that fluttered from ethereal to solid fabric, each emblazoned with the great national emblems of every member nation attending the meeting.

Beneath the Ring of Oaths, all banners stood equal—at least in appearance.

Bersethia stood at the center of the stone ring. The huge square rune stone beside her had sunk into the earth, replaced by a small clear spring. Reflected in the spring was a bright, clear sky from some unknown time and place.

All mage-net terminals captured this magnificent scene, and the images quickly spread through the neural network…

…

In the courtyard of the Defiant Fortress, within a shattered space of dark chaos, the great stag Amon lay quietly among jagged ruins. His eyes glowed with a sacred light. The former goddess of magic, Mylmina, crouched beside him, both intently watching a large mage-net terminal not far away.

The crystal above the terminal sparkled as a clear holographic projection displayed the distant scene. An excited voice narrated off-screen: “…We now bring you live coverage from the meeting site. Silver Queen Bersethia is summoning the ancient ‘Ring of Oaths’ into our world. The energy field has already begun to unfold…”

“This is really impressive…” Mylmina said with a hint of awe, watching the projection. “They can actually use magic to do this… Though the principles aren’t hard to grasp, their approach still surprises me.”

“That just shows you made the right choice leaving in time,” Amon said calmly. “Within the realm of magic, mortals have created something that even you, a ‘goddess of magic,’ find astonishing. That’s no small risk. When such risks accumulate, they become real crises. That’s how the War God operates—recklessly.”

Mylmina immediately shook her head. “He’s crazy. I’m nothing like him.”

Amon considered for a moment. “…So, will you go back?”

Mylmina seemed taken aback, then abruptly changed the subject. “…Ah, let’s just watch the show… This queen’s summoning spell is powerful. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s from your druidic tradition, isn’t it?”

The great stag said nothing. Mylmina felt a flicker of unease and turned back to look at him. His molten-crystal eyes flickered uncertainly.

“Amon? What’s wrong?”

On the mage-net terminal, the ancient and majestic Ring of Oaths had fully entered the prime material world. The stone pillars were covered in weathered moss and vines. The pool at the center shimmered, reflecting the sky clearly—an image mirrored in Amon’s eyes.

The goddess of magic’s voice sounded twice more before Amon finally broke the silence in a low voice: “This place… I remember it. I didn’t expect they still remember it too…”

“You mean the ‘Ring of Oaths’?” Mylmina quickly caught on. She glanced at the floating hologram, then back at Amon. “What’s your connection to it?”

“When I first gained self-awareness in the ancient era, it was among those pillars…” Amon’s voice was ethereal, as if crossing vast stretches of time. “That was the original druidic sanctuary.”

“You remember something so ancient?” Mylmina was surprised. “I only have vague memories from when I first became self-aware… nothing clear.”

“We’re different. You don’t recall your birth, but I remember quite clearly,” Amon said slowly. “I remember when they were still struggling to settle in their new home. Many elves had nowhere to live and survived primitively in the forest. I don’t know how they spent those earliest days. When I awoke, they had already built this sanctuary deep in the woods, celebrating their first harvest and praying for favorable weather the next year…

“I remember the bonfires, the offerings. A girl in strange, elaborate clothes stood nearby, repeating that the gods had blessed them, reversing the disastrous weather and bringing safety and abundance…”

“Wow, you remember a lot of details,” Mylmina said, unable to hide her amazement. “You even recall the ceremony.”

“But I have no memory of what they said to me. I was confused,” Amon’s voice was deep and melodious. “I didn’t understand why these small creatures were so enthusiastic, why they suddenly knelt before me. Luckily, many voices soon explained everything…

“I am their god, the forest’s protector, the guide of life and death—at least, that’s what they believed. They thought I brought the harvest. Back then, the powers of harvest and nature weren’t clearly separated. That division only evolved a thousand years later, as humans developed, into the Three Gods of Plenty.”

“Yes, many things changed slowly back then,” Mylmina sighed. “Then, everything started speeding up.”

But Amon didn’t respond to Mimirna. He simply stared absentmindedly at the stone circle in the holographic projection, his gaze fixed on the pool of water at its center. After a long moment, he murmured to himself, almost as if recalling a distant memory: “I was resting by that very pool back then… I was much younger, no divine realm yet, hadn’t crossed the boundary of the material world. You know that state, right? Like a spirit caught between reality and illusion, lingering in a specific ritual site, sustained only by the power of faith.”

Mimirna listened quietly, shaking her head gently. “I don’t know. I was born directly into the realm of magic—a pure spirit more aligned with the ‘spiritual world.’ You, on the other hand, formed within the material world. So I can’t really grasp what that in-between state you describe feels like. Like you said, we’re fundamentally different.”

“…True,” Amon admitted. “Sometimes I forget that myself.”

“And then?” Mimirna’s curiosity got the better of her. “Back then, could you only move around within the ritual site? That doesn’t sound much better than now.”

“Honestly, looking back, it was pretty dull,” Amon said, recalling the past. “But at the time, I didn’t mind so much—mainly because I wasn’t alone. There was a girl, called the ‘High Priestess,’ who took care of me. She lived there too, right by the pool. Their teachings were strange—highest-ranking priestesses had to live exposed to the elements, ‘to embrace nature more fully.’ So no matter the wind or rain, she stayed there.”

“Sounds harsh—for a mortal,” Mimirna commented softly.

“It was,” Amon agreed slowly. “So whenever storms came, I’d shelter her under my belly. The fur there was soft and warm. At first, she was scared, but one time during a fierce thunderstorm, she crawled under without hesitation. Though called a High Priestess, she was just a young girl then, gifted with innate spiritual talent.”

“And after that?” Mimirna pressed on.

“After many years… she died,” Amon said calmly. “Death is part of the natural cycle. Though she lived a long time, she gradually weakened. In the end, she rested her head on my neck and fell asleep. Before she drifted off, she asked me if there was an eternal realm waiting for her—some place where devoted believers could remain forever beside the gods.”

“…Did you tell her?” Mimirna asked, intrigued.

“An eternal realm? There was no such thing. Back then, I didn’t even know how to grant believers semi-permanent life in the material world,” Amon replied. “I wanted to comfort her, but I couldn’t lie. So I just looked at her silently. Then she said, ‘If there isn’t, please don’t tell anyone else.’ After that, she fell silent.”

The god of nature fell quiet. Nearby, the magical network terminal still displayed distant scenes: representatives entering the oath-bound stone circle, the Silver Queen—the current High Druidess—standing by the pool. Her figure seemed to merge with fragments of Amon’s memories, but gradually, those images faded away.

“And then?” Mimirna’s voice was soft, as if deliberately breaking Amon’s reverie.

“And then… there’s nothing more to say,” Amon sighed. “In the end, we must all follow the laws of nature, right? Harmless spirits grow into powerful gods, but true gods cannot linger long in the mortal realm. As the faith of believers grows stronger and more complex, the gods they shape become increasingly detached from reality. My mind became trapped within my form, my words turned dangerous. I became a presence that, by merely existing in the material world, caused environmental upheaval and drove mortals mad. The material world rejected me in turn—I finally left it behind, seeking a place that would not reject me.

“Just as the believers imagined, there is a great tree there, called the ‘Cycle.’ On its branches sits a city named ‘Life.’ Beneath its roots lies a vast tomb called Death.

“And for many years after that, I never left that place.”

(The End of This Chapter)