Chapter 1089: The Final Seat
Amon’s tale came to a pause. The courtyard fell into a deep silence, broken only by the flickering light and faint sounds projected from the arcane network terminal. After a moment, Mimirna finally broke the quiet. “And then?”
“And then? Many, many years passed. I spent that time beneath the great tree called Reincarnation—a tree born from mortal imagination—pondering countless things. As my consciousness sharpened, I began to hear ancient echoes from the deep sea. The ripples of time carried imprints of history from the ancient age. Following those ripples, I glimpsed the fortress the Voyagers left behind in the real world… In the end, I resolved to do something great. Something you already know about.”
“I have to admit, I’m impressed,” Mimirna said softly after a pause. “Your plan was actually far less reckless than mine.”
“Perhaps the yearning for freedom is part of life itself…” Amon’s voice carried a hint of wistfulness, even pride. His gaze remained fixed on the arcane terminal nearby, but his eyes seemed to look beyond time and space, wandering through memories measured in millennia. “I thought I had long forgotten these things.”
“Forgetfulness is a mortal’s privilege. We don’t have that luxury,” Mimirna chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “Once our experiences become memories, they’re etched permanently—like part of a mortal’s flesh and blood.”
Her eyes drifted to the holographic projection of the Oath Stone Circle. After a moment’s thought, she asked curiously, “Is that really the original sacrificial site you spoke of? That was so long ago…”
Amon studied the image carefully, his voice low but resonant. “Not exactly. It looks similar, but the details have changed. The sacrificial site I remember has long since weathered away with time. But the elves, generation after generation, preserved its memory and projected it here—creating something akin to a summoning spell. I’m sure they’ve been preparing for this meeting for a long time. Those banners and stone pillars were specially arranged and adjusted for today.”
“Don’t you feel any regret?” Mimirna couldn’t help but ask. “That queen was the highest priestess in name, yet now even she uses this sacred site for worldly affairs, altering it like this. It means they’re truly forgetting you—actively erasing all traces you ever existed.”
Amon countered, “Did you feel regret when you learned humans held a funeral for you?”
Mimirna paused, a faint trace of helplessness crossing her misty face. “…I suppose that’s true. In a way, it’s a good thing.”
Her gaze returned to the “arcane network broadcast” nearby. Representatives of mortal factions were being guided to their seats. The camera focused on the Silver Queen, and Mimirna’s eyes settled on a young woman nearby, her face alight with excitement. A faint smile touched Mimirna’s lips.
Amon noticed the subtle change. The ancient god of nature casually asked, “What is it? Did you see something that caught your interest?”
“Just a little sigh,” Mimirna smiled. “That child… was meant to be a chosen one.”
“Really? Even the goddess of magic has chosen ones?”
“All gods have their elect. Among countless beings, there’s always an individual whose spirit resonates with ours—like certain droplets in the endless ocean that crash against the shore with the wind. But that has nothing to do with the ocean’s will,” Mimirna said softly. “I never respond to those echoes. Fortunately… that child never called my name, even in the darkest, most fearful moments.”
Amon said nothing, quietly watching the elven queen—the nominal highest druid priestess—begin the meeting. Mimirna fell silent as well, her gaze fixed on the mortals bustling in the distance. After an unknown stretch of time, a voice broke the darkness of the shadowed courtyard with a sigh: “They truly don’t need me anymore.”
“Yeah. Neither do I.”
“Can you turn up the volume?”
“No, I don’t want it too loud.”
…
The grand Oath Stone Circle materialized out of thin air. This ancient, solemn, and indescribably reverent venue stunned everyone present. From this moment on, no one would question whether a meeting held in the wilderness was dignified enough, nor doubt the elves’ dedication as both witnesses and hosts. This was exactly the effect High Lord wanted.
At the edge of the ancient ruins of Gondor, at the world’s civilized frontier, towering stone pillars stood in a perfect circle. Representatives of mortal nations gathered here to discuss the future of the world—regardless of the outcome or what lay ahead, today’s scene was destined to be recorded in history.
Rebecca was visibly excited. Ever since the Oath Stone Circle appeared, she couldn’t sit still. When the crucial part of the ceremony ended and she found a chance to speak without interrupting, she hurried over to the Silver Queen and whispered rapidly, “Your Majesty Belsethia, um, this spell—what’s its principle? Is it summoning or shaping? If summoning, how does it communicate with the other space? If shaping, how is the mana focus set…?”
Belsethia looked at the curious young woman with a mix of amusement and fondness, seeing a reflection of her younger self. Lowering her voice so no one else could hear, she winked at Rebecca. “I can’t tell you that—it’s an elven secret tradition. But I can share some of the rune structures that don’t involve the core spell model.”
Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “Yay!!”
“Enough, don’t cause trouble,” High Lord glanced over and warned her. “Don’t speak out of turn.”
Rebecca immediately bowed to the elder’s authority, nodding repeatedly. But the next moment, she looked around with a strange expression, as if sensing something. High Lord noticed and asked, “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca frowned. “I just felt like someone was watching us, but then it vanished… probably just my imagination.”
High Lord extended his senses, scanning the hall and its surroundings multiple times before exhaling softly and shaking his head. “You’re probably just too excited.”
This minor incident passed quickly. Representatives took their seats. Banners bearing faction emblems hung from the towering stone pillars, cascading down behind each delegation. The unique circular hall amplified the solemn atmosphere. Even the most unruly found themselves subdued, serious, and strangely honored.
In this mood, Valendian Goldvale, a venerable courtier of the Elven Empire and hand of the Silver Queen, stood. After a brief introduction, he began reading the names of the representatives and their nations, officially opening the first alliance meeting. His high-elven voice was magnetic and rhythmic, almost magical as it echoed through the hall. Some smaller nations’ delegates instinctively listened for clues in the order of names, hoping to discern a hierarchy—but soon found themselves confused.
Because aside from the initiator Cecil, co-initiator Typhon, and host and witness the Silver Empire, the rest were simply listed alphabetically…
This was the first meeting. High Lord had no intention of ranking nations by power or influence just yet.
Under the banner of the Ogure Tribal Nation, the orc chieftain Camilla sat beside Wenna Whitebloom. She glanced around and muttered softly, “This is kind of interesting. I prefer this wild, natural majesty to those dull conference halls. These elves really know their stuff—I thought they only swung on vines in the forest…”
Wenna ignored her friend’s muttering, feeling nervous. Both were representatives of the Ogure Tribal Nation, but Wenna was the primary delegate, while Camilla was listed as an assistant. Since dawn, Camilla’s curiosity had taken over like a big cat stalking prey—her attention fixed on the fluttering banners, the massive stones, and the spring at the center of the hall. Wenna’s anxiety about the upcoming meeting only deepened.
She even thought she should have listened to Wickliff and brought Stella along—though the fairy queen was unreliable, she was better than a big cat already losing focus.
Lost in thought, Wenna suddenly heard Camilla’s voice beside her. “Hey, wait—look. Isn’t that seat over there empty?”
Wenna looked where Camilla pointed and saw an empty seat beneath a massive stone pillar across the hall. Above it hung a strange banner.
It was a completely unfamiliar flag, dominated by an imposing, abstract dragon-head motif in gold on a deep crimson background. As leader of the Grey Elves, Wenna knew every nation’s banner—but she had never seen this one.
Camilla whispered, “That color scheme… is it the Principality of the Holy Dragon?”
“No, their seat is next to it, and it’s already occupied,” Wenna replied quietly. “See? That’s Sir Gorosh Shikel. We read about his visit to Cecil in the papers.”
“…Then it must be a country neither of us knows,” Camilla blinked in confusion. “Absent?”
“Unlikely. Since their banner hangs on the stone pillar, their representative must have arrived at Outpost 112,” Wenna said softly. “The Silver Elves wouldn’t make such a rookie mistake…”
As Wenna and Camilla discussed the empty seat and unfamiliar flag, more and more delegates noticed it. Eyes kept drifting toward that pillar. Though no one openly discussed it, some quietly whispered among themselves, speculating about the missing party’s origins. Strange theories began to form in their minds.
Some even noticed key details: the empty seat was beside the Cecil Empire’s, with the Holy Dragon Principality’s next to it. Yet even then, they could glean no further clues.
As the process unfolded, one by one, names and countries were announced. The representatives rose in turn to pay their respects. Valendian Kingu’s voice drew to a close—when the final delegate from a small western continental nation stood, every attending country had made its appearance at the Oathstone Circle.
Except for one seat… which remained empty.
Valendian Kingu’s gaze swept across the hall. He caught many curious looks—some well concealed, but to a high-ranking silver elf who had lived through two millennia, such subtle glances were easy to discern.
His expression remained unchanged. He stood quietly for a few seconds, waiting for the signal from the Silver Queen. Then, straightening his posture, he placed his right hand over his chest on his formal coat, letting his left hand fall naturally by his side. In a steady, clear voice, he announced, “There is one more seat: from the continent of Talrond, the Dragon Kingdom, Ambassador—Blue Dragon Melita Perinya and her delegation.”
An immediate hush fell over the entire assembly.
Valendian’s words had just ended, yet the delegates seemed unable to process what they’d heard. They exchanged bewildered glances, doubting their own hearing and comprehension. Some felt it absurd, as if someone had just brought a bard’s legend into this solemn, dignified gathering. But before anyone could dwell on it, a sudden wave of pressure swept over the room, accompanied by the thunderous beating of wings—
Above the towering mountains south of the Oathstone Circle, massive shapes broke through the clouds, bathed in the radiance of the blazing sun. Moving with deceptive speed, they flew toward the assembly. Leading the formation was a blue dragon, her scales weathered and mottled, as if forged countless times in iron and fire. Behind her, six other great dragons followed in formation, equally bathed in sunlight and exuding an awe-inspiring presence.
“Dragons!”
Someone in the hall couldn’t help but whisper in astonishment. A ripple of mild commotion passed among the delegates and their aides. Yet, despite the tension gripping every heart, no one truly panicked. Some faces went pale, cold sweat broke out on others, and a few even trembled—but all remained in their seats.
Whether it was forced composure or maintaining appearances, this reaction caught the eyes of Gawain and Belsethia, who exchanged a subtle nod.
Not comparable to the pioneers seven centuries ago—but certainly not bad.
Many eyes fixed on the approaching dragon entourage, while others finally registered the significance and quickly turned their gaze toward the seat of the Cecil Empire—the very initiator of this conference.
Every faction present at this meeting… had been invited by Cecil.
And those dragons? They, too, had been invited by Cecil.
(End of chapter)