Chapter 1114: Revisiting the Age of Myth
As soon as High Lord Gawain’s words fell silent, the courtyard of the Rebellious Fortress once again grew quiet.
Amon felt that today, his little courtyard seemed to be experiencing an unusual number of awkward silences.
But this time, the stillness didn’t last long. From Gawain’s words, Amon soon grasped a deeper meaning. Gradually, the sacred radiance that enveloped his entire being began to flow like water, and with a soft sigh in his voice, he murmured, “Ah, yes… she doesn’t believe in me. That’s exactly how it should be…”
The former god of nature spoke quietly to himself, then suddenly asked, “When was the original Upper Druidic Church reorganized?”
“About a thousand years ago—or perhaps even earlier,” Gawain nodded, recounting the history he had heard from Belsethia. “It was a gradual process. In the Silver Empire, the Upper Druidic Church first stripped a series of peripheral parishes of their privileges, then slowly aligned itself with secular imperial authority. Centered around the Elven Royal Court and the Upper Elven Council, it found a new source of support. Around a thousand years ago, the symbolic significance of the ‘Druid High Priest’ in the Elven royal family had already surpassed its practical power. But before that, the Upper Druidic Church was essentially a hollow shell.”
Amon fell into a brief silence, lost in thought. No one could tell what the nature god was contemplating at that moment. Finally, he sighed softly, “I was born in the hearts of mortals, and I should die in their hearts as well.”
“But not all mortals have chosen the ‘Age of No Gods,’” Gawain said, looking into Amon’s crystal-forged eyes. “You should know that three thousand years… is still not enough time for the elves to complete a full generational turnover. There are still a few elves who once believed in you living in this world—especially those priests blessed by you with longer lifespans. They are still alive.”
Amon gazed quietly at Gawain, then after a moment spoke softly, “That Silver Queen… she came to resolve this issue, didn’t she?”
Gawain said nothing, but his silence was an unspoken confirmation. Though he hadn’t yet mentioned Belsethia’s purpose, the ancient god had already guessed the answer—there was no need for further explanation.
“I understand,” Amon’s radiant glow gradually calmed, and his tone relaxed for the first time. “That’s a good thing. Let that Silver Queen come—I am ready to meet her. By the way, where is she now?”
“She’s in Cecil City,” Gawain smiled. “Anxious and nervous, waiting for me to arrange your meeting.”
“Looks like you were confident I’d agree all along,” Amon’s voice carried a hint of amusement, half-joking. “What makes you so sure? Have you considered the possibility that I might refuse?”
“You will agree,” Gawain said calmly, his smile brimming with certainty. “Three thousand years ago, you crashed into the Voyager’s space station—not just to lie here for three millennia, right?”
Amon’s eyes narrowed, silent. Gawain glanced at the two gods present, then took a step back. “Then I’ll take my leave—I have arrangements to make.”
After Gawain left, Merlmina looked down at the great stag Amon, still quietly lying on the ground without a word. After a long pause, she finally broke the silence. “What are you thinking about?”
“I suddenly remembered the Silver Queen from three thousand years ago… that must have been Belsethia’s grandmother,” Amon said softly. “She often spoke to me by the altar in the sacred grounds—though most of the time I couldn’t respond directly. She would frequently offer fruits she picked from the garden on the altar… until the day I suddenly left. Now that I think about it, I never even said goodbye.”
Merlmina lowered her eyelids. “Do you regret it?”
“Not regret, just sorry,” Amon closed his eyes. “My abrupt departure changed the fates of so many mortals. I only hope that when she left this world, she held no heavy regrets in her heart.”
Merlmina was silent for a while, lost in thought about her own matters. After an unknown length of time, she suddenly said, “You have many devoted followers who left deep impressions on you—those pious ones who chattered endlessly in your ear… I have none.”
“Envious? But that’s not necessarily a good thing.”
“Of course not, so I’m not envious at all,” Merlmina said casually, glancing sideways at a nearby arcane network terminal standing by. “By the way, do you mind if I watch from the sidelines when the time comes?”
“Suit yourself—I’m not going to kick you out.”
…
Early the next morning, Belsethia woke up early. She entered the sitting room beside her chamber and saw the first rays of sunlight slanting through the crystal glass window, casting a warm glow on the opposite wall.
A high-ranking elven handmaiden stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. She stepped forward from the sunlight, holding a silver chalice with solemn reverence. The handmaiden offered the cup to the Silver Queen—inside the exquisite pure silver vessel rippled a pale golden liquid, its rich aroma slowly drifting through the air. Belsethia accepted it with a serious expression and drank it all in one gulp.
According to ancient custom, the officiant of sacred rites should rise with the sun on holy days and drink mead symbolizing “pure natural blood” in the sunlight to cleanse their soul.
Her personal attendant, Ilian, approached and helped Belsethia change into the classical, exquisite priestess robes. The garment was intricately designed, predominantly pure white—reflecting the legendary nature god’s all-white form—with delicate green patterns symbolizing lush forests and the cycle of life in nature. The hem and collar bore black motifs, representing the aspect of death within the natural cycle.
After donning the robes, a series of rituals followed: incense burning, hair combing, anointing with sacred oils—all steeped in ancient symbolism and strict protocol. The high-ranking handmaidens, who also served as druidic acolytes, expertly assisted the Silver Queen in these sacred preparations. Belsethia stood quietly among the bustling attendants, waiting for the process to conclude.
What emotions did the priests of three thousand years ago feel during these sacred rites? Genuine reverence? Deep, heartfelt awe? Or perhaps a mixture of both? Belsethia pondered, but could not truly experience the feelings of her ancestors—because to her, all this was simply part of her duty as Silver Queen. It was her job, a necessary “ornament” to uphold royal dignity. After all, she had been raised this way.
Yet today, something felt different. The reason was clear: she was about to do something unprecedented in three millennia—becoming the first Silver Elf to reconnect with the gods. Suddenly, these sacred rituals seemed to carry new meaning. But before she could fully embrace that meaning, her strongest feeling was still nervousness and unease.
When all preparations were complete, Belsethia exhaled softly and rubbed her slightly tense cheeks. This unceremonious gesture broke the heavy, oppressive feeling brought on by the priestly robes. Just then, the door nearby opened, and an elven handmaiden appeared. “Your Majesty, High Lord Gawain Cecil is waiting outside.”
“I know,” Belsethia nodded, then glanced at Ilian, who rarely left her side. “Ilian, I have to go alone—you wait here for my return.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
In the corridor, the Silver Queen in her ceremonial robes approached Gawain. The elegant elven attire caught Gawain by surprise, and he blinked. “This is the first time I’ve seen the most orthodox religious vestments of the classical Druidic order—they’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”
“The highest priestly robes are only worn during the grandest and most special ‘sacred rites,’ and such occasions are rarely open to outsiders. It’s normal you haven’t seen them before,” Belsethia smiled. Seeing Gawain eased some of her tension, but a worried look crept onto her face. “Should I have skipped these ritual preparations? According to you, we should avoid establishing connections with the gods—especially today…”
“Don’t worry. Since I agreed to this, I’ve made preparations—the anti-divinity barrier is already active. Everything you’ve done today is part of the experiment,” Gawain said, his expression growing serious. “Besides, these rituals don’t have as much power as you think. Without the right mental ‘focus,’ even the most solemn ceremony is just a ceremony. It’s said the smartest monkeys in the ancestral forest mimic the priests’ movements during rituals, even baptizing themselves with holy water—but have you ever heard of a monkey receiving divine grace or wielding godly power?”
Belsethia thought for a moment, then laughed. “That’s true. But Uncle Gawain, your example isn’t exactly the best.”
…
Deep within the Rebellious Fortress, footsteps echoed down the corridor leading to the inner courtyard gates. Magical runes and pre-fabricated rune plates glowed softly, while modern arcane crystal lamps embedded in the ancient walls built with Gondor technology dispelled the darkness that should have long enveloped this place. The light allowed visitors to feel at ease as they ventured deeper inside.
Belsethia’s heart fluttered with a mix of nervousness and curiosity as she walked beside Gawain, occasionally glancing at the rooms they passed. Though the ancient facility had undergone some modernization and repairs, much of it retained its original appearance. The Gondor inscriptions and lingering magical devices gave her a strange sense of temporal dislocation.
What intrigued her even more were the “staff” she occasionally spotted along the way.
In the Rebellious Fortress located in the material world, she had already seen many humans bustling through corridors and rooms. The mountain stronghold was a busy, large-scale base, with personnel traffic as frequent as in city factories and research institutes. But she hadn’t expected to see stationed staff here in the Shadow Realm’s Rebellious Fortress as well—though fewer in number, she still noticed some rooms brightly lit, with researchers in white uniforms busily working inside. Others hurried along the outer corridors, clutching folders or crystal tablets storing image data.
Surprise filled the Silver Queen’s face.
Gawain noticed the change in her expression and glanced sideways at the golden-haired woman, who was now looking around less formally. A smile appeared on his face. “Looks like you’re a bit surprised by how ‘lively’ this place is?”
“I thought this place would be more… lifeless,” Belsethia admitted after a moment’s thought, speaking candidly. “After all, I heard that not long ago this was still a ‘forbidden zone,’ and even most of the Outlander Fortress outside was under lockdown… But now it seems you’ve developed this into an official research facility?”
“Actually, that change happened quite recently,” Gawain nodded. “We’ve restarted many of the research projects from the Outlander program dating back to the Gondor era. The Outlander Fortress and Outlander Bastion are the most suitable sites for this work—they have unique ‘geographical advantages’ and some protective systems that are still operational to this day. So we moved both personnel and equipment in here.”
“So this is what you call ‘Decoding the Divine’?” Belsethia whispered, unable to hide her surprise. “Such a large-scale operation, so openly conducted… it’s nothing like what I had imagined.”
Curious, Gawain asked, “What did you expect it to be like?”
“…Like what my father once did,” she said quietly. “Secret research carried out by only a handful of people in some ultra-classified location. All results kept under wraps, all processes eventually destroyed. The only things that ever leaked out were unexplained orders and vague answers.”
“And what’s the point of that?” Gawain stopped walking, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked at her. “That’s even less effective than the Outlander program back in Gondor.”
He shook his head, withdrawing his gaze to the end of the corridor, then muttered as if to himself, “No point at all… but many have done the same, just like those dark cults, or the Typhon royal family. Being cautious is understandable, but it’s nowhere near enough.
“You shouldn’t approach decoding the divine while still clinging to reverence for the gods. On this bold and reckless path, only by treating gods as nothing more than gods can we get any closer to the truth behind them.
“Belsethia, we’ve arrived—this is the final gate. Behind it lies the ‘courtyard’ of the ancient god.”
Only then did Belsethia realize the corridor had come to an end. Before her stood a massive alloy gate etched with countless ancient runes. No technicians were visible nearby, and on the walls flanking the gate were prominent warning signs illuminated by spotlights, boldly stating:
Beware the Divine Beyond. Do Not Approach.
As Gawain’s words fell silent, the alloy gate creaked open under the motion of intricate mechanical systems. Yet the corridor did not open directly into the outside world. Instead, a translucent energy barrier shimmered there—the last line of defense between the mortal realm and the divine.
Through that barrier, Belsethia’s eyes caught sight of a radiant light rising in the distant darkness, a brilliance like a mountain ascending.
This was the mythical age the elves had lost for three thousand years.
(End of chapter)