Chapter 1250: The Memory in the Dust

After Gawain and Amber left, only the two ancestors remained in the reception room—separated by six centuries, grandfather and granddaughter. Modir stared long and hard at the door they had just exited, before finally pulling his gaze away and smoothing the excitement from his face.

The old mage sat upright in his chair, trying his best to appear composed and impassive. But compared to his great-great-granddaughter, who was naturally expressionless, his forced poker face lacked finesse. After several attempts to control his features, a faint smile still tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You look quite pleased,” Victoria’s cool voice broke the silence. She had been quietly observing her ancestor’s shifting expressions and couldn’t help but comment now. She had expected Modir to be happy upon seeing Gawain, but not to this extent.

“Of course!” Modir replied immediately, his smile now unguarded. “That was Gawain Cecil! The founder of the kingdom, the pioneer of the wild frontier! I never imagined I’d live to see him in person—a living legend in the flesh! Wouldn’t you be thrilled to meet someone like that?”

“…The first time I met him, I was indeed excited,” Victoria recalled her initial encounters with Gawain, then the trade and diplomatic exchanges between the Ansu royal family and the southern territories. She thought of the formidable economic and political maneuvers of this living ancestor, and the subtle shift in mood of the Northern Duchess who had nearly lost her entire dowry in the process. “But later, all I felt was pressure. He’s a rather terrifying man. And that’s meant as a compliment.”

Modir’s expression grew serious as he looked at Victoria. “It’s normal to feel pressure working in the administration, but you mustn’t let that sour your opinion of His Majesty…”

Victoria’s lips twitched briefly, unable to argue, so she lowered her head in acceptance. “You’re right. I shouldn’t complain just because of stress…”

Yet in her mind, the image of a certain lady appeared—Princess Hetty, with her expertly crafted dark circles—suddenly making Victoria feel that her own burdens were nothing.

Modir seemed to have his own thoughts. His gaze fixed on Victoria for several seconds before he spoke in a low, serious tone: “When you met His Majesty, you acted quite familiar, and he treated you with warmth.”

Victoria blinked, then quickly responded, “Well… I’m a relatively high-ranking official in the administration, so I’ve met His Majesty a few times. As for him… he’s always been kind to people.”

Modir chuckled softly, shaking his head with a knowing but unconcerned tone. “I understand there are things you can’t tell me, and these past days must have been difficult for you. Don’t worry—I’ve given myself plenty of mental safeguards and restrictions. There are some things I won’t think about, won’t guess at, and won’t ask about. I’m not a stubborn old man who can’t tell right from wrong. You can rest easy on that.”

He sighed lightly, still smiling. “I just hope that someday in the future, I can lift the ‘curse’ that binds me. When that day comes… I want to hear you tell me, face to face, who you really are—and who I really am.”

Victoria looked steadily at her ancestor. After a long moment, her expression grew solemn. “Rest assured, that day won’t be far off—because His Majesty has already come himself.”

…

Bright magical light radiated from the crystal, dispelling the gloom of the polar night in the room. Gawain stepped into the suite prepared for him, his eyes casually scanning the surroundings.

The living room was spacious, with a carefully polished stone floor covered by soft carpets. Tables, chairs, sofas, and shelves were all in place. Two doors led to other rooms nearby. On the opposite wall hung a gold-and-crimson tapestry, and from the ceiling dangled crystal-like decorative panels. Along their edges and on the tapestry’s surface, intricate patterns shimmered with a metallic sheen under the light.

This was likely the finest accommodation available in present-day Talrond. Many furnishings were clearly relics from before the “Coming of Age” era—Gawain could see in these objects the once lavish and elaborate style of old Talrond, styles no longer produced by the current dragonkin.

The dragons had long abandoned their former extravagant and wasteful ways, but these remnants of past glory, excavated from ruins, still found use. Thus, the ornate fragments of old and the rugged architecture of the wasteland era blended together, creating a strange but fascinating landscape on this land reborn from ashes.

Amber followed Gawain into the living room, her eyes wide with curiosity as she looked around. After the dragon attendants politely withdrew, she immediately ran over to a cylindrical object on a nearby shelf, tapping it twice with surprise. “Hey, I remember this! But I thought it could make sounds?”

“That only works if it’s connected to the Omega Network,” Gawain shook his head. “Now, things like this are just decorations—or scrap metal waiting to be recycled.” He moved to the center of the room, standing by the coffee table made of a silvery-gray industrial composite. Its edges were irregular geometric shapes, with transparent lines embedded on the surface. Delicate patterns and reliefs adorned the sides. It had the unmistakable atmosphere of “Old Talrond.” Gawain guessed those transparent lines once served as ambient lighting, and the tabletop probably integrated a smart display connected to a network. But now, it had reverted to its most basic function: a sturdy piece of furniture, no different from a finely carved stone.

The passage of time and the world’s changes hid in these subtle details.

“Enough poking around,” Gawain said, watching Amber fidgeting and examining things. “No matter how much you study those disconnected devices, they won’t respond like they used to. Come over here and focus on the real work.”

Reluctantly, Amber put down the dragon relics she considered “probably quite valuable” and joined Gawain by the coffee table. She sank into the soft, comfortable sofa, stretched luxuriously, then tapped the table’s surface. An invisible breeze swept over it, and a misty, sand-like dust swirled and gathered before Gawain’s eyes, shifting from vague to distinct, undulating like a fog over the silvery-gray table.

Gawain was momentarily stunned by her fluid, effortless manipulation. He glanced at the self-satisfied “shame of the alliance” and said with surprise, “You’ve gotten this good? You look like you’ve been practicing for ten years.”

Amber shrugged nonchalantly. “I find controlling these sands really easy. It’s like the technique is already imprinted in my mind. I don’t know how the sands work exactly, but controlling them feels instinctive. Whenever the moment’s right, the method just naturally comes to me…”

Gawain frowned, muttering seriously, “A knockoff set of sands with an original instruction manual, huh…”

“Huh? What was that?” Amber asked, not catching his words.

“Nothing,” Gawain waved it off, eyes fixed on the swirling dust on the table. “When you took those sands from Modir… was it the same instinct guiding you?”

“Yeah,” Amber nodded, then rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I sensed some ‘essence’ of the sands inside Modir. They seem to have replaced his original ‘half-body,’ sustaining the old adventurer’s life. So I didn’t dare take too much shadow dust from him, nor point out the sands’ presence in front of him—what if the old man suddenly realizes half his body’s gone and gets so shocked he just collapses? I can’t take on Victoria.”

“Are you sure the sands you took from him are safe?” Gawain asked, concerned. “If those sands really are what’s keeping Modir alive…”

“No problem. It’s just a small portion. Losing them won’t affect the rest,” Amber said quickly, shaking her head before he finished. “I can feel the ‘threshold’ that sustains Modir’s life, though I don’t know how to explain where that feeling comes from…”

“Then don’t bother explaining,” Gawain waved his hand. “Tell me about these sands. You took them from Modir, but how do we know what secrets they hold? Sands don’t talk.”

Amber was silent for a moment, staring thoughtfully at the dancing dust. She seemed to be sensing something. After a long pause, she whispered, “Sands don’t speak… but sands have witnessed what once happened…”

She slowly raised her hand above the swirling dust.

Suddenly, the “dust mist” hovering over the table stilled completely. Under Gawain’s astonished gaze, it froze for several seconds before flowing again—but this time, the movement was no longer random. The dust billowed and piled up, gradually forming a three-dimensional scene on the tabletop…

Gawain’s jaw dropped. “This is…”

“Maybe Modir’s memories, maybe the sands’ memories, or perhaps what a third-party observer saw,” Amber said softly, her voice trembling with a low hum. Gawain glanced back at her and noticed she had somehow transformed—her long black hair floated weightlessly, her amber eyes glowed faintly gold, and shadowy mist swirled around her, altering her entire aura. Yet she seemed unaware of the change, continuing, “What you’re about to see isn’t something I’m controlling. I’m just guiding the sands to release their ‘recordings.’ What exactly they’ve recorded… I don’t know.”

As they spoke, Gawain noticed the dust on the tea table beginning to coalesce into a clearer form. Before him, a vast sea of sand rose up, suddenly forming pillar-like structures. From these pillars extended a network of crisscrossing lines and arches. Beyond the pillars, there seemed to be even larger, more indistinct shapes—too vast to fully materialize within the limited scale of the dust. Once the pillars and arches took shape, a figure abruptly emerged at the center of the scene. This figure, formed from gray-white dust, was indistinct in features, but he appeared draped in a robe or cloak, as if he had just endured a long and arduous journey… or perhaps was still on the road.

Neither Gawain nor Amber could make out the figure’s face, but almost instantly, they both instinctively knew who it was.

“That’s… Modril!” Amber’s eyes widened. “This is Modril Wilde’s memory!”

Gawain felt a surge of excitement as well, but then he noticed the scene shifting again. “Wait, there’s more!”

Before he could finish, a small whirlwind stirred within the “dust stage.” Right in front of the figure of Modril, two new silhouettes suddenly appeared.

“Who are they…” Amber blinked in surprise, still guiding the shadowy dust as she watched the scene unfold. “This should be the last memory fragment before Modril Wilde ‘split’—so why are there suddenly two more people?”

A strange thought flashed through Gawain’s mind: Could it be that Modril Wilde was split by these two?

The dust-formed scene continued to shift. Gawain quickly pushed the wild speculation aside and focused on the center of the stage. He saw Modril seemingly communicating with the two figures. Though he couldn’t hear any words, their body language suggested a negotiation rather than a conflict.

“I thought they’d start fighting,” Amber said suddenly. “I even thought Modril was going to be split by those two—was bracing myself for a horror show.”

Gawain was speechless.

He was too embarrassed to admit that his earlier thought had overlapped with the reputation of this so-called “Alliance’s disgrace.” His expression stiffened, so he quickly changed the subject. “By the way, we still can’t really make out those two figures…”

“Yeah, they’re pretty blurry,” Amber said, eyes wide as she stared at the gray-white dust shapes. “The one in front is definitely Modril—I can feel it even if I can’t see clearly. But those two behind him? No idea… I can’t sense any aura from them.”

“Can you make it clearer?” Gawain asked, unable to help himself. “Maybe adjust the projection’s focus or something…”

“I’m not a magic-net terminal! There’s no focus to adjust!” Amber snapped, baring her teeth as she dismissed his request. “Besides, this is made of sand. This is as detailed as it gets… The whole scene is only this big, and it can’t be zoomed.”

“Modril’s resolution isn’t great…” Gawain sighed, but his gaze sharpened as he studied the two figures standing before Modril. He strained to catch any clues hidden in the blurry dust. After a moment of intense scrutiny, he finally noticed something. “They look like women. Look at their clothing… Wait! Amber, look—don’t they kind of look like elves?”

(End of chapter)