Chapter 1444: The Omen

A colossal golden oak tree grew wildly in the courtyard, its sprawling canopy stretching like a vast celestial dome, covering nearly three-quarters of the space. Around this enormous plant, nurtured by the raw power of nature itself, a faint radiance dispelled the eternal gloom that clung to this shadow realm. A vibrant nursery basked in the light—ever flourishing, thriving through all seasons.

A breeze drifted in from afar, stirring the lush leaves in the nursery. Amid the soft rustling, Amon, tending to the plants, looked up toward the golden oak. Leaning quietly against its trunk was a figure—a woman with her eyes closed, seemingly dozing. As the breeze brushed past, the lightly sleeping lady slowly opened her eyes, twin glimmers of magical light flickering deep within them.

“You’re back?” Amon greeted casually. “Go ahead and binge-watch your shows; I’m not done here yet.”

“I never really left,” Myrmina replied, still reclining against the oak, lazily glancing at Amon. “I just sent out an avatar to ‘the outside’ for a bit.” She smirked. “You’ve been at this all day and still not finished?”

“I’m planning to reorganize things, maybe carve out some new ground beyond the original courtyard boundaries,” Amon shook his head, two small flowers entwined in his antlers swaying gently in the soft light. “Filna and Relna said they want to plant some bluebell and silverleaf—plants unique to the Silver Empire. Probably not the best neighbors for the potatoes…”

“Honestly, I don’t think anything fits around your vegetable patch—it’s all just weird together,” Myrmina muttered, her gaze dropping to the flowers on Amon’s antlers. A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I wish I could hear what they say to you… I’m curious what they chat about.”

“Just everyday stuff,” Amon chuckled. “Want to hear? Maybe in a few decades… or maybe just a decade or so.” He smiled wryly. “They’re slowly regaining their vitality, breaking free from their soul slumber. Soon, they’ll be ‘spirits’ able to communicate with the outside world. Then I plan to find a way to craft them new bodies… or maybe get Beltira to make them. She’s had some success with that little sprite, Berna.”

He paused, then eyed Myrmina curiously. “Are you done with your work? I thought those magical shadow plays took forever to produce… or have you finished your part?”

Myrmina waved her hand dismissively. “Not that fast. Just wrapped up today’s tasks. I left my avatar over there to handle some minor stuff, answer questions and the like. I have to ‘go back’ tomorrow. The next two performances are big events—I have to be there in person.”

“…Honestly, I don’t get what you’re all so busy with,” Amon muttered. “When I first heard you were helping mortals stage a shadow play about the fall of the Magic Goddess, I thought you just had to go over and ‘die dramatically’ once. Turns out it’s a pretty big project.”

“Too complicated to explain,” Myrmina squinted. “Just wait and see the final product. But… have you thought about trying it yourself? The Divine Authority Council is planning to turn The Master of All Laws into a long-running series if it succeeds. They want to stage the stories of all the gods as shadow plays. You’d probably be next… Interested?”

“Nope. Not my thing—and I don’t think I’d be good at it,” Amon shook his head. “But I am curious what story mortals will tell about me. The Silver Elves’ history is far older than humans’, and my origins go back to the earliest days of their history. Much of the early lore about nature worship has been lost to time. I wonder how talented Philm plans to tackle such a difficult task…”

“You don’t even know that part?” Myrmina looked surprised. “You could at least give them some reference material, even if you don’t perform.”

“Do you know your own history before you were born?” Amon countered. “Before the currents of thought took shape, gods had no full self-awareness. That’s the most critical phase in a god’s birth.”

“True, I forgot about that,” Myrmina said, then shrugged. “But it doesn’t really matter. If there’s no data, just make it up. The point isn’t to make people understand how we came to be, but to make them think they understand how the gods came—and how they fell. They even assigned me eight ‘Arcane Saints’ who were the first to receive revelation, to explain why mages who never believed in gods suddenly think there’s a Magic Goddess. I didn’t even know I had eight saints until now…”

The Magic Goddess sighed softly. “The hardest part of this whole project for me is remembering the names of those eight saints.”

As Myrmina spoke, Amon suddenly seemed to recall something. “By the way, you’ve been out there with your avatar for days now. Any changes in the Thought Currents?”

At the sudden shift to business, Myrmina’s lazy demeanor vanished. She raised a finger, unconsciously tracing a few runes in the air, her voice low and steady. “I’ve been carefully monitoring the changes… and it seems to align with what Gawain Cecil predicted. Being among mortals hasn’t reestablished any link between me and them. In fact, just today, the actor playing the ‘First Saint’ recited a prayer directed at me right in front of me—and I felt no connection at all.”

Her gaze locked onto Amon’s, grave and serious. “You know that focused prayers carry great power. Even if the reciter isn’t a believer, as long as there’s a shred of ‘devotion’ in their heart, it creates ripples in the Thought Currents. Correspondingly, the deity senses those ripples.”

“You felt no connection whatsoever,” Amon said slowly. “That means the actor’s ‘prayer’ has lost all faith significance. As the ‘Saint’ playing the role, he knows his prayer is just lines… No, more importantly, what you’re doing outright denies the sacredness and mystery of the Magic Goddess’s existence.”

“Maybe the Noyans really have found a way to ‘coexist’ with the gods,” Myrmina mused softly. “And sooner or later, we’ll achieve it too…”

“Noyans…” Amon moved beneath the golden oak and sat beside Myrmina, speaking quietly. “Do you think the ‘future’ Gawain Cecil described will really come?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, “but many of the things he described have already happened—or are happening. I want to believe in this ‘human’ who’s created so many miracles.”

Amon fell silent, lost in thought. After a long pause, he suddenly broke the quiet. “The Noyans sent their gods into space over a hundred years ago. Can you imagine? A journey through the stars… Years ago, I recklessly approached the night sky. Though I barely survived, that fleeting glimpse of grandeur outshone all the dim lights of the world. Honestly, if I had the chance, I’d love to see it again.”

“The Noyans launched their gods at three percent the speed of light. Given their circumstances, it was probably their only choice. Gods don’t need to eat or breathe, can restlessly endure any journey, and live long enough to face any distance. With limited technology, ‘sending the gods away’ was the most reasonable and feasible plan,” Myrmina said with a hint of awe. “If I had the chance, I’d like to meet the ‘Noyan God’ who embarked on that space voyage. They did something remarkable for their people—traveling alone so far. That’s no easy trip.”

“But if the situation demands it, we’ll do whatever it takes for the sake of all beings,” Amon said softly. “That’s our nature.”

“Whatever it takes…” Myrmina seemed to recall something. “Have you heard about the incident with the God of Holy Light?”

“Of course. We’re both senior advisors to the Divine Authority Council; that kind of intel always reaches us first,” Amon sighed. “I suspected the God of Holy Light might have triggered the Deep Blue Well explosion back then, but I never expected it to be confirmed. Nor did I expect the god to be in such a state now—humanity dead, only a fading divinity running on autopilot.”

“The foundation of Holy Light is ‘protection’ and ‘devotion’—the god’s defining traits. So when an unstoppable disaster loomed, the God of Holy Light would be the first to respond, taking action regardless of cost,” Myrmina pondered. “I’ve been thinking: the Deep Blue Well’s blast saved over half the life on Loren Continent but killed countless Gondorians. The sacrifice was immense. Maybe the impact of that sacrifice shattered the god’s humanity even more than the explosion’s backlash…”

“…The destruction of the god’s ‘human half’ wasn’t just the Deep Blue Well—it might have been the god’s own humanity,” Amon muttered. “Whatever the truth, no one will ever know.”

“Yes, no one will. Even the fall of the God of Holy Light won’t be fully revealed for many years—to prevent people’s reverence from reforming Thought Currents and creating a new Holy Light God,” Myrmina shook her head. “The truth is too sensitive, tied to that explosion seven centuries ago. Public emotions could spiral out of control over the smallest thing. It’s the right call.”

“Who can judge right or wrong…” Amon bowed his head slightly. “But maybe, at least, we should remember that guy—even if he was as stubborn as the God of War.”

Myrmina glanced at him. “Remember? How do you plan to do that?”

“Prepare a bouquet under the golden oak, like mortals do for their memorials,” Amon said softly, rising and heading toward the flowerbeds at the courtyard’s edge. “I think there’s a patch here… hmm?”

He stopped, a puzzled sound escaping him.

He fixed his gaze on a patch of vacant ground bordering the courtyard’s edge—just beyond the reach of the golden oak’s vibrant canopy. There, in the dim light, clusters of unidentifiable flowers quietly bloomed.

From behind him came Mirmirna’s voice: “Did you find something?”

“More ‘weeds’ outside my memory,” Amon said in a low voice. “I’m certain I didn’t plant these.”

…

High in the canopy of the towering Solin tree, at the Starsea Project’s listening center.

Bard Windell, on duty, sat at his station, intently monitoring the “sounds” captured by Solin’s main antenna.

So far today, all he’d recorded were the antenna’s own hum and the usual atmospheric interference—the normal background noise.

The “Noy” people no longer sent continuous call signals around the clock like they used to. Since their last communication, they’d switched to brief message pulses every thirty-plus hours—like a quick check-in, a routine greeting. And now, there was still some time before the next scheduled message.

That distant alien civilization seemed to have taken seriously the Loren Alliance’s initial communication reminder to “keep it brief,” and had since adopted a kind of etiquette in their interstellar transmissions. They were patiently waiting for Loren to reach out again, maintaining their politeness and composure.

Honestly, Bard had developed a certain fondness for this alien race he’d never even met.

Then, suddenly, a low-frequency hum buzzed through his headset. A nearby indicator light flickered—the main antenna had picked up that now-familiar signal.

Bard glanced up at the mechanical clock on the opposite wall. The signal had arrived nearly an hour earlier than the usual “routine greeting.”

A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but it didn’t distract him from his work. Whatever message the Noy had sent this time, as a seasoned listener in the monitoring department, Bard’s job was to ensure every bit of information was recorded accurately and that any important summaries or major developments were promptly reported to his superiors.

The recording device began automatically storing the raw signal captured by the main antenna. The automated compilation system, linked to the central processor, started converting the data into images, projecting them onto the magical display before Bard. Under his control, the nearby printer whirred to life, churning out hard copies of the processed images for departmental circulation and archiving.

Bard worked with practiced ease, listening to the pleasant tones streaming through his headset while scanning the printed documents. His hand idly twirled a pen, but gradually, a look of surprise crept across his face, and his movements slowed to a halt.

The signal from the main antenna kept coming—this wasn’t a brief routine check-in. The Noy had suddenly sent a large volume of information!

(End of chapter)