Chapter 1592: A Temporary Solitude

In the fifth year of Cecil, during the final week of the Harvest Moon, Noy and Loren shared their last superluminal communication before the arrival of the magical tide—a final exchange between two civilizations separated by four light-years.

At the moment the great sun of the Solin region reached its zenith, every leader of the Loren Alliance’s nations connected to the communication network’s listening port. Far away, on the other side of the void, the sages and leaders of the Noy people linked into their own data systems.

Representing the two civilizations, the voices came once again from the same figures: on Loren’s side, Gawain; on Noy’s, the enigmatic “Witch” Nova.

For this special occasion, Gawain had even left the city of Cecil to personally arrive at the command center within the towering Solin Great Tree. Here, in this hall that had played a pivotal role throughout history, he would conduct the final dialogue with the Noy people. Though from a practical standpoint, his physical presence made no difference to the communication process, as a mortal, he sought meaning in such symbols.

Inside the Solin command hall, every operator’s station was fully staffed, every control terminal on standby. Flickering runes and magical glows flowed silently along the walls and the conduits of arcane metal overhead. One by one, the magic network terminals hummed to life, linked directly to the central “Mind Hub” pillar standing solemnly in the room’s center. Its alloy shell pulsed with lights, indicating connections to translation arrays, data centers, and other systems.

A solemn, almost sacred silence hung over the vast chamber. Each operator sat with near reverence at their post. Though maintaining a superluminal link required far fewer hands, on this day, their very presence was their duty. Gawain sat calmly on the platform usually occupied by Beltira’s avatar, his gaze fixed on the holographic display before him, watching the numbers flicker and shift.

Beltira stood quietly beside him, her senses extending through the Great Tree’s vast neural network to its crown. She listened to the gentle hum of the massive antenna array swaying in the breeze. Then, after a particular vibration, the familiar, soft tremor of a signal arrived—greetings from four light-years away, right on schedule.

“Received Noy communication signal,” Beltira announced. It was like a switch being flipped. The previously still hall burst into activity: the translation arrays began automatically converting the frequently used data into the common Noy script, recording devices started archiving, and the holographic display before Gawain flickered as clear text appeared: “Noy calling Loren—All is well.”

“Loren acknowledges your call—glad to hear your voice,” Gawain replied softly, a faint smile touching his lips. “This will be our last communication before the magical tide arrives.”

“Yes,” the text paused briefly before continuing, “no matter the outcome, we are grateful to have found friends like you during this long vigil. Noy regards Loren as an eternal ally. Our bond is as close as kin across the starry seas—until time and fate bring our end.”

“Likewise,” Gawain said slowly. “Meeting you has been the greatest blessing since Loren’s birth and growth. Are your preparations complete?”

“We have done all we can—every effort has been made. By Loren’s reckoning, Noy has faced this apocalypse for fourteen centuries. On this final day before its arrival, there is nothing left undone,” the hologram’s characters danced. “We have paused. The sages and elders await the coming challenge with calm and acceptance. For Noy, spear and shield are in hand. Now, we only wait for the enemy to come.”

After a brief pause, the “Witch” Nova’s message resumed: “And you? Friend, how far along are your preparations? When the magical tide strikes Noy, your time will be short as well.”

“We have completed the decryption and injection of the final keys at the data level. The planetary shield is ready for activation. What remains is construction in space—this will finish within one to two months,” Gawain answered steadily. “Once you face the tide, Loren will complete all preparations as planned. Do not worry; everything is on schedule, even slightly ahead.”

“Then, we wish you all the best,” the message refreshed line by line. “Under the protection of the Mind Unity Field, we will await the storm’s end, looking forward to reconnecting once communications resume.”

As the “Witch” Nova had said, all efforts had been made. In recent days, Loren and Noy had completed every data transfer. Two civilizations, unable to physically reach each other, had come together through these superluminal waves. With less than a dozen hours before the magical tide would engulf Noy, there was nothing left to do. Today’s final contact was not to exchange vital technology but to say farewell.

Farewell for the sake of reunion. Goodnight to greet the dawn together.

“Received image data,” Beltira suddenly said. The data processors in the hall sprang to life. Before Gawain, a picture slowly emerged on the holographic display. At first blurry, it soon sharpened. He saw a land he had never known—verdant mountains rolling in the distance, broad rivers flowing from those peaks across plains. A sun much smaller than Loren’s great sun bathed the land in light. Alien cities sparkled like jewels beneath the mountains on the plains.

A line of text appeared beneath the image: “Years from now, you are welcome to visit here.”

“Send them images of the Solin Great Tree,” Gawain said after a moment’s thought, turning to Beltira. “We first greeted them here. Let this be the place where we welcome them.”

After some time, the images finished transmitting. Nova’s reply appeared quickly: “Truly… astonishing! I have heard descriptions of your ‘Solin Great Tree,’ but I never imagined it so magnificent. A whole city beneath its branches is but a corner… Ms. Beltira’s ‘true form’ is this tree, yes?”

“Yes. It is a ‘miracle’ left after withstanding a divine calamity,” Gawain smiled. “One day, we hope you will visit here—Beltira will be waiting.”

“We look forward to that day,” the “Witch” Nova said, then paused. “This concludes the planned communication. However, this channel will remain open until the magical tide’s interference severs superluminal contact.”

“The Loren superluminal array will remain on standby until the link cuts off automatically,” Gawain nodded gently. “Let’s rest a while, Miss Nova.”

“Very well, leader—farewell. I look forward to our next contact.”

…

The sun slowly sank toward the earth. From the crown of the Solin Great Tree, one could see nearly a quarter of the massive sun dipping beneath the layered branches and leaves. Orange-red twilight spread along the treetop’s edge like a fire ignited by the setting sun, flickering across the summit in an ethereal blaze.

Gawain stood atop the tree’s crown, his feet resting on enormous leaves as solid as earth. The towering antenna array behind him whispered softly in the breeze. Even in summer, the air here was cool and refreshing. Among the branches, nameless birds had made their homes. They flew in from afar, then vanished into the shadows between leaves as the sun’s last light faded.

Suddenly, Gawain thought of these birds. For them, the Solin Great Tree was a sanctuary. Before nightfall, these sheltered creatures would return to their nests. But for mortals, no longer mere beasts, nature’s protection alone could not sustain their people or civilization. To survive in this world, they had to build their own refuge with their own hands.

He looked up, searching the darkening sky for stars. But dusk had just arrived, and even the brightest stars were still hidden beneath the sun’s lingering glow.

The rustle of leaves came from nearby. Beltira’s form emerged from a tangle of flowering vines. She walked to Gawain’s side and gazed upward in the same direction. After a long moment, she raised her hand, pointing: “The constellation Frostsky lies that way. Next to its brightest star is where the Noy live. But you can’t see it yet.”

“I know. The sun hasn’t set yet,” Gawain nodded.

Beltira seemed to recall something. “You know, when we first realized our instruments couldn’t get accurate readings because of solar interference, many people began to resent this great sun. Some scholars even cursed it and lamented the future.”

“Not so much the sun itself, but fate’s cruelty—resenting that we live on a moon orbiting a gas giant,” Gawain chuckled. “But what good does that anger do? The sun means no harm. Without it, life on this world wouldn’t exist. The world itself is neither kind nor cruel—it simply is.”

“Everyone knows that, don’t they?” Beltira smiled faintly. “But when faced with overwhelming despair and ruthless darkness, how many can stay as clear-headed as you, without blaming fate’s injustice? It’s only human.”

Gawain smiled but said nothing more.

After all, humanity cannot bear great trials alone. Survival is a chain of endless tests, and failure and temporary collapse are inevitable among mortals. Yet the pride and value of civilization lie here—

Though some fall behind, though some falter or succumb to darkness under pressure, though individuals fail, the collective always strives to endure. Sometimes the world seems mired in mud, people around you seem foolish, life feels dark and light elusive. But from the perspective of the group, over longer spans of time, things are not so bleak.

Those who briefly fell behind have caught up. Those who despaired have recovered. Those who once cursed the sun and fate have never truly abandoned the fight against the apocalypse. Just as the great sun now slowly sinks below the horizon, its setting is part of a natural cycle. Night will cover the land, but the sun will rise again.

In the command hall, the countdown representing the Noiy Magic Tide was steadily approaching its end. Amid the calm hum of the communication channels, the voice of the “Witch” Nova suddenly broke through: “I’m watching your star. It’s so bright.”

Another incarnation of Beltira remained on standby in the hall. Seeing the message, she spoke up, “This is Beltira—I thought you had gone to rest.”

“Ah, Lady Beltira,” Nova replied promptly. “As I said before, witches don’t tire, and I have nothing else to do. When the Magic Tide arrives, this Voyager satellite will shield my mind, but communication with the surface will be temporarily cut off. They’ve sent me plenty to pass the time, but I think… what I enjoy most is studying the countless stars here. I’ll be looking your way often, waiting to hear your voices.”

“I see,” Beltira mused thoughtfully. She glanced at the countdown beside her and added, “By the way, Nova, there’s still a little time left. I want to give you something.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“It’s a poem—the Voyager left it for our planet. I want to give it to you and your people. As civilizations that have both inherited something from the Voyagers, I think it holds meaning for us all.”

Beltira spoke slowly, recalling the brief poem—a message flowing across four light-years of starry seas, a glance back from the Voyagers made 1.8 million years ago—

“…Do not lose yourself in this illusory tranquil night… the darkness will eventually be broken…

“…Do not cling to your warm cradle… the cradle will one day overturn…

“…Do not slumber in the sanctuary of your soul… the sanctuary will sooner or later become an unbreakable shackle…

“Set forth, before the stars begin to twinkle, set forth, before the long night ends…

“Hurry now, or daylight will arrive…”

The equipment in the hall hummed softly. Beltira listened quietly to the “voice” carried by the antenna array. After a moment, a holographic projection appeared before her eyes—a message from across the starry sea: “Thank you. That’s wonderful.”

The countdown reached zero.

At the crown of the towering Solin Tree, the last flicker of twilight finally sank below the horizon. The cloud-like corona rising at the sun’s edge faded into a lingering afterimage on the retina. A tranquil night breeze blew in from the plains, and within it, the towering antenna array gradually fell silent.

Gawain gazed into the darkness before him as Beltira’s voice came through his earpiece: “Communication with Noiy has been lost.”

(It’s almost over, it’s almost over =.=)

(End of chapter)