Chapter 1594 — 6:30
In the sixth year of Cecil’s reign, mounting signs pointed to the core of the magical tide drawing ever closer to the planetary system where the world of Loren orbited.
Over the past month, the great sun that bathed the land had displayed four instances of strange blood-red streaks spreading across its surface. The overwhelming disruptive force of the magical tide began to envelop the high-energy celestial bodies along its spearhead’s path. Within the borders of the Ogure tribe’s territory, the magical tide observation apparatus detected increasingly intense tremors daily. As the signal neared, even the deep blue ley lines running steadily through the planet’s interior began to ripple faintly—though these fluctuations were subtle compared to the glaring optical anomalies on the gas giant’s surface. To Myrmina, who kept a constant watch on the stars, every tremor in the ley lines was like a heartbeat, a harbinger that the final trial was drawing near.
The sun climbed steadily toward its zenith. Around the giant orb, cloud-like formations traced a hazy pattern beyond the atmosphere, resembling a solemn, sacred celestial curtain. The faint wood-grain texture on the sun’s surface shimmered in the light, and within those grain lines, the creeping blood-red veins formed a delicate network like capillaries.
Gawain stood quietly at the edge of the terrace, eyes fixed on the increasingly obvious anomaly in the sky. Those blood-red streaks looked like gaping wounds tearing across the gas giant, the faint seepage of fresh blood a grim omen of the impending apocalypse. Yet his expression was calmer than ever before. Heddy stood beside him, reporting the latest intelligence:
“…As of yesterday, the Skyward Station’s broadcast relay array has completed its ‘closure.’ The final magical obelisk has been installed on the space station’s hull above the equator of the western hemisphere. Nicholas and his engineering team are conducting final connectivity tests on all obelisks to ensure the entire system, its redundant backups, and even the backups of those backups can operate under extreme conditions.
“The Skyward Station itself is currently stable, with full ring energy supply restored. However, due to the inability to bypass the highest-level permissions left by the Pathfinders, the engineering team cannot activate additional functions, and some compartments remain inaccessible. Nicholas reports that, given the risk of secondary outages in certain station modules, he has installed extra magical network nodes between these sections to provide emergency power should the station fail again.
“From the Observer’s chamber, a particularly strong magical tide tremor was detected just after midnight. Preliminary analysis indicates the spearhead of the magical tide has begun to breach the gravitational boundary of ‘O’ and is spreading inward toward our planetary system. The timing of this tremor aligns with prior predictions, leading us to conclude the magical tide will arrive on schedule…”
Gawain listened calmly to Heddy’s report, nodding slightly. His gaze drifted beyond the terrace and the courtyard below, past the edge of the royal district’s plaza, settling on the city across the square. His extraordinary vision allowed him to see the bustling streets, the vehicles weaving through traffic, children running about, and the citizens busy with their daily lives. Though the magical tide loomed near, the world continued to turn as usual. The Homeworld Barrier Project had ensured maximum social stability, and for ordinary people living under its protection, the apocalypse was neither too distant nor too immediate.
At the edge of Pioneer Plaza, the massive public holographic display operated as always. Between looping advertisements and entertainment shorts, official announcements from the Supreme Council were broadcast. Passersby paused before the projection; groups of young people strolled nearby. A food cart selling snacks stood beside the display, where a young couple haggled over the price of sweet cakes. Their child, hand in hand with them, looked up curiously at the flickering images on the giant hologram.
For a child born in this city just a few years ago, such holograms were as natural as cheap, tasty street food, the warmth of a heated home, or new clothes on their back.
The hologram had just finished a playful magical shadow short. Next came images the child couldn’t understand: massive engineering projects—ring-shaped structures on the plains, towering, rugged buildings, and strange constructs encircling the planet. A calm, reassuring voice narrated off-screen:
“Under the leadership of the Alliance’s national leaders and the tireless efforts of frontline technicians and engineers, the main construction of the defense system has been completed. Commissioning will conclude shortly… Observers report the magical tide will arrive above the planet on schedule…
“The protective barrier will activate before the tide’s arrival, allowing citizens to enjoy a global aurora curtain from their homes… Major cities will hold celebrations… Citizens are reminded to stay safe while enjoying the Homeworld Barrier and to avoid stampedes. The barrier will remain active for about a year, becoming an indelible memory for our generation. We have invited experts to explain some of the incredible aspects of the barrier’s construction. Next, Master Kamail will share insights…”
The young child blinked at the screen, clearly less interested in the dry details than the magical shadow shorts. Tugging at their parents’ hands, they asked about the images. The mother gave a helpless smile—explaining the Homeworld Barrier and the magical tide to a child under five was no easy task. In truth, she didn’t fully understand it herself. Despite the constant presence of these topics in neural networks and magical broadcasts, and her husband’s frequent drunken debates with friends about “His Majesty the Emperor’s sacred grand project,” the concepts were still too complex for a child.
The young father chuckled, bending down to ruffle the child’s hair and offering a simple explanation: “It means that on that day, Mom and Dad will take you to the plaza to play, buy lots of treats, and watch what new wonders His Majesty the Emperor has built.”
Satisfied, the child quieted, and the young couple could put aside their worries about explaining the world’s end, continuing their leisurely stroll on this holiday afternoon, heading toward the plaza across the way.
They had no idea whether some of the wealth they had created over the past year had been transformed into a single screw on the Skyward Station or a brick on the Talash Plain. Nor did they understand how the Homeworld Barrier drew computing power and non-directional thought currents from the neural network during operation. Their strength was already being used to resist this apocalypse—they were part of it. But as one among billions of ordinary people, their connection to the end of days ended there.
For others, however, the fate of this world was far more tangible and immediate.
In the eastern Spirit Plains, beneath the towering Solin trees, the ecosystem remained as peaceful and lush as ever. Small wild animals that had spent the winter on the plains emerged from nearby bushes, their mouths stuffed with plump berries, eyes sharp and alert. Birds nesting in the giant branches circled overhead, calling out in a flurry of chirps. Suddenly, a faint tremor from deep underground shattered the calm. The alert creatures scattered in panic, fleeing between bushes and treetops.
Far below the surface, massive vine-like structures contracted and writhed. Thick biological conduits pulsed with nutrient-rich fluids, pumping sustenance into chamber after chamber. In a labyrinth of caves and subterranean corridors, one incarnation of Beltira and the regional governor, Margarita, quietly observed the scene.
A robust chitinous shell and reinforced concrete framework supported the vast underground cavern. Specially cultivated bioluminescent plants illuminated every corner. Along the cavern’s edge, rows of incubation pods were slowly inserted into vine-wrapped “slots.” Once in place, a heavy protective shell rose nearby, securing each pod deep within the vines. At the cavern’s center lay a massive “incubation pool,” a living shell pond filled with a thin biomass solution. Several synthetic brains in hibernation slowly sank into the depths.
Beltira lifted a finger, and the central incubation pool began to submerge gradually underground. Its surface quickly solidified into a strong, transparent protective shell.
Margarita watched silently, the pale yellow liquid’s gentle ripples reflected in her pupils like a shimmering veil.
…
“The Archive Mechanism has completed final calibration. All databases have been transferred to closed operation. Initiating ‘Burial’ protocol.”
Archmage Verania’s voice echoed through the underground hall. As her words fell, a low hum of magical energy and the roar of machinery rose from all around.
Silver Empress Belsethia stood atop a high platform at the hall’s edge, watching elves clad in star-arcane robes and mage’s tunics busily at work. At the hall’s center, a large circular dais adorned with intricate arcane patterns had opened a massive hatch in its middle. Below lay a bottomless shaft, faint glimmers of light swirling within.
Suspended above the hall’s center, the Archive Mechanism—a roughly spherical construct etched with complex runes—slowly descended into the shaft under the control of gravity manipulation systems. This teaching institution, containing the entirety of the Silver Elves’ history, culture, technology, and philosophy, silently embarked on its mission. Belsethia’s gaze rested on its elegant metallic shell, as if she could see a pair of eyes within, watching her in return.
Just as the Archive Mechanism was about to vanish completely into the shaft, Belsethia broke the silence: “Are you watching me?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Mechanism replied in a steady, calm voice.
“…I hope you fulfill your mission,” Belsethia said slowly. “I hope you survive safely until you are awakened again.”
The mechanical orb was silent for a few seconds before responding with a faint tremor in its voice: “From a logical standpoint, the better outcome would be that I do not need to fulfill my mission and that you awaken me yourselves in the near future.”
Belsethia paused, then smiled: “Very well, then we shall meet again soon—good night, Archive Mechanism.”
…
“The worm incubation vessel has reached the designated depth and is commencing release procedures.”
The operator’s voice came from beside him, breaking Helagor’s train of thought. He lifted his head from his reverie and saw the crystal screen above the control panel displaying the submersible’s camera feed—four pairs of mechanical arms deftly moving along the edges of the frame, placing cylindrical metal containers onto the seabed and releasing the locking mechanisms atop each one.
“You just zoned out,” Balogor’s voice sounded nearby. “You rarely do that.”
“Just remembered some things from long ago,” Helagor smiled softly, shaking his head. “It was a very long time ago.”
“Oh? What did you think of?”
“…When we first built the Omega node together,” Helagor began slowly. “Don’t you think it’s similar? Both are pivotal points of fate, both with unpredictable outcomes.”
“I don’t see it that way at all,” Balogor shook his head. “Back then, our situation was far more desperate. Creating the Omega node wasn’t so much a reliable strategy as it was a last-ditch gamble when we had no other choice. But today, we have allies, clear countermeasures, a future worth hoping for. We’ve built defenses, prepared ourselves. We’re not fighting alone, nor are our hopes faint. And these worms… they’re just a contingency plan.”
Helagor listened quietly, then suddenly laughed. “You’re right. Looks like I’m being sentimental.”
On the submersible’s screen, the last metal container finished releasing. As its locking device opened, a nearly imperceptible murky current flowed out—the deep-sea worms carrying the entire recorded history, technology, and culture of Talrond in their DNA had arrived at their new home.
For these naive, simple creatures, the journey from the lab to the ocean depths was nothing short of epic.
Meanwhile, on a distant planet, another “Talrond creation” who had endured an epic voyage was admiring the magnificent sunset along the dawn-dusk boundary through countless sensory terminals.
The orange-yellow sun was slowly sinking toward the horizon, ominous red streaks covering nearly half its surface. Under this strange twilight, everything on the barren plains seemed to be painted with a faint, almost imperceptible dark red hue.
A few “Young Dragon Explorers” — walking machines — emerged from a pile of boulders. They turned their light-sensitive sensors toward the setting sun, then quietly settled at the edge of the plain, waiting for the Omega’s command to enter hibernation.
On the other side of the plain, within the Omega’s nest, various systems were switching one by one to autonomous operation. In the vast server hall, each running server unit gradually shifted into a low hum.
The Omega’s main consciousness felt a growing drowsiness. Slowly, it withdrew its “gaze” from the sunset and focused the remainder of its attention on the newly constructed “ecological dome.”
Everything was thriving.
The server array was about to shut down.
In the haze of sleepiness, it sent one last greeting to the only “friend” back home who could communicate directly with it.
“Friend Gawain, I’m going into hibernation. See you next year. Good night.”
The blazing sun had nearly dipped below the horizon, casting a golden-red glow over the entire city. The bustling streets gradually quieted. Gawain stood silently at the edge of a terrace, receiving the distant greeting.
A faint smile curved his lips. “Good night, Omega. See you next year.”
(End of chapter)