Chapter 893: The Two Ends of the Chain

What exactly does this “god” want?

This was the question weighing most heavily on Gawain’s mind after confirming that the Great Stag Amorn was truly feigning death. It was also the source of his deepest concern.

Clearly, Amorn understood exactly what Gawain was worried about.

“If I were to reappear in the mortal world’s sight, it would surely cause quite a stir…” The deity’s voice carried a faint smile, those immense eyes calmly fixed on Gawain. “What do you think about that?”

“To be honest, I’d rather you didn’t leave this place,” Gawain replied candidly. “Nor do I want you to return to the mortal realm’s view. Even though three thousand years have passed, the Druidic traditions endure. There are still many who dream of religious revival, who would be fascinated by the ‘return of the gods.’ Some might rekindle faith in the nature gods, others might exploit the idea of ancient gods’ return to sow chaos. None of that is something I want to see.”

“Rest assured, neither is it something I desire,” Amorn chuckled softly. “I paid a heavy price to break free from the cycle—not to one day reclaim my divine throne. So, you can relax.”

“I’ll try,” Gawain sighed.

After all, he was dealing with a mysterious and immensely powerful god. Whether he could truly feel at ease wasn’t something he could decide on his own.

His gaze drifted over the colossal, sacred figure before him. The Great Stag was bound by numerous ancient Gondorian restraints—thick chains and rune-inscribed pillars layered to form a barrier that had held for millennia. Scattered among these were faintly glowing fragments of cosmic warships and space station wreckage, imprisoning the god’s entire form. Some shards floated around him; others pierced deep into his flesh and blood.

The sight was grim and terrifying, yet Gawain found it difficult to tell from Amorn’s tone or eyes whether the god was in pain.

“What’s that? You want to help me break these bonds?” Amorn’s voice echoed in his mind. “Ah… they do cause me great trouble, especially those fragments—they keep me utterly immobilized. If you’re willing, you could help remove the less critical but most uncomfortable shards.”

Gawain looked up at the god. “You think I would do that?”

“I don’t think so—any rational person in your position wouldn’t,” Amorn said casually, without a hint of displeasure. “And I advise against it. Your will and body might be strong enough to withstand a god’s power, but those behind you might not be. These ancient, worn barriers can’t contain my full strength.”

Gawain glanced toward the isolation barrier, where Amber, Hetty, and the others stood watching anxiously. He waved to reassure them, then turned back. “I’ll take your advice.”

“That’s best,” Amorn said lightly. “If one day you truly want or need to unleash my power, be sure you’re fully prepared. Don’t be reckless like the first humans who came here—they paid dearly.”

He was referring to the original builders of this rebellious fortress, the mages who arrived during Gondor’s Starfire Age.

“Looks like… you’re ready to keep ‘hibernating’ here,” Gawain exhaled, addressing Amorn. “I’m curious—what are you waiting for? Because from where I stand, your current state, unable to move and forced to feign death, seems… pointless.”

“I’m waiting for something meaningful to happen,” Amorn replied. “For the mortal world to undergo some earth-shaking change. For that miserable cycle to be broken once and for all. I can’t tell you exactly how it will come about, but until that day arrives, I will wait patiently.”

Gawain frowned slightly. “Even after waiting three thousand years?”

Amorn’s tone was calm. “I’ve only just begun.”

“…” Gawain looked at the nature god for a long moment, then shook his head with a smile. “True enough, three thousand years is but a blink of an eye. Very well, you keep waiting here—I suppose I should be going.”

“Farewell—though I cannot rise to see you off.”

“I appreciate your sense of humor,” Gawain said, startled, then laughed. “So gods do joke after all.”

He stepped back two paces, but just as he turned to leave, a thought struck him. He stopped and asked, “One more thing—what exactly is the magical tide? Does its cyclical arrival have anything to do with the gods?”

Amorn was silent for a few seconds, as if pondering, then answered, “In a sense, it’s a terrifying natural phenomenon for mortals… but it is not caused by the gods.”

“I see,” Gawain nodded. “Thank you for your answer.”

Turning away, he walked back toward where he came from. The Great Stag lay quietly among the ancient restraints and cosmic debris, his eyes like forged light fixed on Gawain’s retreating figure. Only when Gawain reached the edge of the rebellious fortress’s main building, standing before the nearly transparent protective barrier, did he glance back. From this distance, Amorn’s massive form was still awe-inspiring, but no longer suffocating like a mountain.

Gawain nodded once and spoke, confident that even at this distance, the “god” would hear him: “You said that one day humans might again fear nature, replacing reason and knowledge with blind reverence and dread, welcoming a new nature god… Are you referring to events like the magical tide, which can cause a civilization’s collapse, the loss of technology and knowledge, and the birth of a new god?”

Amorn’s voice returned in his mind. “That is one possibility. But even if civilization continues to advance, with new technologies and knowledge flowing endlessly, blind reverence can still return. New gods… can be born amid technological progress.”

Gawain fell into brief contemplation, then exhaled thoughtfully. “I understand… It seems such a thing has already happened once in this world.”

He turned and stepped into the shimmering protective barrier. Instantly, Kamail infused the control mechanism with magic, and the energy shield solidified more than before. The mechanical grinding of ancient alloy walls echoed from the corridor’s ceiling and floor as the magical mechanisms slowly sealed the passage once more.

The nature god in the courtyard watched silently until the fortress, built by mortals, was sealed again. Then, Amorn withdrew his gaze, closed his eyes in silence, and returned to his long, meaningful wait.

Gawain rejoined Amber, Hetty, and the others, who immediately surrounded him. Even Veronica, usually the calmest and most composed, couldn’t hide her anxious excitement. She spoke before Amber could: “What happened? Why is the Great Stag Amorn… alive? What did you talk about?”

“This isn’t the place to discuss it, and I’m a bit tired,” Gawain raised a hand to cut off the flood of questions. “Let’s go back first—I have a lot to explain, and it’s complicated.”

…

A voice, soft and tinged with a sigh, drifted down from the high throne, echoing through the great hall: “He refused…”

Melita and Noretta stood at the foot of the grand steps, heads bowed, neither daring to look up or speak, their faces tight with nervous anticipation for further orders from the deity.

Even the most rebellious, bold, and unconventional young dragons were filled with reverence and caution before their race’s patron god.

“Lift your heads, you two young ones,” the golden-haired, floor-length-robed goddess said from her ornate throne, looking down at them with a faint smile. “I am not angry, and you did well—among the younger generation, you are excellent.”

Only then did Melita and Noretta raise their heads. The latter looked up at the goddess with humble respect. “Thank you for your praise…”

The dragon goddess smiled, clearly pleased, and asked casually, “Is the outside world… interesting?”

“Very,” Melita answered quickly. “And the human world has changed a lot in recent years. Though… of course, I haven’t become too obsessed with it…”

She seemed to realize her nervousness and tried to recover, but the goddess’s voice came from above: “No need to be anxious. I never forbade you from experiencing the outside world. Talrond is not a closed place… as long as you don’t wander too far, I won’t mind.”

Melita lowered her head. “Yes, yes…”

“What kind of person is Gawain Cecil?” the goddess asked again. “Besides refusing my invitation, how did he behave?”

“He’s… complicated, hard to read at a glance,” Melita said thoughtfully. “Overall, I think his will is strong, his goals clear, and his vision far ahead among humans. Many facts prove his foresight is mostly correct. As for his behavior beyond refusing your invitation…”

She paused to organize her thoughts. “He remained calm throughout—except for a bit of surprise when he first heard your invitation, he treated it like an ordinary ‘invitation.’ He didn’t show reverence or fear just because it came from a god. And that calmness seemed genuine—my lie detector showed no reaction.”

“The craftiest deceivers can even fool themselves; lie detection spells and devices don’t work on them,” the goddess said lightly. “But I trust your judgment, Melita. That man does seem special—truly neither reverent nor fearful of gods.”

The hall fell silent for a moment before a voice like celestial music said, “That’s enough. You may go rest now.”

They bowed in unison. “Yes, my lady!”

The two young dragons left, and the vast hall was left with only the high goddess, her dragon priests, and a few servants of little consequence.

Enya lounged lazily in her grand, ornate chair, leaning back with one hand propping her face, speaking in a casual tone: “Helagor, those two were so nervous—am I really that intimidating?”

“They only revere you, my lady,” Helagor replied immediately. “You have always been kind and compassionate to the dragon race, especially to the young. They surely know that.”

“Just reverence…”

The Dragon God Enya murmured softly to herself, her eyelids drooping slightly as she lazily gazed toward the far end of the hall with narrowed eyes. Her sight seemed to pierce through the temple walls, beyond the mountain peaks, and across the vast skies of Talrond, finally resting on every dragon living on this land.

She saw a web—countless threads woven together. She saw chains forged from faith, linking every living being on this earth.

Faith was the lock; mortals stood on one side, gods on the other.

“…How dull.”

The deity spoke with a trace of disappointment.

…

“I nearly had a heart attack just now!” Outside the Great Temple, in the plaza, Melita couldn’t help but pat her chest, taking deep, shaky breaths. “I swear my heart was beating out of sync… I really need to get it checked when I get back. I’m pretty sure one of my hearts jumped into the wrong chamber.”

Noretta glanced sideways at her friend. “You shouldn’t be so stingy with your internal implants—Frostworks or Bakbarto’s composite blood-pump hearts aren’t that expensive.”

“No heart could withstand the pressure of facing a god head-on. Besides, those so-called new models aren’t much different technically from the old ones. Adding a few lights and fancy emblems to the casing doesn’t make my heart any stronger.”

“Alright, we shouldn’t be talking so loudly here,” Noretta reminded her. “We’re still within the sacred grounds.”

Melita took a deep breath to calm herself, then stared at Noretta for a long moment. “You don’t get to meet the gods any more often than I do… so why do you look so calm?”

“Maybe you should try inhaling half a dose of ‘Gray’ enhancer before important meetings,” Noretta suggested. “It helps you relax without making you act foolish.”

“I don’t like those flashy enhancers,” Melita shook her head. “I’ll just keep being my young old-fashioned self.”

(End of chapter)