Chapter 1507 — Rising

Beneath the brilliant starry sky, a night wind swept across the upper platform of the dim court; the railings and pillars that had once clustered around the Eye of Night whimpered in the wind. As the bonfire flickered, the last two remaining in this ancient kingdom began a new round of their debate—debating who would be the first to feel lonely, debating who would regret that impulsive decision made at the hour the dream awakened, debating whether, after the passage of centuries, this dream-kingdom born of a mistake would still be remembered, whether it could still leave some legend behind in the mortal world...

And at that same moment, far from the mortal world, in the shadow divine realm, a sigh suddenly rose from the boundless gray-white desert. The sigh echoed between heaven and earth, and for a moment the whole sea of sand fell silent. Then the wind of disorder rose again, and drifting sand billowed through the air like mist, clustering around the towering throne that stood amid heaven and earth.

Atop a stone pillar before the throne, a thick black leather-bound tome suddenly opened and closed a little. Wilder gazed up at the figure on the throne, dark as a storm cloud, and his voice came from within the book: "Lady, why did you sigh so suddenly?"

"It's nothing of consequence," the Lady of Night's voice descended from the sky. A pair of amber eyes looked down upon the desert below from within that hazy shadow, "I merely discovered that in that 'kingdom' I inadvertently created out of a dream, there has appeared a fellow with very peculiar tastes... So that was why he was unwilling to 'return.'"

Hearing the Lady of Night speak in her customary languid tone, Wilder was struck dumb for a moment. He checked several times over whether he had misheard, and at last could not help opening his mouth: "Lady, what did you say just now... what kind of tastes?"

"Issue Six, Chapter Four, Article Twelve," the Lady of Night said offhandedly.

Wilder: "...Huh?"

The great adventurer's head was full of question marks (though he no longer had a head to speak of), utterly unable to grasp what this awe-inspiring ancient god was talking about—whether it was his imagination or not, ever since she had last leafed through the contents of his pages, this ancient god had been somewhat odd. It chiefly showed in the strange and outlandish words that occasionally popped out of her, or the bizarre questions she suddenly put to him... He had no idea how to respond at all!

This was quite unlike the old requests to tell stories—storytelling at least had some connection to his professional experience. With some mental effort (though he no longer had a mind either) he could still manage to fabricate something, and the Lady of Night was never picky about the logic or details. But now, when this ancient god every so often threw out exotic words and bizarre questions, he simply had no idea how to follow. To put it dramatically, those things sounded like unnameable whispers welling up from some other world, and sometimes he wondered how those words could possibly have been forced together into a phrase...

Yet the Lady of Night clearly paid no mind to what the great adventurer was agonizing over. She simply leaned back on her throne and mused a while longer, then suddenly asked, out of nowhere: "Mr. Great Adventurer, you're a mage, aren't you?"

"Yes, Lady," Wilder answered at once, secretly relieved that the Lady had finally begun asking normal questions, "Before I became an adventurer, I was first and foremost a reasonably powerful mage. As for the field of magic..."

"Then would you mages fall in love with spirits conjured by magic? Tower spirits, magic puppets, and the like," the Lady of Night's voice descended from the sky, "Or fall in love with a phantom of the opposite sex in a magic mirror or on parchment..."

Wilder immediately felt he had rejoiced too soon—the Lady of Night's strange symptoms were only growing worse!

The great adventurer was somewhat conflicted, and only after a long while of arranging his words did he manage to speak with difficulty: "This... I don't know what impression you have of 'mages' as a group. It's true that many among us are considered eccentric by others for being too absorbed in magical research, and there certainly are casters whose minds have been impaired by the aftereffects of spell experiments. But on the whole, our group's orientation toward the opposite sex is still normal. At the very least, I would never harbor any improper thoughts about a phantom on parchment or in a magic mirror..."

Having said all this, Wilder felt a little awkward. He did not know whether his answer had satisfied the Lady of Night, and he waited a full several seconds before he heard her voice come from above: "Then it seems your purity is still insufficient, Mr. Great Adventurer."

Wilder was utterly baffled: "Pu... Purity? Lady, I don't quite understand..."

"Issue Five, Chapter Three, Article Four."

Wilder: "...Huh?"

"No, never mind," the voice from the throne seemed somewhat hesitant, "I merely realized something suddenly—that I seem to have underestimated the influence of the information transmitted from 'that side' after the 'anchor' was established. But it's nothing of consequence. It was always a part of me; now it is merely flowing back. Rather than all this... it seems I ought to attend to some proper business."

As the last words fell, upon that towering throne, the figure dark as a storm cloud slowly raised its head. The Lady of Night rose from the throne, one hand taking up the black-and-white scepter that had rested beside it, the other reaching far off toward the distant sand and dust.

In an instant, a grand storm swept up across the desert. An immeasurable quantity of gray-white sand formed a vortex of astonishing scale in the air, and then the vortex gradually tilted, adjusting itself into a gigantic rift standing vertical above the desert, like a passageway!

Wilder had meant to ask the Lady of Night a little more about this "flowing back" she had spoken of, but in that moment he was abruptly startled. Then he came to himself, and while watching the commotion of that vortex in the desert, he asked: "You are finally about to... begin?"

"The anchor generator needed a little time to reset its mode. Fortunately, the things the Voyager left behind are not so easily damaged," the Lady of Night said offhandedly. And in the desert before the throne, the rift formed of shadow and sand was gradually taking shape, reflecting the scene of some distant kingdom—amid violently wavering, blurred light and shadow, one could vaguely make out fertile fields, a clear great river, and gardens beneath a vaulted sky on the far side, "And I must also thank certain little creatures for their activities in the Skyvault Station, and the mortals for their efforts in the mortal world to 'loosen' the mind-brand. This preparation has gone more smoothly than expected."

As she spoke, the Lady of Night lifted the scepter in her hand. She slowly stepped down from the throne, walking toward the distant rift where light and shadow flickered, and behind her, upon the surface of that towering throne, countless arcane and intricate patterns were gradually lighting up, swiftly connecting into a single whole.

Those were precisely the totem patterns engraved upon the surface of the "anchor generator" deep within the Skyvault Station!

(End of this chapter)