The atmosphere beneath the Temple of Mount became deeply silent, evoking a profound sense of anticipation and solitude.
It was not just an ordinary silence—rather, it was a stillness that separated the world from all that is mundane. This hush seemed to act as a veil between the present moment and the unspoken past.
It felt as if the universe was holding its breath, honoring the secrets hidden within the cave; this stillness, infused with the whispers of the wind, carried the scents of dampness and ancient earth, creating an impression that the very ground was inhaling. Each shifting shadow whispered hints of the beings who once traversed this land, instilling a deep reverence for the passage of time and a recognition of this place's timeless significance in the annals of history.
From this condition flowed a gentle breeze, as if the roots were whispering secrets of future potentials, illustrating the intangible connection that Sheena—the mysterious entity—might possess with the ancient energies surrounding them. This connection raises curiosity about her significant role in maintaining the balance between the old and the new, and how her destiny is intertwined with the unfolding narrative of history itself.
Surrounding them, the cave walls were adorned with ancient carvings that depicted legendary creatures—some with broken wings, others with eyes blinded by knowledge—sculpted alongside symbols of magic. Each symbol danced in the soft light, eager to tell its story. These carvings were not mere decorations; they were tales etched by hands long turned to dust, narrating sacrifices, falls, and rebirths that the modern world had nearly forgotten. In the dark corners of the walls, mysterious spiral symbols depicted the unexpected journey of Sheena, a figure regarded both as a savior and a traitor, stirring equal parts of unease and awe among the guardians of history.
As they ventured deeper, time seemed to slow. It felt as if they were no longer just walking through space but also along the paths of the world's memories. The blue-green light from the Void crystals embedded in the walls reflected their shadows, forming silhouettes that resembled the spirits of two explorers daring to challenge history itself. In this phantasmagoric light, faint shadows of beings appeared, visible only to those who were sought—guardians of the Tree of Life, forever bearing witness, as if marking the significance of their journey in creating a new timeline for forgotten history.
"This place is older than all the kingdoms," Rinoa whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and subtle fear. "Older than Gamma... perhaps even older than the very essence of magic itself."
"This is the center of the world's wound," she continued, her voice vibrating with the weight of its meaning, suggesting that decisions made here would have far-reaching consequences, both for the world and for themselves.
Here, the ancient will chooses to be forgotten.
And the new will... must choose between remembering or erasing."
Amidst the silence, the aroma of ancient flowers long extinct in the outside world enveloped them, imparting a profound sense of nostalgia, reminding them of the fragile connection between life and the immeasurable void.
Deep within the cave, they arrived at an open chamber, signaling a crucial part of their journey, a space that seemed to harbor deep and mysterious traces of the past.
Above them, carvings depicted the Tree of Life—mysterious knots intertwining, as if holding the secrets of time and space.
The walls of the room are adorned with intricate ornaments — mystic figures with closed eyes, their lips whispering incantations understood only by those who "remember." Small, delicately carved candles are scattered in the corners, their flames dancing in a soft light that banishes a hint of darkness. The air is filled with the scent of damp earth and ancient resin, deepening the weight of silence that feels like layers of time overlapping, creating an ambiance that bravely remains awake in this stony setting. Each second seems to slow down, weaving a subtle tension, like a fine thread stretched between them.
On the surface of the pillar, Proto-Speech begins to glow softly.
This light is not merely a reflection — it is alive. Ancient letters dance in a shimmering blue-silver glow, like dew frozen by time. They transform in the presence of Fitran and Rinoa, revealing a harmony that cannot be expressed in words, akin to an eternal song resonating from the depths of a forgotten world.
"The meaning of recognizing its heir."
Harut Marut: Keeper of the Ancient Will and the Lessons Forgotten.
(Harut and Marut: Keepers of the ancient will and discarded lessons.)
"They do not come to offer strength; rather, they reveal that true strength lies in the wounds chosen by the will itself."
However, true strength lies in the wounds chosen by the will itself.
It is the wound chosen by the will."
True strength is not magic,
but the acknowledgment of the will that has been wounded.
(True strength is not magic,
but the acknowledgment of the will that has been wounded.)
"We do not fall because of sin,
but because the world rejects the meanings that are not yet ready to be spoken."
Amidst those words, a faint shadow envelops every sound, as if carrying traces from a forgotten era.
Fitran read aloud, his voice low and filled with reverence, as if each word emerged from the depths of his soul.
"They are not the guardians of judgment.
They are the guardians of wounds chosen by the world itself,
holding tales that are almost lost."
In that moment, it felt as though darkness danced at the periphery of vision, whispering gently between the sounds. He sensed the presence of an unseen figure, clutching ancient wisdom and signaling that the path to knowledge would be fraught with mysteries and secrets that could only be navigated through a courageous heart.
Rinoa touched the surface of the pillar. Her skin felt the subtle vibrations akin to the pulse of the world.
"And that wound... now rests in our hands," she murmured with a tone of deep responsibility. "Awaiting to be revealed and understood, each wound may contain a story capable of saving the world or plunging it into darkness."
Within the heartbeat of Rinoa lay the echo of an eternal source of life.
Surrounding them, other stone pillars stood tall, like silent guardians who had transcended human ages. The ornaments on those pillars depicted the fall of ancient cities, the rise of the first magic, and the sacrifices made by those who chose understanding over dominion.
The history of magic is a reflection of human will, manifested in every action and sacrifice..
("The first magic was not created.
It was discovered as a whisper from the living world.")
True power is not meant to dominate, but to understand the wounds of the world..
("Those who wield magic to dominate will bear emptiness.
Those who use it to understand will write meanings that endure,
"Those who wield magic for domination will bear emptiness.
Yet, those who use it for understanding will inscribe meanings that endure—an infinite light of inspiration that pierces the darkness of night, illuminating the path for those brave enough to follow in the footsteps left behind, fostering a legacy of wisdom that transcends time.
Fitran gazed at the ancient pillar for a long time.
The energy radiating from the room was not merely raw power, but knowledge—knowledge that could build or destroy worlds.
Around them, shadows danced on the walls, as if recounting ancient tales from souls trapped in time, inviting them to delve into the meanings behind each fragment.
Above their heads, the roots of the Tree of Life crept down, some already embedding themselves into the stones surrounding the pillar. The faint light from the roots illuminated Rinoa's awed face and Fitran's deeply contemplative eyes.
In the stillness of their crowded hearts, something unseen resonated—a soft echo calling out Sheena's name, flowing through the notes of a long-lost ritual. It was as though something greater was at work behind the curtain of time, wisely observing their every step.
And it was then, from the depths of the Ancient World that had been silent for thousands of years, a heavy and resonant voice began to echo. It was not the voice of a living being, but rather the echo of will itself—an ancient will that had long been buried, now awakened to respond to their presence.
The heartbeat of time felt slower as shadows of the past swept by, revealing the figure of Sheena in astonishing light. In an instant, the realization that every hanging root held untold stories made Fitran and Rinoa feel the essence of all that exists—suspended between the world they knew and the secrets guarded by the Tree of Life.
Ancient World. Beneath the Temple of Mount.
The quiet atmosphere was not merely silent. It was an emptiness that carried a sense of foreboding.
Fitran and Rinoa stood gazing at the pillar that had just whispered forgotten truths. The air felt colder, infused with the scent of earth and ancient roots mingled with something else—a smell of ozone like when a storm is approaching, a sign for them.
The roots of the Tree of Life hanging from the ceiling appeared to quiver slowly, as if they were listening to or even sensing their discussion. Fitran focused on one root that was larger than the others. Veins of glowing green light flickered just beneath its surface, trailing down to the stone floor, then disappearing into previously unnoticed cracks. Within those cracks, a beam of light pulsed gently, resembling a window into ancient memories trapped within.
Rinoa recalled her mother's tales of a woman named Sheena, who shared a deep bond with these roots, as if she were the guardian of knowledge that once flowed abundantly but now faced eternal suffering.
They followed the trail of the roots. Their steps led them to a narrow corridor behind the main pillar. The passage was so cramped that Rinoa had to duck and Fitran had to tilt his body to squeeze through the rocky gap. Despite its tightness, the hallway was adorned with ancient paintings that shimmered under the light of the roots, depicting legendary tales of the battles between life and emptiness, between light and darkness.
As they entered the next room, the atmosphere drastically changed. A gentle breeze flowed through, carrying the scent of damp earth, accompanied by an undetectable rustling sound, as if inviting them to listen to the stories hidden behind the long-silent walls.
Rinoa touched one of the quartz stones with great reverence, aware that each touch could evoke the buried memories within. As she did, bursts of light erupted around her. Images materialized in the air, swirling like a whirlwind. They caught a glimpse of:
— Cities floating in the sky, constructed from light and shadow.
— Figures cloaked in white with glowing eyes, reminiscent of long-gone phantoms, calling forth the truths of the world, bearing witness to the fragile tapestry of existence.
— Giant trees piercing the atmosphere, rooted both in the earth and the sky, serving as a bridge between the seen and the hidden realms.
— And finally, destruction. A fractured sky. A world collapsing into fire and void. Amidst the emptiness, Sheena's whisper echoed, "What are you searching for, Rinoa?"
Rinoa paused, as if hearing the voice of a long-buried past lingering in the spaces between.
"Genesis Era," Fitran whispered.
"An age where magic was first discovered, only to... betray its creator, leading to conflict and uncertainty."
Proto-Speech on the Quartz Stone
Under the circle, the Proto-Speech began to glow, although some of the letters had faded with time: Yet, there was an essence of power in every stroke, hinting at a force greater than mere words.
Pilar yang Mengikat Will and Genesis are Forgotten Memories.
(The pillar binds the old will and Genesis.)
"The Tree of Life is not just a tree."
"It is a fragment of the will of the Genesis Era that fights to survive."
Rinoa took a deep breath. "That is why its roots carry memories, not just mana. Everything left behind by the founders of this world... is kept here."
The room seemed to vibrate with hidden memories, like a river carrying stories from ancient times. The damp earth and wet soil filled the air, reminding one of a presence long gone, but still lingering."
"Within the memories guarded by these roots lies the hidden traces of Sheena, the keeper of forgotten tales. She is like the morning dew that blankets the leaves, marking her presence in every corner of darkness."
A pale blue light gathered in the center of the room, creating a magical atmosphere. From the swirl of light emerged a holographic figure of a young girl with golden hair, dressed in simple white, with an aura of mystery that seeped into their hearts.
"You who have chosen this path, accepting the burdens woven by fate. Each petal of hope reminds us of your existence, oh Sheena, destined to be a part of the Tree of Life."
"If you have found this room, then the ancient will has chosen you."
"I... am a witness to the will of the Tree of Life."
Her face was so clear. The voice felt familiar. Even the way she stood and her gentle expression... Around her, the air vibrated like an unseen flow of energy, as if every word spoken touched another dimension. The fragrant aroma of ever-blooming flowers filled the space, reminding Fitran of forbidden places only spoken of in legends.
Fitran stood frozen.
His blood seemed to stop flowing.
"Sheena...?"
Rinoa turned quickly, her eyes widening. "Sheena... your wife...?" Her voice trembled, echoing through the corridors of time. A gentle breeze rustled, carrying whispers of forgotten pasts, as if urging them to remember something greater than mere memories.
Memory Flash
Images surged into Fitran's mind. Dim light danced at the corners of his eyes, conjuring a ghostly vision of what once was. Threads of fate intertwined at one point, forming a line that stretched between life and other dimensions, where Sheena's story lay hidden within the layers of time.
"It can't be," he muttered. "This... can't be..." Yet, that voice seemed to enchant him, weaving back together a bond that had been severed. Every second flowed like water from an ancient spring, holding secrets that remained unspoken.
But that image was not an ordinary illusion.
The girl's eyes locked onto Fitran's, recognizing him without uttering a name. Within the radiance of her gaze lay the recesses of stories too deeply entwined to be separated, connecting them through the distant light of stars. It was as though she was a thread woven into the fabric of fate that enveloped the Tree of Life, along with eternal hopes and losses.
"I am leaving this message... not to be remembered, but to serve as a valuable lesson for future generations."
"I... hold the secrets of the will of Genesis that should not fall into anyone's hands, knowledge that could change the fate of the world if misused."
In the pauses between those words, a beam of light flickered by, like morning dew resting on ancient leaves. The earthy, fragrant aroma gave the impression that every word of Sheena was etched in time, immortal within the mystery.
Hologram Sheena lifted her hand.
Proto-Speech symbols began to appear in the air, swirling like the orbits of ancient planets.
It was as if each symbol held the voices from a forgotten era, whispering secrets to those willing to listen, each rotation hinting at a journey taken, a journey leading to a truth that kills, challenging them to be wise with every step they take.
"If you have come this far, it means the wounds of the world have reopened."
"You... and the woman beside you..." (she cast a gentle glance at Rinoa) "...are the chosen heirs, even if the world does not want you."
Sheena's voice thickened the atmosphere with an unseen presence, as if the wind whispered from beyond the boundaries of time and space.
Fitran could hardly breathe.
"Sheena... is this merely a trace of your thoughts, or are you still alive...?"
Amidst the shadows of the hologram, her figure grew increasingly faint, creating a tantalizing illusion between reality and mirage. Unspoken questions lingered in his mind, as if the roots of the Tree of Life beckoned him to delve deeper into the mystery.
But before he could ask further, the holographic light quivered violently, as if the very fabric of reality was being challenged by the truths long hidden.
But before he could voice his concerns, the floor blazed with unnatural intensity, fissures forming around them. Something was rising from the depths of the Ancient World.
It was as if the voices of souls trapped in darkness united, flowing to the surface to signal the impending return of long-dormant threats.
The sound of Sheena's voice became distorted, like a cracked recording:
"They... have come...
The Guardians who do not wish for the truth to be revealed.
Fitran... Rinoa... run—"
As those words flowed out, the light seemed to gather its strength, enveloping the surrounding space—a profound warning that the hidden secrets would never remain entirely buried.
The holographic light exploded into shards of stars.
And from the darkness, the echoing voice of another was heard:
"Heirs of the world's wounds... you should not awaken this memory, for the peace and safety of the many souls involved."
From the darkness, silhouettes of ancient beings began to emerge.
Not ordinary monsters.
They are Echoes of the First Betrayal—shadows manifesting the treachery that defined the Genesis Era and the consequences that befell its legacy.
They lack faces, their bodies composed of black mist and shards of shimmering violet crystal, creating a terrifying image that feels like a reminder of the deep roots of treachery.
As if time stood still, the wind whispering layered secrets arose, carrying the scent of eeriness from a forgotten age.
"As darkness creeps in, light also fades," whispered an invisible voice, adding a haunting resonance to the already bleak atmosphere.
"We cannot fight them here and now."
"We cannot fight them here."
"We must get out and discover what the message from Sheena truly means, before we become ensnared in this web of darkness."
However, it felt as though unseen eyes watched their every move, an ancient presence keenly observing, wishing to evade the light of revelation.
But the roots of the Tree of Life behind them begin to stir.
It's as if they don't want them to flee,
forcing them to confront the truth that resides in that room... until the very end.
Like a thread of destiny entangled, the roots twist and turn, creating a deep, melodious harmony, as if the Tree of Life is singing an ancient song filled with sorrow and wisdom.
Amidst the chaos, Sheena's voice echoes once more, soft yet clear:
"Dear, I'm sorry that I have to leave you," resounded Sheena's voice, imbued with sorrow yet wrapped in an ethereal echo of love.
Behind the hologram stands an ancient tomb..... inscribed with the name:
Sheena Iskaryth Melorathen
Below the gravestone, a gentle light shines, indicating that Sheena's soul remains connected to the guardians of history, and her destiny may be greater than they could ever imagine.