Darkness.
Not a void, but a darkness heavy as lead, viscous as blood, pressing against every inch of perception.
Reyn's consciousness struggled in endless descent. Broken images cut at his mind like sharp shards of glass—γ's resolute, blood-stained face, the destructive radiance of the collapsing flesh membrane core, the agonized fracture of Frost Whisper inch by inch, and Liana's final, heart-wrenching cry...
The agony spread from the depths of his soul, far more piercing than any physical wound. Every attempt to gather his awareness felt like punching in a swamp, futile and exhausting.
He didn't know how much time had passed when a faint, warm current, carrying the bitter-sweet scent of herbs, like the thinnest silver thread, penetrated the darkness, gently winding around his sinking consciousness.
It was Liana's power. Weak, yet unyielding.
This thread of guidance gave him a foothold. He began to struggle upward, resisting the void and pain that threatened to consume him completely.
Little by little, his consciousness surfaced like a drowning man.
Hearing returned first. The crackling of a fire, a low and strange chanting, and… Liana's suppressed, very close breathing.
Then came touch. He was leaning against a rough stone wall (or wooden structure), covered in warm furs. One cold, slightly trembling hand held tightly to his left hand, while the other pressed against his forehead, the faint warmth flowing continuously from it—though meager, it stubbornly sustained the flickering flame of his life.
He struggled to open his eyes, vision blurred for a long while before gradually clarifying.
He was inside a simple hut, shaped like an inverted bowl. The space was small. The walls were embedded with moss that emitted a faint white glow, and the air was filled with herbs, furs, and a faint, incense-like fragrance, barely masking the residual corruption from outside.
Liana knelt in front of him. Her face was pale to the point of shock, lips cracked, eye sockets hollowed, clearly at the brink of exhaustion. Yet she remained fully focused, pouring the last of her strength into his body. Seeing him awaken, her amber eyes instantly erupted with indescribable joy and… a sense of relief.
"…You…finally…" Her voice was hoarse, almost inaudible. Her body went limp, collapsing forward.
Reyn instinctively wanted to reach out to catch her, but found that he couldn't move even a single finger. His entire body felt as if it had been crushed and crudely sewn back together, every cell screaming in protest. All he could do was watch helplessly as she fell at his legs, slipping into a deep unconsciousness.
The hut's curtain was lifted, and Elder Morge entered. He looked even older than before, yet the zeal and reverence in his vertical pupils remained, if anything, even stronger. Seeing Reyn awake, he immediately prostrated himself in respect.
"Great Envoy! You have finally awakened! We thank the Heart of the Forest for your protection!" His common tongue was still awkward, but far smoother than before.
Reyn tried to speak, but only a rasping sound escaped, his throat feeling as if it had been seared by a hot iron.
Morge immediately understood. He brought over a stone bowl containing a milky, fragrant, viscous liquid. "This is 'Calming Juice,' extracted from the Serenity Moss that grows on the Holy Remains—not the Mother… it will alleviate your suffering."
With a careful bone spoon, he fed the liquid into Reyn's mouth. A gentle, cool sensation slid down his throat, spreading quickly, and the tearing pain eased considerably. Though his strength remained nearly empty, he at least regained basic speech ability.
"Liana…" Reyn's voice was rough, like sandpaper scraping.
"The witch lady is merely exhausted and unconscious; she will recover after some rest," Morge quickly explained. "She hasn't slept for three full days and nights to maintain your life."
Three days? Reyn felt a sinking weight in his chest. He looked out through a gap in the hut. The once-thick corrupted mist had thinned considerably, though the unsettling red moonlight was still faintly visible.
"How…is it outside?" he asked with effort.
"Thanks to the Envoy!" Morge's face displayed a complex mixture of sorrow and ecstasy. "'Mother'… no, the source of all that pain has finally been calmed. It no longer suffers, nor does it devour—it has become eternal Holy Remains. Although the tribe has lost the source of their power, we are freed from eternal torment and madness… The children will no longer be devoured, the warriors will not be twisted into monsters… This is a great salvation!"
Salvation? Reyn bitterly smiled. That was no salvation—it was the result of his desperate, destructive act, even at the cost of Frost Whisper. Yet the survivors had clearly interpreted it as a divine miracle.
"That fragment…" Reyn's greatest concern was the information γ had left behind.
Morge immediately took from his chest a small bundle carefully wrapped in soft animal hide and presented it with reverence. "The Envoy's sacred relic is here; we dare not be negligent."
Reyn used his still slightly functional left hand to take it and unwrap the hide. The silver-blue mechanical fragment lay quietly inside, its surface slightly dimmed, but structurally intact. He cautiously extended a thread of his faintest mental energy into it.
Hum…
Familiar memory pulses surged again, but even more fragmented and chaotic. Besides the previous scenes of γ's final moments, there were broken streams of data—extremely complex energy circuit diagrams, coordinate fragments labeled with unknown text, and a few repeatedly appearing keywords, heavily distorted:
[…Cradle… not for creation… but a cage…]
[…Coordinates… Red Moon Eye… Synchronize…]
[…Target… Devour… Primordial Light…]
[…Warning… Do not approach… Core…]
The information remained incomplete, but the direction was clearer! Red Moon Eye? Synchronization? Cage? Devouring the Primordial Light? Each word sent a chill down his spine.
What had γ discovered? What did the Holy Alliance intend to do with the "Cradle"?
At that moment, the fragment trembled slightly, projecting a very blurry real-time image, as if separated by heavy interference.
The image showed a massive cultivation chamber filled with green liquid. Inside floated a curled figure, connected to countless tubes—the silhouette astonishingly similar to Reyn's own. Beside the chamber, a figure in a high-ranking Holy Alliance bishop's robe, face blurred, was adjusting some device. On the device's screen flashed energy circuits similar to those in the fragment, and the energy source indicator read: [Seed of Life Clone·Stability 13%]!
Reyn's heart sank violently.
A clone?! The Holy Alliance wasn't just capturing him—they were attempting to replicate the Seed of Life?!
The image abruptly cut off, and the fragment went completely dark, as if it had exhausted its last bit of energy.
A storm of dread rose in Reyn's heart. The crisis was far from over—it was far larger and more terrifying than he had imagined. The Holy Alliance, the Red Moon, the Cradle trap, the Gravekeepers, the Seed of Life clone… all intertwined into a massive, suffocating web.
"I must restore my strength quickly! I must leave here with the information!"
He looked at the unconscious Liyana, then at the reverently kneeling Morge.
"I need… energy… safe energy," he rasped.
Morge hesitated for a moment, then his expression shifted to realization. "The Envoy requires replenishment of divine power! There is… though the Holy Relic lies dormant, deep within it may remain traces of the purest, untainted 'Primordial Blood'… but…" His face revealed fear. "…the path to the Primordial Blood is twisted by the 'Mother's' previous agony, filled with terrible 'Echoes' and Guardians… we have never dared to venture…"
Echoes? Guardians?
A sharp glint flashed in Reyn's eyes. Dangerous, yes—but opportunity as well.
"Take me to the entrance," he commanded, leaving no room for refusal.
Morge dared not oppose him. Reverently, he helped the nearly immobile Reyn to his feet. Reyn carefully secured γ's fragment and cast a deep glance at the unconscious Liyana.
"Protect her," he instructed Morge.
The elder solemnly vowed, "By the name of our ancestor Kanna, the witch's safety shall be our responsibility."
With the aid of two other strong survivor warriors, Reyn was carried out of the hut.
The scene outside was staggering. The entire sinkhole lay in a terrifying silence. The massive membranous "Holy Relic" lay dormant like a gray mountain, its surface covered with crystallized substances. The surviving villagers knelt outside the hut, their eyes a mix of awe and confusion, all fixed on Reyn. The Red Moon's light filtered through the thin mist, casting an ominous red veil over everything.
They arrived at a massive fissure at the base of the membranous mass. What may once have been a passage entrance was now sealed by twisted, black crystal-like matter, with semi-transparent, wailing Pain Echoes constantly emanating from it. The air was thick with intense psychic corruption and chaotic energy.
"Th-this is it…" Morge stared fearfully into the depths of the fissure. "The Primordial Blood legend lies at the very bottom… but these 'Pain Echoes'…"
Reyn's mechanical right eye scanned the fissure. Danger—extremely high! Yet, deep within the chasm, he could detect a faint yet incredibly pure and massive pulse of life energy.
This might be his only hope for rapid recovery.
He signaled the villagers to set him down and, alone, dragged his nearly collapsing body forward, step by step, resolutely approaching the fissure entrance that radiated infinite pain and madness.
A new challenge awaited—right before his eyes.