After we landed in that seemingly bottomless chasm, a soft, golden light, like an afternoon sky, emanated from the smooth ceiling, bathing everything in a shadowless glow.
Beneath this eternal radiance stretched an endless ocean of flowers. Carpets of blue forget-me-nots, spikes of purple and saffron lupins, vibrant roses, morning glories twining around dwarf trees. The air was heavy with mingled scents of earth and nectar.
Through this profusion, a path of white stone traced a clean line. It led to the center, where the Tomb stood.
It rested on a platform, surrounded by twelve pillars of white marble. They were entirely covered in flowering vines and creepers—purple wisteria, honeysuckle, red roses—forming a living architecture. Between these pillars, one could glimpse the smooth, simple stone of the cenotaph, caressed by the light and the dancing shadows of petals.
A peaceful silence reigned, broken only by the buzzing of insects and the distant murmur of a spring. This was the resting place of a god of growth and light, asleep at the very heart of her immortal garden.
"Stunning!!" Karla breathed, her words evasive, completely awestruck by the almost divine beauty of this mysterious, seemingly infinite room. And she wasn't the only one; we were all terribly overcome by a feeling of joy and nostalgia.
The very air seemed to bless and heal us little by little; it was truly wonderful. Even Raysley, who couldn't witness this visual spectacle, could feel this pleasant, benevolent atmosphere despite her blindness.
"Is this where your mistress rests?" Hiyro asked, his voice lively and buoyed by the atmosphere.
"Yes! That's the place," Senerith retorted, pointing a finger at the sculpted white stone tomb.
???:"I'm sorry for you! But there is nothing more to hope for in this place."
An unknown masculine voice pierced our ears, putting us on alert. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once; even turning around repeatedly, we saw nothing concrete. Yet the voice continued to speak.
???:"Is it me you're looking for?! That's kind! I haven't had this much attention in so long."
Senerith: "Who are you!? And how did you get into this sanctuary?!"
In my direction, I saw something appear.
In the shade of an old flowering apple tree, a small light-wood tea table seemed part of the landscape. On its polished surface, an earthenware teapot, two immaculate cups, and an open book rested in peaceful disarray.
Sitting on a simple garden chair, a young man was absorbed in his reading. His black hair, slightly curly, captured the light filtering through the branches. His warm complexion, evoking sun and earth, contrasted softly with the pallor of the pages beneath his slender fingers.
When he lifted his eyes to ponder, they were two tranquil golden nuggets shining with an inner light. They seemed to have seen and understood everything, yet without arrogance. A simple, attentive curiosity dwelled within them, as if he were still learning from the world by watching it.
His posture was devoid of stiffness. Leaning slightly forward, elbow on the table, he turned the pages with respectful slowness. Sometimes, a slight, barely sketched smile hovered on his lips as he discovered a passage, like a secret shared between him and the author.
He did not have the air of one who knows, but of one who listens. Wisdom in him seemed a silent companion rather than a trophy. Between sips of tea, whose steam danced in the fresh air, he returned to his book with the same humility one would use to listen to an old friend. And in that garden, under that tree, he formed with his tea table an island of calm and peaceful knowledge, expecting no tribute, only the next chapter.
"Well hello, dear travelers, dear knights of the Kingdom of Altrys, and you, my dear Senerith. I am the god of wisdom, Ethilos, pleased to make your acquaintance."
It was almost unbelievable but true. A god stood before us. Even trying to convince ourselves it was a joke was impossible. The Presence spread, gentle and total like the caress of an ocean. The air became charged with a peace so vast it annulled all defiance. Faced with it, human will found itself emptied, not by force, but by its own sudden, evident nothingness.
Every word, every thought was extinguished before it could form. The very idea of speaking without being invited was an absurdity, a gentle impossibility. The mind could only conceive of waiting and listening. One spoke only if the silence, in turn, asked a question.
It was absolute humility, not chosen, but simply observed. The Presence did not demand submission; it rendered any other posture inconceivable. One stood there, content to be merely a silent witness, until a tiny sign, a pressure in the light or in the calm, finally granted permission to exist enough to whisper a reply.
Ethilos: "Well then! You all seem tense! Don't trouble yourselves. I know you must have many questions."
At his words, we seemed to regain the use of speech. The pressure felt less intense and more bearable.
Senerith: "What do you mean by 'there's nothing more to seek here'?"
Ethilos: "My dear Senerith, dress yourself properly, for goodness' sake. You cannot wear simple rags. It's most indecent." He simply snapped his fingers.
The snap of his fingers was sharp, crisp, like a splinter of wood in the silence.
For the one who received it, the sensation was instantaneous and total. A shiver ran from the nape of her neck to her ankles—not of cold, but of change. The air around her became palpable, pressing gently against her skin like an invisible, expert hand.
Then, the fabric was born from nothingness. It did not appear as a whole but wove itself into being in a breath, following the lines of her body like a second skin that had awaited its time. A black silk, deep as the space between moonless nights, enveloped her shoulders, cool and liquid. It hugged her waist in a fluid motion, cinching slightly into a perfect seam before flowing into a full skirt that fell all at once, heavy and supple.
The sleeves, long and fitted, slid along her arms. A satin black lace, fine as a stroke of ink, appeared at her back and tied itself, gently pulling the ensemble into a structured, elegant silhouette. The final details fixed themselves: a discreet collar, a perfect hem grazing the floor, a slight drape at the bust adding a hint of volume.
It all took less than three seconds. The fabric was now there, real, bearing the weight of shadows and elegance. The newly clad person lifted astonished eyes, looking at the black dress that was now hers, feeling against her skin the soft whisper of magic become silk and form. She had not moved. She had simply become, with a snap of fingers from elsewhere, a creature of shadow and stars.
Ethilos: "Perfect. You are much more presentable like that."
It seemed unreal. Creating such a refined and detailed material from nothing was simply impossible, yet none of us were dreaming.
Estris: "That's... that's not possible. How did he do that?"
Hiyro: "So he really is a God!?"
Ethilos: "Of course!" he said, smiling slightly and closing his book before snapping his fingers once more.
The snap of his fingers resonated, clear and light. A wave of tranquil force enveloped the group.
The magic worked in a breath. The dented and lacerated armor reconstituted itself, plates realigning, tears closing. Torn fabrics renewed, fibers interweaving anew. Scratches and superficial cuts healed over, leaving behind healthy skin.
Weapons regained their lost edge, dull blades suddenly shining with a perfect sharpness. The layer of dust and dark blood covering them peeled off and fell in a fine rain of ash.
Within seconds, everything was repaired, cleaned, healed. A spark of regained strength passed into their eyes.
Moving our limbs, we found we had regained all our mobility.
Even Hiyro, whose eardrums had been perforated, seemed to hear better than before. As for me, the quantity of miasma remaining in my body had vanished; I felt I could breathe again.
Karla: "You say you are a God, is that it?"
Ethilos: "Yes, but I have nothing to prove. What I did for you was out of pure kindness. Whether you believe me or not changes nothing about what I said at the beginning." With these words, he returned to his reading.
Nico: "Can you answer then? What did you mean at the beginning?!"
Ethilos: "Go ahead and open the tomb. It's better to see than to hear long-winded explanations..."
Senerith: "I will never allow the resting place of Lady Gilliin to be profaned!" She turned towards us with a fierce look, as if to warn us not to attempt anything.
Ethilos, with his usual calm, did not force the issue and merely placed a few words with all subtlety, yet with an inhuman viscosity and coldness.
"If only there were anything left."
His words alone succeeded in collapsing Senerith with fear. Her gaze was full of terror and incomprehension.
"Wh... What did you just say!?"
Ethilos: "Just do as I have asked, and we can move on to the questions. Otherwise, it's not worth the trouble."
I approached Senerith to try to calm her.
"You know, you're not obligated to..."
"I know... But... Despite everything, I can feel it. I feel something terrible has happened..."
She turned away, tears in her eyes. It was the look of someone watching their world crumble.
"So even if it may be painful, I... I will do it."
She wiped her tears and fixed a piercing glare at the God standing before us, disregarding his overwhelming power. If he wanted, he could have killed us, but facing him in this manner required immense audacity and courage.