Chapter 241 Inscriptum Nihilia Almagest Reversō
After the explosion of light and the last storm shattered the sky of the Forest Labyrinth, the world did not immediately revert to its former state. Silence enveloped everything; there was no cheerful chirping of birds, no gentle breeze, and not even a heartbeat could be felt. Everything was wrapped in a silence as thick as viscous liquid—suffocating and drowning everything around it.
Fitran opened his eyes for the first time. Above him, the sky was still shrouded in thick fog, but the green light that usually hung there had faded, replaced by something far more terrifying—an emptiness that reflected nothing. The fog did not glow or shimmer; it was still and pure, as silent as the darkness of night, deepening the sense of dread.
He wanted to speak, to call out Rinoa's name, but...
There was no sound.
His vocal cords were intact, his throat still moved, but the entire reality around him no longer recognized the concept of sound. He was trapped in a state where sound seemed to have vanished from existence.
Fitran jolted up from his prone position. Around him was a scene of devastation: trees lay in ruins, reduced to charred remnants, the ground peeled away like wounded flesh, and forest flowers had transformed into sharp, glimmering shards of glass. The magic of Arboreus not only attacked the body but also wiped away layers of meaning in the world, rendering everything seemingly pointless.
Amidst the chaos, he spotted Rinoa not far from him, sprawled between two large, broken roots. Her eyes were wide open, yet empty, staring at the lifeless gray sky.
Fitran lifted her body, shaking her gently, calling her name... but no words escaped Rinoa's lips. There was no reply, only a chilling silence.
And there, the impact of Arboreus was most palpable, creating a void that pierced the heart.
Arboreus did not kill directly. Instead, it left its victims in their most tragic form: alive yet hollow, trapped in an abyss of emptiness within their souls.
Rinoa, lying beneath the shattered roots of the tree, slowly began to speak—in a language even Fitran could not comprehend. Like the whispers of children trapped in a harrowing nightmare, fragments of unfamiliar sentences flowed from her lips: