Chapter 244 Arx Nihil — Memoria’s Call
Fifth morning: a thin, silver mist envelops the large stones at the foot of the hill, creating an illusion of another world that captivates the senses. The sky gently transitions from bright blue to soothing shades of purple, still not fully illuminated, but the golden light tenderly spreads, painting the horizon as if inviting thousands of stars to awaken from their slumber. Before them stands the Great Gate, majestic and mysterious, softly glowing under the warm morning light.
The brass gate, fifty millimeters thick, towers high, resembling a giant jaw locked in silence for thousands of years. Meticulously carved, the depiction of the Tree of Life showcases its branches spiraling in every direction, creating an illusion of graceful arms reaching for the sky. In every crack, thousands of ancient glyphs sparkle, as if whispering secrets to anyone brave enough to approach.
Fitran and Rinoa stand in deep silence, surrounded by an almost tangible magical aura, as if time slows around them. They are not in a hurry—not due to doubt—but because they sense the profound awareness of what lies beyond this gate: not merely a passage to Gamma, but a living reminder of all that the world has forgotten—an oblivion embedded in the faded fragments of history.
"This gate will not open for just any magic," Rinoa spoke softly, her voice calm and gentle as she touched one of the softly glowing glyphs, the light dancing around her fingers like a warm embrace. "It asks for something not from your hands, but from your very being."
Fitran gazed deeply into the carvings that seemed to move, radiating ancient wisdom. In a steady tone, he replied, "It demands the truth."
Rinoa nodded, her eyes sparkling in the silence, filled with meaning—as if summarizing the thousands of secrets held in the depths of their hearts.
At that moment, Fitran stepped forward, his stride filled with confidence and courage, as if challenging the darkness that loomed over them.
His hand was raised, holding neither a gleaming sword nor weaving elemental spells in the air. Even without tools, only driven by a burning desire, he emanated a sacred aura that enveloped the surroundings.
Yet, from the depths of his soul—deeper than memory or wounds—he called upon the Voidwright, a summons that pulsed slowly, as if merging with the heartbeat of the earth, awakening the ancient power that lay dormant.