Chapter 258 The Echoes of the First Expedition — Those Who Were Re-Stitched
In the end, the dimensions fell silent, the threads of light that once interwove the heavens and earth released, leaving behind a profound tranquility akin to a silk shroud. Around Fitran and Rinoa, a gentle light flowed like golden and blue mist, drifting slowly as if drawing forth a fresh breath from a world recently liberated from a long period of oppression.
However, even though Thaer'Zhulith was no more, the lingering silence was not the expected silence of victory. Instead, it brimmed with an unsettling disquiet, as if waiting for answers to something yet to be unveiled.
Fitran squinted, attempting to pierce through the fog of stillness. In front of them, the air began to shimmer, as if distorted by the presence of something urgent. The gleam of light morphed into figures that appeared tangible and impressive, emerging from the darkness gradually. They were not wild spirits troubling the landscape, nor were they foreign entities lurking; they were... humans.
They looked young, with radiant faces brimming with enthusiasm. Yet, when their eyes met, a profound light of wisdom emanated from them—an indication that time itself was unsure of how to treat them, holding the unspoken secrets concealed behind their keen gazes.
Rinoa grasped Fitran's hand, tension enveloping the air around them like an invisible shroud. "What is this?"
Fitran understood before any words could clarify, as if unraveling the mystery laid out before them. They were shadows of names long etched in ancient records—names that had long vanished, now returning to the world in an unexpected form.
Eight figures stood encircling them, moving in a silence brimming with intensity, as if waiting for the perfect moment to speak. Among them, one figure stood tall at the front—broad-shouldered and erect, with deep-set eyes that held the wisdom of ages and wounds that time could not explain.
Esgal Mercury.
"The great diplomat. The bearer of Proto-Speech," that voice resonated in their minds, imbuing this extraordinary presence with meaning, like the echo of a secret guarded for centuries.
Beside him stood:
Saria Wenthall — her figure lean and agile, with bright, intelligent eyes shimmering like stars in the night sky, embodying the essence of an ancient linguist able to understand lost languages and preserve the beauty of vanished words.