Chapter 494 Crying Machine Bodies
The air in Narthrador is not merely stagnant—it feels as if it is held back. As if the entire city is holding its breath, unwilling to be seen, unwilling to be remembered. The sound of Fitran and Beelzebub's footsteps becomes the only pulse filling the emptiness of the elongated metal corridor.
After leaving the spiral room where the signs of Deus whisper memories, they traverse a descending staircase made of gear panels. Each step produces a faint resonance, like a note that has lost its ending.
Amidst the shadows hanging in the air, it seems they are traversing a broken timeline, the vibrations from the ancient machines creeping into their souls, igniting a burning curiosity among the ruins of a bygone civilization.
Beelzebub, walking slightly ahead, twitches as if catching a whiff of something new.
"Hmm," she hisses. "Do you smell that, Fitran?"
Fitran nods slowly. "It's not a smell... but a sensation that crawls on the skin. Too subtle to be air. Too heavy to be emotion."
At the end of the corridor, they arrive at a deserted temple room. The space is dome-shaped, with curved iron ribs like the ribs of a giant. In the center, hundreds of automatons stand—not in military formation or battle readiness, but in prayer.
Their metal bodies kneel, hands cupped, heads bowed. In that peace, there is a silent wind that vibrates, like the soft sighs of hearts made of metal, yearning for something they cannot reach. The synergy between the stranded souls and this grand architecture creates an atmosphere tinged with longing.
However, it is not that which makes the space feel unnatural. From their eyes—or the holes where eyes should be—flows a clear liquid that drips onto the floor.
The liquid does not reflect light.
It absorbs it.