Whispers of the past echoed through the deserted streets as Jingliu's voice, soft and laden with memories, breathed life into the silence. "It's all the same, just as I remembered it," she murmured, her gaze drifting across the vibrant cityscape. The traditions she and Y/N had labored to resurrect in Xianzhou Luofu—their attempt to kindle the spirit of Cangcheng once more—unfolded before her, haunting in their accuracy yet hollow without the thrum of life.
Bells chimed in the distance, and lanterns cast their festive glow upon the streets, conjuring the illusion of a celebration on the cusp of beginning. Jingliu, standing amidst the spectral revelry, moved with reverence, each step a tribute to the city that tragedy had long ago claimed.
The very fabric of time seemed to bow to her presence, its relentless march pausing in deference to the effects of Finality that clung to her like a second skin. To command such a force was a gift that many would desire, yet few could comprehend its profound implications.
The emotions that had once barricaded her path had transformed, now treasured sensations she knew would soon fade. But with the resolve that had carried her this far, she allowed herself to indulge in the happiness and nostalgia that flooded her senses—a solitary figure amidst the echoes of joyous times.
As she wandered, Jingliu's journey took her to a familiar restaurant, its chairs and tables strewn in disordered repose, as if awaiting patrons long gone. This had been a place belonging to Y/N's aunt, a vibrant hub of community and cuisine. Jingliu studied the façade, etching its details into her memory alongside the recollections it stirred.
Only Adabas, the illusionist without peer, could craft a mirage of such staggering realism. Jingliu knew this was her handiwork, a masterful deception that blurred the lines between memory and reality.
Reflecting on her conversations with Terminus, Jingliu contemplated the Paths of those around her. Each sibling, a Pathstrider in their own right, embodied the principles of their chosen path with unwavering fidelity.
Pluto, with her relentless pursuit, was the embodiment of the Hunt—her twin swords a testament to the unyielding spirit that the Path esteemed.
Holos, steadfast and unbreakable, personified Preservation. His constellation shield was a bastion against despair, a symbol of hope amidst calamity.
Yara, whose intellect shone as brightly as her magical prowess, was the epitome of Erudition. Her strategies and spells wove through the fabric of their lives, as intricate and essential as the threads of fate.
Mono, with her sword that could divide worlds, was a force of Destruction. Her raw power was an unbridled tempest, a declaration of her presence to the cosmos.
Adabas and Seris remained enigmas, their Paths a mystery yet to be unraveled. Jingliu knew that understanding them was a piece of the puzzle she sought to complete, a crucial step in her journey that transcended the boundaries of this spar.
A lone voice resonated with the tranquility of an undisturbed lake. "To stop time itself in this world, truly a feat only you can do, Jingliu," Adabas' voice was a harmonious presence, enveloping the space with its mature, serene cadence.
Jingliu, wrapped in the threads of temporal stasis, contemplated the voice's persistence. Her mastery over time's fabric, though not rivaling Terminus', was substantial, yet Adabas spoke as if untouched by its grip. Jingliu's senses unfurled like the petals of a moonlit bloom, the world around her dissolving into a canvas painted with hues of white and ethereal blue—the colors of her soul's essence, as revealed by the inversion of reality.
This was the domain of Finality, where reality peeled back its layers to unveil truths that skirted the edge of comprehension. Jingliu's perception, unique to her being, transformed the city into a reflection of her inner self—a stark landscape mirroring the depth of her spirit, as per Terminus' cryptic guidance.
But then, a barrier—a cessation of her sensory exploration. Jingliu realized the clever trap: a domain within a domain, shaped by Adabas with Yara's arcane collaboration. She could halt time within but not beyond—her powers contained, yet not constrained.
"Take your time," Adabas coaxed, her voice a reverberation challenging Jingliu's concentration. The invitation was clear: delve deeper into this realm of recollections and self-discovery.
"Why observe from the shadows when you could join the fray?" Jingliu posed the question, casting it into the void like a lure into the depths, seeking to draw Adabas into the light of her inquiry.
Adabas, perhaps enticed or merely indulging in the game, responded with an unexpected softness. "You stand on the brink of ascension, Jingliu. Traverse this realm of your remembrance, fashioned from the memories I've gleaned through Fuli. There is purpose in reflection."
Jingliu absorbed the words, a mixture of satisfaction and curiosity blooming within her. To utilize memories and weave them with illusions—Adabas must tread the Path of Remembrance, or possibly Elation, given the nature of her magic. Jingliu tucked the thought away, her focus returning to the present.
"And after? The trial resumes," Jingliu declared, her statement laden with both inquiry and certainty.
"Indeed, we await the continuation with great anticipation. For now, savor this respite. We are waiting," Adabas affirmed before her presence receded, her voice diminishing into a whisper and then silence, leaving Jingliu to her solitary exploration.
---
Adabas, with a flick of her wrist, dismissed the communication link, severing the connection to the illusory domain that Jingliu navigated. The scene around them was serene, an expanse resembling the dark sea under a night sky, waters so still they mirrored the cosmos above, yet beneath this tranquility, a storm of thoughts brewed.
Seris, her demeanor as calm as the sea, savored her tea, the delicate clinking of a sugar cube dissolving in the warm liquid echoing the softness of the environment. "It now rests in her hands," she mused, her voice a blend of anticipation and resolve, reflecting the still waters that surrounded them.
Yara, standing tall and unwavering next to Seris, made a subtle gesture, erasing any remnants of their digital whisperings to Jingliu. The gentle thud of her halberd against the reflective surface sent ripples dancing across the water, a stark contrast to the strength hidden in the motion. "For one that has transcended the sword and form, her approach to combat remains somewhat predictable," she observed, not as a critique but as a matter-of-fact statement on Jingliu's combat style.
Holos, the embodiment of gentleness despite his towering stature, offered his insight, countering Yara's observation with a soft-spoken defense. "Cut her some slack; this is her moment to demonstrate her capabilities. It's not often she has the chance to showcase her skills on the battlefield, especially after training under Lady Terminus." His words were a shield, protecting Jingliu's honor in her absence.
Mono chimed in, her voice carrying a playful undertone that belied the gravity of her words. "In my view, she's surpassed expectations. She managed to freeze an entire planet with her abilities, setting the stage for my strike." Her declaration stirred the griffon blade resting behind her, its bladed feathers shimmering in response, a silent testament to the potency of their newest member's abilities.
Adabas, ever the observer, remained silent amidst the exchange of opinions, her focus unwavering as she concentrated on maintaining the integrity of her domain. Her silence was a canvas, allowing the others to paint their thoughts and feelings freely.
Seris, with a gentle nod of approval, acknowledged the insights shared by her brethren on Jingliu, their newest member whose fate was entwined with the realms' destiny. Her gaze then shifted towards Pluto, whose figure trembled, not from fear but from sheer anticipation. The jitteriness in her movements, as she nearly juggled her dual blades, betrayed her eagerness.
"Pluto, do you have any thoughts to add to this discussion?" she inquired, her voice commanding yet inviting. At Seris's call, she paused, her excitement momentarily replaced by a hint of disappointment. "To be frank, I had higher expectations," she confessed, her voice trailing off into the silence.
The collective gaze of the siblings turned towards Pluto, the youngest among them, who seemed to diminish under their scrutiny. Yet, she found her voice, "I know she's making breakthroughs, but I hoped to witness more...my apologies for my ramblings," her words, filled with hope and a tinge of disappointment, echoed softly in the realm.
Holos, with a smile as gentle as his nature, approached Pluto. His gesture of ruffling her helmet was akin to a giant comforting a child, a scene that softened the atmosphere. "Your enthusiasm is commendable, sister. Just remember to temper it with patience," he reassured, his voice a balm to her unsettled spirit, grounding her excitement.
Icaria, ever the spirited fire that danced among them, joined in to uplift Pluto's spirits. "Don't worry, Pluto. Knowing Jingliu, we'll get to see a lot more later." Her optimistic words were mirrored by the fiery apparition behind her, both giving a thumbs up, illuminating the realm with a light that sparked conversation and laughter among the siblings.
This light-hearted exchange served as a beacon of unity among them, a reminder of their bond and shared purpose. Seris, witnessing the exchange, allowed a smile to grace her features. Her gaze then drifted to the reflective sea below, where her own eyes met hers in the water's surface, her reflection mirroring the complexity of her thoughts. "I wonder, Jingliu. I wonder if you will find your answers there," she mused, her words a blend of curiosity and hope, encapsulating the anticipation of what was yet to come.
---
Jingliu surveyed the field, a place seared into her memory as the genesis of her journey. The earth beneath her feet bore the scars of countless battles, with sword wounds etched so deeply into the soil that it seemed permanently marred. Trees and logs around her shared these battle scars, their branches sprawled in disarray, the remnants of the woods twisted into crooked, gnarled figures—a testament to symbolic destruction.
With a flick of her foot, Jingliu sent a pebble hurtling towards the nearest tree, its force enough to topple multiple others in its wake. The ensuing sounds of crunching trees and creaking logs filled the air, yet strangely, the expected plumes of dust and smoke did not follow. "This feels too real to be an illusion. What are you, Adabas?" she pondered aloud, her gaze lingering on the aftermath of what should have been a minor disturbance. The trees fell, but the absence of dust and smoke hinted at anomalies within this domain.
Jingliu's experiment continued; a thrown vase shattered upon impact as expected, yet eerily, no sound accompanied its breaking. Doors that should pull pushed open instead, and metal that should clang under her knock sounded unnervingly like plastic. These anomalies led her to question whether the creation of this domain was intentionally flawed or merely incomplete. It seemed designed to disorient, to disrupt her senses in a way that left her feeling disconnected from the environment.
Despite the beauty of the scenery, reminiscent of her memories, the distorted physics and absence of familiar noises only served to alienate her further. She sighed, deciding to temporarily set aside these sensory confusions and focus on her surroundings. As she circled the field, her eyes caught sight of something unexpected in the heart of the woods—a sword, its edges glowing with a mysterious blue light, as if it had appeared out of nowhere.
Approaching the sword with a mixture of reverence and uncertainty, Jingliu was reminded of her master—the man who had set her on the path of the sword. She reached out to touch its hilt, only to find her hand passing through it as if it were made of air. "Of course, you just have to make it much more uncomfortable for me," she muttered, her voice tinged with irritation. Despite repeated attempts, the sword remained intangible, a phantom of her past.
"..."
"I see now."
Jingliu's focus was unwavering. With the essence of her newfound power, she conjured images—vivid, lively images of men and women, of animals and various objects, each a piece to complete the unsettling canvas of this domain.
Her pendant, a crystal prism that hung gracefully around her neck, responded to her intentions, the purple hue transforming into a brilliant azure that matched the clarity of the sky. In her hand, the lightsword materialized, serving as a catalyst for her will. Her other hand pointed skyward, a gesture of command, as she was enshrouded in a luminescent white aura.
The ghostly wisps that danced around her gave life to the images from the recesses of her imagination. The static show before her—a representation of her mind's eye—began to pulse with life. Children appeared, running and playing with the carefree joy of innocence. Adults engaged in the festive traditions of Cangcheng, the cultural performances unfolding around her in a tapestry of motion and color. Chefs worked diligently, and the authentic scents of their creations wafted through the air, grounding her in the memories of her homeland.
The sounds of the domain, once discordant, now harmonized under her direction. The fundamental physics of sound, the frequencies, and vibrations, bent to her will, tuning to the natural order she commanded.
She held the philosophy of life in her hands, restoring the fate of the cosmos and the legacy of its people. The home she yearned for now unfolded around her, yet it was as if she was invisible, a spectral observer in her own conjured world. She stood alone in the center of the bustling streets, unseen by the passing throngs.
If this was the sensation of divinity, it was a role she was preparing to embrace. As acceptance began to settle within her, her gaze fell upon a figure that drew forth a tear—a man whose image had haunted her in the quietest of moments.
"Y/N...?" she whispered, her voice a delicate thread in the fabric of her creation. Unseen tears traced her cheeks as the man before her nodded, an acknowledgment that stirred the pendant to life, its moonlit glow vibrant with recognition.
Fate. The concept that all events unfold from preceding causes, and if desire itself is prompted by such causes outside of our control, then the path laid out before her was one she could not alter. The Void Emperor had named her the 'Fated One.' A title that spoke of the paradox of free will—a person can enact their will, but cannot determine it.
With a solemn nod, Jingliu accepted her title, her fate, and her path forward. It was within this spectral domain, this illusion of her deepest desires, that she found the strength to accept the mantle bestowed upon her. She was the Fated One, the anomaly, the godling—a being of Finality who would shape the cosmos not just with power, but with an understanding of the delicate threads that bind desire, action, and consequence.
And in the silent sanctum of her own making, Jingliu stood still, the chaos of the domain's anomalies swirling around her. She inhaled deeply, feeling the pulse of Terminus's power, the Path of Finality, coursing through her. "Does that make me an Emanator of Finality or something more?" she pondered, her breath fogging in the air as she exhaled, her mind racing with possibilities.
"Godling," the term echoed in her memories, a name bestowed upon her by Terminus at their first encounter. In this world where the miraculous had become etched in history, the title of 'godling' was a mantle worn by many, yet understood by few. She contemplated the significance of such a title in a world where Emanators of old did not share the strange experiences that had become her reality.
Was she an anomaly? The thought lingered as she focused her powers, her aura pooling around her, a lazulite light reminiscent of moonbeams. The ground beneath her feet quivered, and the air itself seemed to cry out, a symphony of space and time contorting in response to her will.
"An anomaly, then," she affirmed, a steely resolve in her voice. If the world saw her as an aberration, then she would embrace that role. With a determination that bordered on defiance, she prepared to break through the veiled ignorance that shrouded the unknown.
She reflected on the finality of prophecies and the nature of righteousness. Prophecies, those enigmatic verses of fate, painted a path for one's destiny, while righteousness mirrored the true state of the world as it ought to be. Her aura surged, a maelstrom of energy that began to warp the very fabric of the domain, molding it into a reflection of her inner world.
A radiant light emerged, enveloping her, an illumination that seemed to swallow the darkness whole. She gazed into it, an acceptance in her eyes as profound as the sea. Her hand outstretched, and the light reached back, caressing her with the tenderness of an angelic being.
Their touch sparked a transformation. The realm around Jingliu responded in kind, the foreign energies within her manifesting into a tangible force. The lingering guilt that once haunted her dissipated like mist at dawn, her spirit unburdened.
In an ethereal realm of her making, where the boundaries between fantasy and reality blur, stands Jingliu, a maiden whose presence is as commanding as it is graceful. The world around her is a grandiose tableau, rich with detail and steeped in a mysterious allure.
At the center of this majestic vista is the maiden herself, clad in a gown of the deepest black, adorned with intricate golden embroidery that glimmers with a life of its own. Her dress flows around her like a midnight cascade, the hem brushing against the white, flower-like forms that carpet the ground. These botanical wonders, resembling both frost and bloom, are dusted with a delicate frost, as if kissed by winter itself.
Her skin is porcelain, a stark contrast to the opulence of her attire, and is graced by the softest glimmer of light, giving her an otherworldly glow. Upon her back, two slender, ornate appendages rest, reminiscent of wings, yet they are made of the same ornate material as the wonders that surround her.
Her hair, a cascade of silken strands, is as white as the driven snow, flowing freely in the tranquil air. It is adorned with a single, elegant accessory, a piece that echoes the design of her dress, marrying her form to the fabric. A stray lock of her hair caresses her face, which is serene, with eyes closed, as if she's in communion with the world around her or lost in a tranquil reverie.
In her left hand, she holds a mysterious object that emits a cold, crystalline light, casting shards of blue and white across her form. Her fingers are delicate yet sure, the object held with a purpose that is as yet unknown. In her right hand, her greatsword stood embedded in the earth, its dark blue blade resonating with the depth of the ocean, its core a moonlit beacon.
The backdrop to this enigmatic scene is no less spectacular. Behind her looms an elaborate structure, a cathedral of sorts, constructed from what seems like bone, wood, or some fantastical amalgamation of both. The columns rise high, reaching towards the heavens, intricate carvings etched into their surface. Winged creatures, grand and menacing, are frozen in this architectural dance, their forms part of the very walls that house this strange court.
Above, the light filters through the gaps in the architecture, a soft yet brilliant luminescence that bathes the entire scene in a divine radiance. This celestial illumination brings with it a quietude, a hallowed ambience that envelops everything.
To the side, the light catches on floating motes, perhaps snow, perhaps something more arcane, each particle aglow with the same ethereal light that pervades this place.
This is a world where time seems to stand still, where every detail tells a story of its own, from the grandeur of the towering edifices to the intimate grace of the maiden at its heart. It is a scene captured not just in space, but in the very essence of the moment, a single, drawn breath in the narrative of an otherworldly realm.
This was her ascension, her path now clear. Jingliu, once a godling in name, had become a sovereign of her own fate. As she stood amidst the transformation, her greatsword a testament to her journey, she knew that this was but the beginning of her true story.
End of Chapter
A/N: Hello, it has been a week since I've published a new chapter. Hopefully you enjoy this one. Like usual, do drop a vote or comment to show your support, thank you!