Leir has always been special. As one who excelled in countless fields, he had long been captivated by one persistent question: "What heights could I reach if I were graced with magic?"
He had pondered it at every dawn, in a forest near his hometown, perched atop a towering Coast Redwood, while a flock gathered quietly beneath its vast roots, as he awaited an answer in the sun's gentle rise—yet none ever came.
And so, he found himself in the cave that night. The strangeness before him demanded understanding, and he confronted it with the precision and insight that set him apart from the rest.
"You, right there!" Leir's finger jabbed at the non-mage who had drawn his vigilant attention, immediately drawing the group's focus.
"You've been acting strangely since we entered this cave—not to mention your deliberate attempts to isolate yourself. What are you hiding?" Leir pressed.
Cornered and flustered, the mysterious figure backed away, stuttering in confusion.
"Please, we mean no trouble!" he finally spoke.
Though all heard the words, Leir discerned something subtle in the tone, a hint that sparked his next thought: "This voice… a child? And what does he mean by 'we'?"
Unlike Leir, Levor and his partners in crime had no patience for such analysis. They were artisans of brute force, skipping reason for raw, unquestioned strength.
"Enough with the hide-and-seek!" Levor exclaimed, a teasing smirk on his face, as Manir and June yanked off the cloak. The sloth mask fell, revealing the identity of the only non-mage still unknown to them.
What was revealed left everyone stunned and confused.
"Children!!?" they exclaimed.
Fraternal twins, no more than fifteen, had reached the cave by taking turns riding on each other's shoulders, each exchange excused under the guise of natural obligations, though it was nothing more than a way to mitigate the strain of their journey. Their clever deception had gone unnoticed—until now.
A clever ruse Damian had clearly uncovered but chose not to expose for his own reasons. The twins had used the name "Slothoven" to present themselves as a single figure. But their true names were Eliane and Eliakim Owlfyn.
"What are you brats doing here? This is no playground!" Levor snapped.
"We are not brats! We have our reasons! Blame yourself for not noticing our trick sooner!" Eliane shot back, sticking out her tongue to taunt him.
"What did you just say!? I'll correct you properly where your parents clearly failed!" Levor growled, stepping forward.
"Calm down, sis, you'll get us in trouble!" Eliakim whispered, ever wary of conflict, holding her back.
But once again, Haltor's voice cut through the tension. "Restrain yourself. They are just children."
"Children? They snuck into the cave unnoticed, and spoke back to me, their elder? And you call them 'just children'? No—they must be punished when they falter!" Levor roared, but Haltor remained composed.
"I could explain why you must restrain yourselves, but it would be pointless. You harbour a storm too wrathful to be tamed. No matter what is said, nothing will quell it. I only ask that you calm down—we have a goal to achieve. They may be children, but here, they share the same objective as us. Let us move forward together and solve this mystery."
Haltor lowered his head slightly, his words steadying the group.
Taro Maro and Sigrid exchanged quiet smiles at Haltor's composed leadership. Levor and his followers simmered down, their fury grudgingly restrained, while the others instinctively turned to Haltor for guidance.
Victoria, meanwhile, remained silent, her calmness not just a product of injury or frailty but of focus; her gaze was fixed on Haltor, recognising in his demeanour a fleeting echo of the late Lord Hand.
They all gathered around the enigmatic door, its dark-green marble etched with histories and symbols, desperate to decipher its secrets.
"Where do we even start?" Mathurin asked, coughing between words.
"The language is the first key," Leir noted, leaning in to study the carvings carefully.
"Don't defile its beauty," Ezabel whispered, kneeling before what she considered a divine masterpiece, imploring her companions to treat it with reverence.
"What a fool," Manir muttered to himself.
As they all struggled with the ancient script, a soft voice broke through, tinged with hope.
"I can read it," Victoria said, Sigrid steadying her as she spoke, her hands still cradling her neck to support her as she walked.
"She can read it?" Levor thought, disbelief flashing across his features.
"Judging by appearances is truly a sin," Leir mused inwardly. The most unassuming among them now held the solution to a puzzle none of them could solve. A quiet surprise settled over them all.
"This is… a combination of Roman and Greek," Victoria explained.
"What are those languages and how do you understand them?" Haltor asked, astonishment plain in his voice.
"It doesn't matter. Just focus on the obstacle. I need space," Victoria added, her tone soft.
The others instinctively stepped back, granting her the room she demanded.
"Can she really read those inscriptions?" Sigrid wondered silently.
Victoria studied the ruins carefully, methodically tracing the intertwined Roman and Greek scripts. Then, with a clarity that surprised everyone, she spoke:
"I see… it's a tale."
"A tale!?" Taro Maro exclaimed, confused.
"Yes, a tale," Victoria confirmed. "The three statues around it form an enigma. To solve it, we must understand the hidden meaning woven into these ruins. I will recount the tale—listen and examine it carefully."
"Alright, go on," Haltor encouraged.
Victoria began, her voice aligning with the rhythm of the tale.
"Utopia was once the paradise of the most reverenced deities, who graced the cosmos with their magnificent presence. Yet misunderstanding gave birth to a rift, and from it arose the doom of the gods. All fell… except the guardian of the most precious concept of existence: love. I, Eros, shaped Utopia as a haven for the persecuted and the broken."
The group listened intently, trying to grasp the tale's layers, though Levor, Manir, and June shifted with boredom—a predictable blend of sinew without wit. Undeterred, Victoria continued:
"Under my guidance, millennia passed peacefully, love and joy were the essence of all lifeforms. Until my sanctuary was defiled. Those who were unique in composition, masters of magic yet detached from the ideology sustaining our world, claimed our lands through sheer barbarity. For seven days and nights, I fought them, loathing them yet respecting their might. All my mana, spells, and divine illumination I wielded for the sake of my children. My challengers—neither mortal nor divine—were the embodiment of unfathomable chaos. Not even I, the primordial force, could tame them.
Now Utopia is theirs, for I have fallen. Challenge the heights, and death shall be your portion. Dare the beast, and wrath and desolation shall be your reward. Defy the honoured one, and misery and torment shall be your oath. Here, uneasy I rest, my godhood wanes, praise I lack, offerings I need, grace I bestow."
The air grew thick with tension, the tale pressing upon every listener, a growing certainty that only by unravelling the enigma before them could the gate be opened.
"That's the end of it. I've done my part," Victoria concluded, her voice measured, subtly signalling the careful rationing of her remaining strength.
Sigrid, still supporting her, could only marvel at the fallen princess's composure.
"Even at her limit, she stays sharp. Where does she draw such mental fortitude? She's incredible," Sigrid thought, a soft smile of admiration forming—an emotion tinged with envy for the resilience she herself lacked.
"I'll leave this to the youth; I'm too old for it," Taro Maro said with a gentle sigh.
"You only claim old age when it suits you!" the others thought in unison, exchanging frustrated yet amused glances at him. Taro Maro had relaxed on a rock, plainly admitting his inability to decipher the ruins. At least he was honest about it.
"Let him be!" Leir interjected. "His honesty saves us time. Here's what I've grasped from the tale, plain and simple: it's largely a historical account from the goddess of love's perspective. There's no direct riddle in her words—what matters is the nuance, which points to the real enigma."
"The real enigma?" the group asked, intrigued.
"Yes. The true puzzle lies in the three statues and their unusual display," Leir explained.
"What made you reach that conclusion?" Mathurin added, coughing slightly.
"Be more explicit," Haltor pressed.
"It's simple. In the tale, the goddess faced three distinct opponents," Leir said calmly.
"Three opponents? Where was that mentioned?" Eliane demanded, her small yet piercing voice driven by curiosity.
"Don't shout, sis," Eliakim murmured to his twin.
"I'm just asking!" she shot back.
Levor, pride swelling, smirked alongside Manir and June. "I hate to admit it, but the brat is right. I didn't even catch the number three while listening to that wretch read," he sneered at Victoria.
But she paid no mind. Sigrid shifted uneasily at the insult, and even Haltor's brows furrowed—but he let it pass, eager to focus on solving the enigma before them.
"Even though the number three wasn't explicitly stated, it was implied," Leir explained. "At the end of the tale, the goddess gives three precise warnings: Challenge the heights, and death shall be your portion. Dare the beast, and wrath and desolation shall be your reward. Defy the honoured one, and misery and torment shall be your oath."
"Each clearly refers to a distinct entity—the so-called triad of chaos who defeated her—three warnings, three statues—everything aligns.
"Now, the only task left is to determine which warning corresponds to which statue," he concluded.
"Amazing… he understood all of this after hearing the tale once, he's one of a kind!" Sigrid thought, quietly impressed by his brilliance.
"Wow, you're a genius!" Eliane and Eliakim exclaimed in unison, utterly flabbergasted.
"The lad is sharp," Taro Maro thought, smiling.
"Impressive," Mathurin added, coughing lightly.
Ezabel, meanwhile, was lost in her own admiration. "The unsightly girl can read the ruins, yes—but he interprets the beauty concealed within them. Unique… fated, perhaps, for someone like me to bond with. Elegant, composed, tall, physically striking… what a beautiful soul. Am I even worthy of him?" Her blush deepened, eyes rolling slightly in a mixture of ecstasy and awe as she hugged herself, intoxicated by her private fantasies.
In stark contrast, Levor and his comrades felt their egos pricked—the attention and praise had fallen upon Leir, not them.
Haltor, however, remained unmoved. Glory in the limelight had never been his pursuit, nor was he the type to proclaim victory before certainty was secured. His heart, guided by temperance and restraint, reminded him that the enigma remained unsolved.
"Why praise an artist for an unfinished work?" he thought, eyes fixed on the statues.
"Now, let's focus on these three statues, just as you pointed out, and hasten our steps toward our goal. Full moons are rare for a reason—they don't last forever!" Haltor declared, his voice imbued with resolve.