The crowd immediately erupted, murmuring in low voices. Some instinctively recoiled a few steps, while others, full of disbelief, gripped the weapons in their hands.
However, a shocking scene immediately followed—those who had been considered monsters did not roar or go mad.
They simply walked out of their cages timidly, their eyes filled with confusion and gratitude.
After a few of them stood steady, they bowed to Lady Liriel, thanking her repeatedly in dry but clear voices, saying "Thank you." Even the calmest, one might even say indifferent, elves gradually began to change their expressions.
From tension and suspicion, to hesitation and wavering.
Some wept with emotion, while others quietly glanced towards Liriel.
At that moment, the air seemed to freeze.
An emotion named "hope" quietly spread among everyone, like a spark falling into dry grass, igniting the long-extinguished embers in their hearts.
"Faith saved them." Rielian's voice echoed across the plaza, trembling with the aftermath of disaster and an undeniable conviction. "We did not beg, and this is not charity from the nobles!"
"It is his response! Obsidian's response to the suffering!"
Liriel took over at the opportune moment, the orange-red flame in her palm burning ever more fiercely: "We are no longer desperate outcasts. Obsidian has seen our suffering."
"He will not treat us as pawns, nor will he use our suffering as a stepping stone to glory."
"He answers our questions, shelters our souls, grants us knowledge, and bestows upon us dignity."
"He teaches us resilience in war, to rebuild our homes from ruins, and to seek hope in despair."
Liriel's voice was like a spring breeze, gentle and firm, every word deeply imprinted in the hearts of the elves present.
The crowd began to stir, some instinctively leaning forward.
Sindaiseth, who had remained silent, stepped forward, keeping the crowd behind a safe line.
Liriel lowered her head, her voice gentle yet firm:
"We lost our future in mana addiction because our souls have been without an anchor for too long."
"We crave mana because we once possessed light, but that light has been consumed by hypocrisy and arrogance."
She spoke in an even more sacred tone:
"The God who presides over 'Knowledge' will guide us to recognize the truth of this suffering."
"The God who presides over 'Order' will reshape our broken cities and twisted destinies."
"The God who guards 'War' is not for slaughter, but to allow us to resist the oppressors in those high towers."
"The God who brings 'Light' will dispel the darkness for us and illuminate the path ahead."
"The God who protects 'Protection' will catch every one of our souls that once teetered on the edge of the abyss."
When she spoke the word "every," someone finally knelt on one knee, and others tightly clasped the hands of those beside them.
At this moment, Liriel's voice seemed to echo in a vast temple:
"Obsidian—the Emberglow Dragon, Lord of Knowledge and Order, Wings of War and Protection, Flame Keeper of Light."
"Are you willing to believe and follow him?"
Her declaration stood in the sharpest, most striking contrast to the nobles' endless exploitation.
The light emanating from the Saintess spilled over the plaza, seemingly tangible and substantial, both warm and serene.
The light was not like a distant miracle, but more like a silent yet firm gaze, falling upon every High Elf present—making them feel seen, affirmed, and empowered. This was no longer humble supplication, no longer a plea for pity, but a true choice.
A new possibility lay before them: to break free from the chains of mana addiction, to gain power bestowed by a god, and to embark on a different path.
Liriel's gaze suddenly became intensely fervent, as if the flame in her palm burned deep into her soul!
She abruptly spread her arms, no longer cradling a faint glow, but in a gesture as if embracing the world. The gentle light around her also flared brightly, no longer merely enveloping her, but beginning to spread outwards!
Her voice also ceased to be merely soaring, but took on an irresistible summoning power, resonating deep within the heart of every elf present:
"Right now! Right here! Under the gaze of the divine!"
"Those who wish to become a spark, ignite new life, and end this decaying order—please step forward!"
A brief silence, as if time had frozen at this moment.
Then, Rielian was the first to move.
He strode forward without hesitation, standing beside Liriel, looking up at her, fire burning in his eyes.
Immediately after, several of his closest followers, gritting their teeth, overcoming fear and hesitation, also took a step forward. Their actions were like a spark falling into dry grass, instantly igniting a raging fire.
One, two, five, ten—more and more people broke free from their numbness, their eyes changing from confused to resolute, pushing out of the crowd, silently gathering in the center of the plaza, converging at the light-shrouded core.
Most of them were shabbily dressed, their faces gaunt, but at this moment, their backs were straight.
Watching the silently gathering crowd, Liriel's eyes shimmered with tears of relief and emotion.
She slowly lowered her outstretched arms, but the light emanating from her did not diminish; instead, it became even softer and warmer, covering the entire assembled crowd.
When she spoke again, the fervor in her voice settled, transforming into a deep, inclusive, and sacred ritualistic tone, clearly reaching the ears of every elf:
"Reach out and hold the hand of the person beside you."
With some hesitation, some clumsiness, hands stained with dirt and calloused knuckles reached out, fumbling, then gripping tightly.
A rough circle, formed of past suffering and new hope, slowly took shape in the center of the plaza.
"Repeat after me." Liriel's voice was deep and powerful:
"Flame Keeper, Emberglow Dragon, oh,"
A brief pause.
Rielian's voice was the first to follow, hoarse yet firm, "Flame Keeper, Emberglow Dragon, oh,"
Then several voices hesitantly joined in.
Finally, more voices joined, initially chaotic, then gradually converging into a deep and resilient wave of sound, echoing across the plaza where sunlight and the Saintess's light intertwined, overpowering the wind and, even more so, the inner turmoil:
"Flame Keeper, Emberglow Dragon, oh,
With devout hearts, we pledge our oath:
To be a shield for the weak, to hold light against darkness;
With order as our bone, with battle intent as our blade;
Thirsty for knowledge, ceaseless in teaching.
May your will be done on earth,
Like an unextinguished flame, like a shadow ever-present."
The Saintess taught each line, and they followed immediately, repeating it many times until everyone had memorized the short prayer.
Rielian stood in the crowd, tightly gripping the two trembling hands beside him.
He gazed at the faces, no longer numb under the light, even subtly revealing expressions of joy, listening to the wave of vows, though faint, now free from despair.
He felt the wound in his palm throbbing, the pain so clear, so—real.
An indescribable feeling suddenly struck him: their tragic fate truly seemed to be beginning to change.
No longer helplessly sliding into the abyss, but gaining new life in a blazing inferno.
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