“I’m not sure if this letter will disappoint you, Professor. Uh… I hope not.
“Anyway, I’ll sneak the bad news to the very front: I couldn’t find the painter you mentioned, nor could I find out his name.
“…The bad news is over! Let’s move on to some good news.
“I did find one or two acquaintances who had seen this painter before at the fine arts academy I attend. It was last summer; they said the painter came to the academy for an apprenticeship and worked as a part-time teacher during the rain holiday for a while.
“I didn’t know about this because I went home after the rain holiday started. These acquaintances stayed at the school for a bit due to various reasons, which is why they knew of the painter’s existence.
“They only saw the man from a distance, and he perfectly matched your description—gold-rimmed glasses, a thin build, always carrying a drawing board on his back. I asked them to ask around for related information.
“Unfortunately, not many students attended this painter’s classes at the time, and since it was a summer rain holiday course, those who signed up were from outside the school, so we couldn’t track down the relevant students either.
“I thought about trying my luck with the school’s administrative teachers, but the teachers said last year’s records couldn’t be found anymore. That really frustrated me for a while.
“I didn’t want to just give you such a simple reply, so I interrogated the few people who had seen the painter again. Finally, one of them actually provided a piece of information that should be useful.
“He said he had also seen the painter outside the school—he wasn’t too sure at first if it was really him, but under my pressing, he still spoke up about it—he saw him near Atherton Square.
“At the time, he saw the painter hurriedly following the footsteps of a young man. He said he was thinking back then, is this stalking? However, he voiced this guess in a joking tone; I’m afraid he didn’t quite believe it himself.
“But, I think it’s necessary to mention this to you, because… he might have actually been stalking him. Don’t you think a painter sketching in Atherton Square is very inconspicuous?
“He could wait there for his target to appear, minding his own business sketching—no one would pay attention to a sketching painter—and then he could follow the target. No one would care about the coming and going of this painter because people think artists are just elusive like that.
“…These are some of my thoughts and findings. I hope they can help you. Of course, if you ever have free time, it would be best if you could clear up my confusion and tell me what exactly you are investigating.
“Full of curiosity, Alva Gillini.”
After reading this letter, Siles couldn’t help but frown slightly.
This letter revealed two pieces of information: first, the young painter had worked as a part-time teacher at Alva’s fine arts academy last summer, but for some reason, his archive records from that time were nowhere to be found.
Second, someone had seen the painter following someone’s footsteps in Atherton Square, suspected of stalking—on this point, Siles actually agreed with Alva’s speculation. He also believed it was very likely stalking.
And the likely target of the stalking was…
Brewer Darrow.
This name popped up almost immediately, making Siles freeze slightly.
Thinking back on it now, the dates he encountered that painter seemed very specific… They were both days he went to the History Society to attend introductory courses.
In other words, on those very same days, Brewer Darrow would also go to the History Society and would also attend the introductory courses.
Siles had even seen this painter appear inside the History Society.
If that was really the case…
Siles froze there, feeling a subtle chill.
If the painter’s appearance was truly to stalk Brewer Darrow, then had Brewer been under surveillance by certain people from the very beginning? Since how long ago?
Did his parents and elders realize this?
After thinking for a moment, Siles couldn’t help but shake his head. He put the letter down and let out a soft sigh.
Beside him, Chendo asked, “Did you get any useful information?”
Siles said, “Some… but it can only be considered a supplement to certain details.”
Chendo nodded in understanding and said, “According to what you said before… this counts as finding a puzzle piece of the truth, but it doesn’t mean the case is solved.”
“Yes,” Siles said. “Besides, these are two different cases.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose to let himself slowly calm down.
“Regardless, we have already caught a glimpse of a corner of the truth,” Siles said in a low voice. “It’s like this with Darwin Hospital, and the same goes for the Darrow family’s affair. This is already very substantial progress.”
“Indeed,” Chendo said. “You shouldn’t overwork yourself over this.”
Siles smiled helplessly and said, “I know.”
He stood up and walked to the window, quietly gazing at Lamifa City outside. The view from the window of the second-floor study at 32 Lowell Street was quite nice; one could vaguely see the sparkling Kanla River.
Finally, he said, “I just feel that since I live in this city, I also need to do something for it.”
Chendo stood beside him, held his hand, and whispered, “There is no existence better than you.”
Siles actually felt a bit uncomfortable at such words. He changed the subject, “I should write a reply to Alva. As for the doctor, I can find time to visit him at the infirmary. Could you help me read through that book on the literature of the Age of Shadows first?”
Chendo nodded, then suddenly sighed.
Siles was taken aback and asked him, “What’s wrong? Why the sigh?”
Chendo said, “Don’t you think I’m like a pitiful student being forced to read by you right now?”
Siles: “…”
He narrowed his eyes and said, “So, is this student not going to listen to Professor Noel?”
“I’ll listen; of course I’ll listen,” Chendo said. However, he leaned in close to Siles, kissed him, and then said triumphantly, “It’s just that I’m a bad student. Sometimes I want to commit insubordination.”
Siles couldn’t help but smile.
Soon, Siles finished writing his reply, and Chendo had roughly flipped through the book’s table of contents and preface. They spent the entire afternoon studying this book.
Overall, the publication date of this book was probably quite old, published when the Sardinian Empire still existed. At that time, people still retained some understanding and grasp of the literature from the Age of Shadows.
That was most likely more reliant on oral transmission rather than truly documented materials. Information from the Age of Shadows had almost entirely vanished by then, as if an invisible hand had completely erased it.
In this book, the literature of the Age of Shadows was divided into three parts: Gods, Humans, and the World.
In the Gods part, due to various reasons, people seemed to have developed a subtle sense of frustration. Those once high-and-mighty deities seemed to have lost their divine radiance due to certain events.
In some surviving poems, plays, and other works, less devout believers even revealed a sense of cramped dilemma, as if they were tossing and turning over whether to continue believing in the gods, unable to reach a firm conclusion.
In the Humans part, the onslaught of the catastrophe clearly plunged human civilization into a rather drowsy and uneasy state. With people in a state of panic, the sense of destruction, and the tension and despair of impending doom filled many works—such as novels and prose—with a deeply sorrowful emotional atmosphere.
Although in some excerpts, Siles could see a more positive, optimistic mindset bravely fighting against the disaster, it was hard to say if this mindset represented all humanity during the Age of Shadows.
A much more melancholic, heavy, and inescapable atmosphere permeated the literary works of the Age of Shadows. That could be seen from just a few excerpts, selections, and quotes.
People lamented the insignificance and brevity of life, the capriciousness and peril of fate, and the meanness and triviality of living. This world was turned upside down, like overturned wind and waves instantly attacking their small boats.
As for the final World part, Siles felt quite surprised.
He didn’t know if it was because of the catastrophe in the Age of Shadows, but the people of that era seemed to hold a deep reverence for nature, the world, and the planet. They harbored an almost devout mentality, praising their Fisher World.
This was reflected in many, many works. Some people even pinned their emotions on the mountains and rivers, trying to get closer—closer still—to this world, as if this would allow them to evade the misfortunes and disasters of life.
…However, this worship had nothing to do with Trisli. Siles could tell that this worship was more akin to some kind of… primitive worship from an even older time?
Perhaps a major geological disaster really did happen during the Age of Shadows, Siles thought thoughtfully.
And that caused the decline of civilization, the fall of deities, and a gap in history. At the same time, it made the people of that time immensely revere nature and this planet.
This book—under Chendo’s translation—was titled Outline of the Literary History of the Age of Shadows. From this naming, one could also glimpse some of the author’s ambitions for this book.
Unfortunately, due to the severe lack of historical materials from the Age of Shadows, even though the author had tried their best to find relevant materials, omissions were ultimately inevitable.
In the afterword, he also conveyed this regret to the readers. Simply as a literature enthusiast, he also did not wish for the literary history of the Fisher World to have such a terrifying, tragic gap.
Yet it had happened precisely. That disaster, that death-like silence, had ultimately occurred upon this world, and inevitably became a sort of underlying hue of this world, condensing deep within everyone’s soul.
This made Siles let out a slight sigh.
Even though their reading speed was quite fast and they only read the book very briefly, they still spent an entire afternoon on it.
When Chendo read the last sentence of this book out loud, even he felt a sense of relief.
“‘When the world is covered by shadows, the human heart is the same. And how much difference is there between gods and humans?'” Chendo repeated the sentence in the Konst language without thinking.
Then he suddenly froze.
Siles was somewhat surprised to hear this sentence. He looked at the unfamiliar text on the page, hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Does this sentence mean… the ‘shadow’ influenced the deities?”
“…Just based on the meaning of the sentence, the author should only be guessing?” Chendo said uncertainly. “Perhaps he wasn’t really pointing to that ‘shadow,’ but was simply talking about the disaster that happened in the Age of Shadows.”
Siles nodded thoughtfully.
However, he ultimately still thought of certain words recorded in the conversation log.
Aldous Gershwin had said, “A later god cannot possibly defeat the earliest gods, but, it is the ‘shadow’, ah.”
In other words, he seemed to be hinting that there was something special about the ‘shadow,’ which was why it could still cause a massive disaster under the premise that it couldn’t defeat the previous gods.
What disaster? How did He do it?
Siles remained entirely perplexed by this.
These questions continuously troubled him, but he was already used to this state—there were always many questions, but life had to go on.
He had dinner at Chendo’s place, then returned to 6 Hayward Street.
Because it started snowing lightly outside again, Chendo also urged him to go back early. Chendo actually looked like he really wanted the snow to fall heavier, trapping Siles at his place so he couldn’t leave.
However, he didn’t want to actually put Siles in such a difficult spot.
Before Siles left, Chendo said to him, “I will be waiting for your appearance in the dream today.”
Siles was slightly taken aback, then said, “I know.”
After returning to 6 Hayward Street, Siles lit the stove, bathed, washed up, and did laundry according to his habits. Having read books all day, when night came, Siles didn’t want to immerse himself in the fog of history anymore.
He read the newspaper for a while, looking at the real life inside Lamifa City. The renovation projects had been rolling out quietly, but overall, the larger renovation plans—like the subway—had not yet appeared in the public eye.
Furthermore, the heavy snow had greatly affected the progress of the projects. It was a very cold winter, and people were sick of this damned weather.
But overall, this also made the residents of Lamifa City look forward to these development projects even more.
Even though some discordant notes appeared in the mix, such as conflicts between construction teams and ordinary residents, or the passive-aggressive remarks of some old nobles, overall, these projects were still proceeding step by step.
Siles read the newspaper for a while, then organized the things he was about to do in the deep-sea dreams—Chendo’s dream, the three old plants on the island, and trying to further master the power of Akamara.
In addition, he had successfully cultivated a rose in the farm’s pasture last night. That seemed to have also brought some kind of change to the farm; it was just that he hadn’t had time to study it yesterday, so he needed to check on it today as well.
At ten o’clock sharp, he lay in bed and entered the deep-sea dreams.
It was still as silent as usual. The disturbances of the world seemed unable to affect this boundless ocean of dreams and the isolated islands within it.
He first tried to look for a few dreams, such as those of Nanisal Bryant and that eccentric Doctor Hubert Fox. Unfortunately, he didn’t find them.
Then, he looked toward the three plants in the center of the island—a withering vine and two vibrant saplings—unfortunately, still only Emil’s dream appeared.
He sighed in his heart, but still reached out and touched Emil’s dream. He brought building blocks to Emil and let him play by himself.
Subsequently, he left Emil’s dream. He hesitated for a moment: should he go to the farm first, or Chendo’s dream first?
Considering that Chendo’s dream might leave a sapling on the island, and that going to the farm might yield new discoveries that would cause him to leave the deep-sea dreams, he ultimately went to Chendo’s dream first.
He silently recited: “Search for Chendo Praia’s dream.”
A dream bubble appeared in front of him. He was slightly taken aback because the scene inside that dream bubble didn’t seem as… outrageous as he had imagined?
Without thinking, he reached out and touched the dream bubble. Mr. Ghost appeared in Chendo’s dream.
A dark, gloomy space. Mr. Ghost narrowed his eyes, confirming he had appeared in the living room of a large mansion, with a wide staircase in front of him. There was no one around.
A subtle premonition arose in his heart, so he stepped forward and walked up the stairs. With every step, he felt as if this dream bubble trembled slightly, as if someone was waiting for him.
This massive, ancient, old, and rotting house… was gloomy, silent, and entirely deserted. Chendo had trapped himself here.
Mr. Ghost’s footsteps stopped in front of the westernmost room on the second floor of the house. He could sense that this was the only place in the entire dream where there was a person. He merely paused, then pushed the door open and walked in without a second thought.
An empty room. It looked like a bedroom. Chendo was sitting in the corner of the room, expressionless. When Mr. Ghost walked in, his gaze subconsciously swept over, almost carrying a meaning of coldness and arrogance.
He stared at Mr. Ghost for a moment, and then that cold expression suddenly melted. He sighed softly and said, “You came.”
He paused, not waiting for Mr. Ghost to respond, and said, “I’m sorry… I originally wanted to show you the desire for you in my heart, but in the end, my dream made me return here. My former…”
He thought for a while, unable to figure out how he should describe this place.
“Residence,” Mr. Ghost offered softly instead.
Chendo slowly nodded.
Then, he let out a long sigh. “Can you imagine this feeling? The gloomy, cold, arrogant, and decaying atmosphere of the Praia family. I once felt that I would also rot away in that place, as if I were heading toward an endless abyss.”
The Chendo in the dream possessed an almost sorrowful aura. He recalled his own past story. That lonely Chendo who lived in the ancient mansion, ignorant and lost regarding his past and bloodline, unable to find an answer or know how to face the world.
Mr. Ghost walked slowly to stand in front of him. He looked down at Chendo with that seemingly innate aura of coldness and composure. He looked at Chendo.
And Chendo—his beautiful emerald eyes were shining in the dim light at this moment. He gazed at Mr. Ghost, gazing at the soul beneath this shell—the soul he was moved by, yearned for, and was utterly obsessed with.
He reached out his hand and pleaded in a low voice, “Would you be willing to save me?”
“Of course, Chendo.” Mr. Ghost took his hand, pulled him up from the ground, and then leaned in to embrace him. “I would be glad to.”
Chendo began to tremble slightly in his embrace, and his voice carried a moved tremor. He whispered, “I am very grateful… I mean, I am very, very thankful for your appearance.
“You made me realize that I am not walking alone in this world. You are my companion; we possess similar powers and can seek the truth of this world together, to see the true face of the world behind the mist.
“You made me face myself. My life, my past, my family, my power. I was always so childish, always thinking I could escape everything. I searched for the puzzles to the answers, not for myself, but just lost, wanting to do something.
“But when you appeared, I realized that everything constitutes me—constitutes Chendo Praia. Everything I once hated, the past I once wanted to escape, are all parts of my life.
“…Even though it’s not a very good part. You are the best part of my life, just you yourself. How I thank the mercy of fate for allowing you to appear in my life.”
Saying this, Chendo hugged him even tighter.
He fell into a brief silence, as if so lost he didn’t know how to articulate his thoughts.
Finally, Chendo said, “I am so fortunate that I could meet you on my life’s journey. This world is already completely rotten, but you… you are different. You are unstained, you are unique, and unparalleled in this world.”
The Chendo in the dream seemed better able to express certain thoughts in his heart, a part he always avoided talking about in reality. He detested his ancient family; he hated the power of his strong bloodline.
Even though he always seemed to mention these things nonchalantly, in truth, judging by his action of leaving the Praia family without hesitation after coming of age, he clearly wasn’t that indifferent.
His past had put a shackle on him, and Siles’s appearance unlocked this shackle for him—though, perhaps this also meant putting a collar around his neck?
But, the former was the destiny of the Praia family, while the latter was something Chendo willingly accepted. No one likes to be confined to a label from birth, especially when that label is “Old God’s Scion.”
The only “Old God’s Scion” in the world.
Was his birth and growth really just an ordinary coincidence of fate?
Mr. Ghost’s eyes deepened slightly. He quietly held Chendo, gently stroking his hair. The braid woven from his grayish-white long hair was now being tamely played with by Mr. Ghost’s fingers. And Chendo’s emotions slowly calmed down with his soothing.
Chendo said, his voice slightly hoarse, “…Letting you see me in such an ugly state.”
“It is not ugly,” Mr. Ghost said softly.
He even felt that Chendo’s expressionless, freezing appearance huddled in the corner just now, as well as his subsequent trembling gaze and reaching out to beg for his salvation, all touched his heart quite a bit. It was just that it wouldn’t be good to let Chendo know this.
Chendo didn’t quite agree with his statement. He rubbed his forehead against the crook of his shoulder and muttered, “Good thing I didn’t cry just now. This is the last bottom line left for me in a dream.”
Mr. Ghost paused and asked, “What bottom line?”
“Only you can make me cry.” Chendo took a slight step back, staring closely at Mr. Ghost with those emerald eyes. “You should know what kind of occasion I’m referring to, right?”
Mr. Ghost: “…”
…He still hadn’t managed to break away from the heavy atmosphere from just a moment ago.
Chendo looked at his expression, then suddenly burst out laughing. He laughed so heartily that he had to lean against Mr. Ghost to steady himself.
Mr. Ghost felt slightly helpless.
After a moment, Chendo said, “Your appearance. Is it only like this in dreams?”
Mr. Ghost’s heart stirred, and he asked, “Are you not used to it?”
“No, it’s not that I’m not used to it. It’s nothing,” Chendo said. “What I love is the soul beneath your skin.”
This remark made Mr. Ghost smile a bit.
He made Chendo stand properly, then let him go.
Mr. Ghost said, “My identity here is the ghost of dreams; you can call this identity ‘Mr. Ghost’. However, I only shuttle through the dreams of some children.”
Chendo nodded thoughtfully. He said, “It would be great if I could enter here more frequently. I think this is a very hidden place, highly suitable for secret conversations.”
“I’m guessing there might be some ways to further master Akamara’s power,” Mr. Ghost said, “but we still need to take it slowly.”
Chendo agreed with this thought, saying, “We indeed need to take it slowly; after all, it is the power of a deity.”
“What did it feel like when you were mastering Ligadia’s power?” Mr. Ghost couldn’t help but ask. This was the only person he could consult on the matter. “Is it something you possessed innately?”
Chendo tilted his head, pondered it carefully, and then slowly shook his head, “No… not really. I should say, I slowly learned it?”
“How did you learn?”
“Reading, practicing… feeling Ligadia’s power,” Chendo said. He took Mr. Ghost’s hand, walked to the window, and said, “Outside is the cemetery.”
Mr. Ghost froze slightly. He looked out the window and saw the many, many tombstones in the cemetery, the end of which vanished into the edge of the dream.
“Souls that died in a foreign land…” Chendo said almost in confusion. “When I was young, I coexisted with this graveyard. I would open my eyes to those tombstones, go sweep their graves from time to time, and then… according to the old man, feel their lonely souls upon death.”
Mr. Ghost hesitated for a moment, and finally said honestly, “That sounds like a very unpleasant experience.”
“…Perhaps it is,” Chendo whispered. “Thinking back on it now, it’s quite unbelievable, but as a child, I just ignorantly accepted it. It became a habit. Every year I go back to clean this graveyard.
“…Right, you’re going to Middleton during spring break; why don’t I set off with you? I need to make a trip back to Kansas.”
“Of course,” Mr. Ghost said. “I would be very happy to travel with you.”
Chendo was instantly satisfied.
Mr. Ghost gazed at the graveyard, but another realization was gradually forming. After a moment, he murmured softly, “Tauohetia Cemetery.”
“What?” Chendo asked, puzzled.
Mr. Ghost said, “You believe this practice was to resonate with Ligadia’s power, allowing you to better master it. But, don’t you think this factually made you the gravekeeper of this graveyard?”
Belatedly, Chendo looked toward the graveyard that had also appeared in his dream.
He pondered Mr. Ghost’s words, then said, “But, this is unlikely to be Tauohetia Cemetery. As far as I know, the names on the tombstones all belong to real people… I mean, this can’t possibly be Tauohetia Cemetery, right?”
His expression looked a bit tense, as if saying, “If this is Tauohetia Cemetery, didn’t they overlook the real treasure completely?”
Mr. Ghost thought for a moment and said, “I agree with you. Tauohetia Cemetery couldn’t possibly exist so simply. However, this graveyard probably does have some sort of connection with Tauohetia Cemetery, and you are the key to unlocking this connection.”
Just like the “shadows” of the Temple of Belan, the deep-sea dreams… no, it should be said, just like the “dream bubbles” of that mysterious farm, Tauohetia Cemetery must also have some sort of extension that could directly connect to reality, right?
It was just that they didn’t know what exactly Tauohetia Cemetery meant, which was why they could never find it.
Chendo’s expression was very surprised; he looked as if he hadn’t thought of this at all. Perhaps this was a case of the spectator seeing clearer than the player; having coexisted with this graveyard since childhood, it paradoxically never occurred to him that it might be related to Tauohetia Cemetery.
He thought for a moment, then added, “If that’s really the case, shouldn’t the Praia family also have taken some action?”
Mr. Ghost, however, shook his head. He said, “I feel… the Praia family, as Ligadia’s bloodline inheritance family, is actually unclear about certain things. Or rather, they actually fall short compared to Ligadia’s believers.”
Chendo nodded in agreement on this point.
“This graveyard…” Chendo murmured softly. “Perhaps, when I return to Kansas during spring break, I can study it carefully?”
“Of course you can,” Mr. Ghost said. “There’s no rush. If you can really find Tauohetia Cemetery, you might be able to further master Ligadia’s power.”
Or rather, that might be Ligadia’s power in the truest sense.
Right now, Chendo was only “borrowing” Ligadia’s power in an indirect way, like using a template and a transcript. That, too, was a sort of replication in a sense.
Chendo nodded thoughtfully.
Before long, he snapped back to reality and said, “You probably have other things to do in the dream, right?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I have to go,” Mr. Ghost said. “See you in reality.”
“Alright,” Chendo said.
However, he still leaned in to hug him, and then kissed him. Mr. Ghost deepened the kiss, feeling a subtle sensation different from reality. It seemed more… there was a more soul-deep emotion and intimacy.
A moment later, they parted. Chendo was panting, looking a little reluctant to let go. But he still whispered, “See you in reality.”
Mr. Ghost left Chendo’s dream. He stood on the eternally silent isolated island in the sea for a moment, finally allowing himself to rein in the warm, soft emotions from being intimate with his lover. Time in the dream seemed to have never flowed, and that warm touch seemed to forever linger on the corners of his lips.
It made it feel as if Chendo was still by his side.
He noticed a fourth plant had appeared on the isolated island, though it should more accurately be described as a sturdy sapling rather than a seedling. The sapling was already up to his waist, growing very lushly.
He couldn’t resist reaching out to touch its leaves. And this sapling seemed to respond to him very enthusiastically, even sneakily rubbing its branches against his fingers.
He froze for a moment, subconsciously revealing a slight smile, and then snapped back to his senses, heading to the farm.
He went to the pasture first, but didn’t find anything different, so he wandered around the lake area. He saw the shape of the planet, but the vast majority of the areas still appeared very blurry, lacking any detail.
He then went over to the small house. In the flowerbed in front of the house, he unexpectedly discovered beautiful roses in full bloom. There were dozens of them in total, completely filling the flowerbed.
His heart stirred, realizing this was probably thanks to the rose he brought over last night.
He looked at the roses and the flowerbed, and then an invisible attraction drew his gaze to the doorway of the small house. He noticed that the door, originally tightly shut, had now opened a crack.
That mysterious, narrow crack in the door, leaking dim light, seemed to be inviting him inside.
He couldn’t help but freeze for a moment. He almost subconsciously wanted to step forward, but he took a deep breath and held back. He first left the farm, went to Emil’s dream, retrieved the Rubik’s Cube, and bid farewell to the young boy before returning to the farm again.
However, he wasn’t in a rush to enter the small house either.
He pondered the possible scenarios.
If this was Akamara’s former residence, then the small house must be the place where She once dwelled. It must hold some kind of secret, but would it be related to Akamara’s fall? Would it be very dangerous?
He felt hesitant about the answer to this question.
On one hand, all signs indicated that the paradise of the gods seemed to be a kind of solidified place, unrelated to the outside world. It didn’t seem to be affected by the fall of the deities, and even maintained its independence.
On the other hand, the paradise of the gods was ultimately connected to the power of the deities. If the deities had already fallen, could the paradise truly remain unscathed? He found it hard to genuinely believe that.
However, he had to enter. The arrow was on the string and had to be loosed.
So, after pausing for a moment, he walked to the door of the small house. He stopped again, choosing to politely knock first. Only after confirming there was no response from within did he push the door open.
In that instant, he experienced a very subtle sensation.
His vision seemed to be invisibly elevated. He felt as if he had returned to that dark space, looking at the massive dream bubble of the deep-sea dreams, the chimney smoke, and that mysterious farm. He saw the silent, towering doll in the deep-sea dreams.
As he pushed the door, he had the vague sensation that he was somehow severing the spider silk attached to that doll. Not all of it, but certainly quite a lot. He didn’t hesitate, but continued pushing the door.
It wasn’t until the door gently bumped against the wall, until the entrance of the small house was completely open, that he suddenly snapped back to reality.
He had entered this room. And in front of him, in a room that looked ordinary and plain, as if it were simply the dwelling of an ordinary farmer, a miniature stage model was placed in the center of the open floor.
Six palm-sized dolls were lined up, standing neatly on the stage, as if performing a brilliant play for an invisible audience.
When he walked into the room, they all simultaneously tilted their heads, looked at him with their round, black little eyes, and said in unison, “Good evening, new gentleman! Would you like to appreciate this play?”
In that instant, Siles jolted awake.
He didn’t even care about the cold of the night. He threw off the covers and walked barefoot to the study. He looked at the set of dolls on the study windowsill—those six dolls.
Six sets of puppet plays. Rumor had it they originated from Dormein, the country sheltered by Akamara.
It was four o’clock in the morning. The chill of the winter night seeped into his body and into his soul. He stared at those seemingly ordinary dolls, slowly narrowing his eyes.
After a moment, he confirmed that he wasn’t feeling anything unusual and that the world around him hadn’t changed, and then he let out a slight breath of relief.
However, he was completely devoid of sleepiness, so he turned on the light, put on his clothes, and went to the washroom to freshen up, pondering the meaning of the situation inside that small house as he did so.
This was the paradise of the gods, the former residence of a deity, so the appearance of those six dolls there couldn’t possibly be a coincidence; it very likely carried a symbolic meaning. Leaving these six dolls in Her former residence must have also been done with some specific intent by Akamara.
Judging from the dolls’ actions, they even possessed some kind of “self-awareness.” In other words, Siles’s previous thought in the dream—that the chimney smoke rising above the small house meant there were “people” inside—was correct.
These six dolls seemed to be the caretakers of the small house.
So, it was they who opened the door and allowed Siles to enter?
Perhaps next time, 21 days later, when Siles visited the mysterious farm again, he could communicate with them and further understand Akamara’s power.
However, he still felt it was a bit strange—he meant, what kind of existence were these six dolls exactly? Moreover, they asked Siles if he wanted to “appreciate this play.” What play? What were they performing?
Another thing that made Siles feel subtle was that the sign allowing entry into the small house was the flowerbed in front blooming full of roses.
…Wasn’t the connection between these deities and the imagery of “flowers” a bit too frequent?
Personari’s symbol was the saffron; Lusmi had some connection to marigolds; Akamara’s former residence was planted full of roses; and even earlier, devout believers of Brancani died next to angelica. Siles didn’t think the location of those deaths was chosen randomly.
These were all flowers and plants, and Personari’s Divine Title was precisely “spring flowers.”
Siles began to doubt the past relationships between these Old Gods again.
For example, Ligadia’s Tauohetia Cemetery housed the souls of those who died in a foreign land, which was somewhat similar to Thaddeus’s power. For another example, Timiafa, the God of Food and Gluttony, and Elco, the God of Wine and Pleasure—these two deities were practically synonymous.
Akamara’s power over dreams was related to Lusmi’s nighttime. Menavaca’s authority over commerce was a perfect match for Hoodoka’s attribute of deception; Brancani’s ascetic journey and Ligadia’s stepping onto a journey were very compatible, at least in action…
Why did the powers of these Old Gods always seem to resemble, align with, or duplicate the powers of other deities in certain aspects?
Could it really be as some crazy Old God followers said, that They were once one entity?
This thought troubled Siles immensely. The more he understood the powers of these Old Gods, the deeper this trouble felt.
…Setting aside the situation in the dream, Siles had also collected six dolls in reality—from a mysterious, taciturn stall owner.
He recalled this point for a moment, even opening his old notebooks to find the exact dates.
It was last year, on August 7th, that he first read the painter Leon’s manuscript and thereby entered the deep-sea dreams. On August 8th, he entered the deep-sea dreams again.
On August 9th, because he had entered strange dreams twice in a row, he didn’t dare to sleep that night.
On August 10th, he went to the underground trade market at the Ernestine Tavern and bought those six dolls.
Siles listed these dates and stared at them quietly. With surprisingly calm composure, he thought that it seemed as if the dolls had been specifically handed to him.
But why? And who was that mysterious stall owner?
At the time, the dice had given a Knowledge check, and the target number for the check was 52/89, which he had failed. And now, Siles had gradually realized that this target number wasn’t given randomly.
In other words, he probably needed a Knowledge stat of 89 to successfully pass the check.
His current Knowledge stat was only 66 points. He still didn’t know that much about the secrets of this world. He needed more time—to unravel the truth behind this set of dolls.
In reality, Siles didn’t believe this set of dolls carried any malice; at least, there was no such tendency visible right now. Previously, he had been polluted by the starry eyes in the deep-sea dreams, and during that brief period, he had relied on making eye contact with this set of dolls to maintain his sanity.
However, regardless of the other party’s stance, Siles still needed to maintain caution and vigilance. This was a matter that no longer even required Chendo to naggingly remind him about.
Siles thought for a moment, then collected his thoughts. Outside the window, the sky was already faintly brightening. He simply put on his clothes, planning to go to the dining hall for breakfast before heading to class.
When he finished breakfast, it was only just past seven o’clock, so he went to his office, intending to sit there for a while. He had also placed a stove in his office; after all, he occasionally needed to work and rest there.
However, when he opened his office door, he unexpectedly saw a letter on the floor. It was from the School of Literature and History.
