The sudden appearance of the old man took both Siles and Chendo slightly by surprise.
Chendo frowned, his eyes darkening slightly, but he still turned his gaze toward Siles, waiting to see how Siles would handle the situation.
Looking at the old man with a touch of surprise, Siles asked, “Sir, do you feel that mechanical structures are unreliable?”
Hands folded behind his back, the old man stood there gazing at the painting. After a moment, he nodded.
“However, mechanical structures are also invented by humans,” Siles noted. “And if you are referring to that power…”
“…Revelators. Blessed ones.” The old man’s tone was remarkably gentle, carrying the slow, calm cadence of age. “Isn’t that a power held even more securely in human hands?”
“Yet that, in turn, relies upon the deities,” Siles replied, looking at the painting as well. “Deities possess their own will. A mechanical structure, on the other hand, is cold, rigid, and operates entirely according to human intent.”
The old man turned to him in surprise. After a pause, he let out a low chuckle. “I cannot say I entirely agree with your view, young gentleman. However, that is indeed how young people think nowadays.”
He let out a gentle sigh.
Siles understood perfectly well that what the old man was referencing went far beyond the surface topic of their conversation.
A moment later, the old man spoke. “Alden Bridges.”
Siles paused for a second before realizing this was the old man’s name. He replied, “Siles Noel.”
Chendo also took the opportunity to state his own name.
During the brief lull, Siles pondered for a moment because the name Alden Bridges sounded somewhat familiar to him. Then, it suddenly clicked. “Mr. Bridges, do you happen to know Professor Calverley and Mr. Adolphus Grant?”
Siles had once heard the name “Alden Bridges” mentioned by Professor Calverley.
Back when Professor Calverley gifted him The World of Little Cynthia, a collection of sprite stories, the bookplate affixed to the flyleaf had been created by none other than Alden Bridges.
Alden looked at Siles in great astonishment and said, “Of course! Those are two old friends of mine. Siles, forgive my intrusiveness, but how did you know about my connection to them?”
Siles then briefly explained how he had previously met with Professor Calverley.
A look of realization dawned upon Alden. “Danton mentioned you to me once, though he didn’t give your name. What a coincidence, Siles. To think we only meet each other after Danton’s passing.”
At the mention of Professor Calverley’s death, Siles couldn’t help but sigh softly.
Alden said warmly, “It seems you are a young man with a bright future ahead of you. Danton must have gifted you some books? His will contained quite a few such bequests, all meant for young people or juniors he thought highly of.
“Perhaps he simply wished to pass down his unfulfilled ambitions. Or perhaps death was merely a choice for him.”
Siles nodded, understanding his meaning. In all likelihood, Professor Calverley’s vast collection of books had ultimately ended up in the hands of those worthy of owning them.
He exchanged a few more polite remarks with Alden before they bade each other farewell. Neither brought up the earlier topic regarding “deities” or “power” again.
After Alden walked away, Chendo—who had remained largely silent—finally remarked, “He seems like an old man who appears gentle on the outside, but is actually quite obsessed with the power of deities.”
“Perhaps,” Siles said. “However, the fact that he can respect other people’s dissenting opinions is a rare and valuable trait in itself.”
Chendo let out a dismissive chuckle. “I don’t quite see it that way. You always tend to assume humans are inherently good, but I think you measure others against your own standards far too often. How many people truly possess qualities like yours?”
Siles fell silent for a moment—not because Chendo’s words contradicted his thoughts, but because… Chendo’s statement was simply too sappy. He didn’t consider himself nearly as “good” as Chendo made him out to be.
Shaking his head with a light sigh, Siles said, “Well, Chendo, perhaps you are right. But I am merely human as well.”
“You are my deity,” Chendo whispered gently beside Siles’s ear.
Feeling a bit puzzled, Siles asked, “I’ve always been somewhat curious… Chendo, over the past month or so, have I truly become this important to you already?”
“You were special right from the start. Back then, I felt we were of the same kind. I mastered the power of Ligadia, while you possessed the power of Akamara… It was very strange. It felt as though, after all these years, I had finally found a companion.”
Chendo spoke in a low voice.
Siles nodded gently. He could understand that. It had been much the same for him. Chendo had accidentally witnessed his evaluation behavior.
In short, they shared each other’s secrets.
Though… Siles thought to himself, one critical success, and one critical failure.
Chendo continued, “And gradually, I came to realize how different you are—how different you are from this world, and from the humans of this world. You are unique, outstanding, and extraordinary. I am deeply honored to have met you, and I don’t say that lightly.”
Siles mused internally about how Chendo could utter such sweet, embarrassing words so effortlessly. Was this also a characteristic of the people in this world?
They strolled slowly through the museum, chatting as they went. People occasionally passed by, but for the most part, they enjoyed their time together in empty rooms filled with exhibits.
Chendo murmured, “You might feel our feelings are progressing too quickly. But I’ve simply never met anyone like you in all my past life. It feels as if those long, dull years were meant solely to teach me patience—to wait patiently for your appearance.”
“…Regardless, your past life had its own meaning,” Siles said tactfully. “It wasn’t merely meant for my appearance.”
Chendo’s emerald eyes fixes on him, and then he let out a soft laugh. “You saved me. Both in the physical sense and the psychological sense. Naturally, I long for you to… save me even more deeply.”
Siles: “…”
He could generally understand that the “saving” Chendo referred to was that single critical success. But… even more deeply?
After pondering the matter with complete composure for a moment, Siles said, “I am also very grateful to you for using the ‘Soul Lighthouse’ to save me.”
Chendo: “…”
He grumbled moodily, “You are really a buzzkill.”
Siles said calmly, “Look where we are right now.”
“A museum.”
“So what should one do in a museum?”
Chendo retorted crossly, “Look at the exhibits!” He added, “Do you treat me as your student? Or as some clueless child? We are both adults, and adults have adult matters to attend to!”
Siles let out a muffled laugh. “Sometimes I feel you are so childish you hardly seem like an adult.”
Chendo narrowed his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Sooner or later, I’ll make you realize that my longing for you has been brewing for a very long time—enough to prove I’m a fully grown man.”
Siles remained noncommittal.
They spent most of the afternoon passing the time in the museum. Overall, the exhibits at the Lamifa Museum leaned heavily toward artwork from the Age of Mist; true antiques were quite scarce.
Siles had hoped to catch a glimpse of collectibles from the Age of Silence or even earlier, but the reality left him somewhat disappointed.
“The items you wish to see are most likely kept in the hands of private collectors,” Chendo said. “Furthermore, even within the Age of Mist, certain… less-than-safe items certainly wouldn’t be displayed here.”
Siles paused, then came to a sudden realization. “That is indeed true. Since it’s a museum open to the public, the safety of the collection must be guaranteed.”
Chendo nodded in agreement.
Siles couldn’t help but wonder: where would those not-so-“safe” collectibles—especially those from before the Age of Mist—end up?
He merely entertained the thought briefly.
Leaving the museum, they walked along the tree-lined avenue for a while. As evening approached, the weather grew colder. They had dinner nearby and chatted about topics related to art.
Since they passed by Atherton Square, Siles also mentioned the painter he had encountered before.
The painter’s appearance and his artwork were vaguely connected to the death of Brewer Darrow. Siles had remained quite concerned about the matter, but he had never been able to locate the painter again.
“So he is a Revelator?” Chendo asked with great interest.
“Yes, I met him at the History Society once,” Siles said. “However, several months have passed since then, and he has never appeared again. Perhaps he is no longer in Lamifa City.”
Chendo nodded. “That’s also possible. Since he’s a Revelator, he might have headed to the Ashless Lands.”
That painter… heading to the Ashless Lands?
It was indeed a possibility, but Siles felt a slight sense of discordance from the thought.
He felt that the painter seemed completely out of place with the Ashless Lands.
After mulling it over for a short while, Siles put the matter out of his mind. After all, he hadn’t seen the painter in months. Perhaps, just as Chendo suggested, the man had already departed for the Ashless Lands.
After finishing dinner, Siles and Chendo returned together to 32 Lowell Street.
They waited for a short while before employees from Becker Bank arrived to deliver the books. Siles briefly checked the condition of the volumes and signed for them.
The empty study on the second floor was filled to nearly half its capacity almost instantly.
As Chendo helped him organize the books, he remarked, “This is truly a generous bequest.”
“Indeed,” Siles said. “Even I didn’t expect Professor Calverley to gift these books to me.”
“Perhaps relationships between people are just that abrupt,” Chendo shrugged. “When I was younger, I could never have imagined that I’d be standing here today, organizing a study with you.
“You might not know it, but my younger self possessed a much more… troublesome temper.”
Siles said, “It’s rare to hear you describe yourself with such a word.”
“I know myself very well!” Chendo said with a pout. “You can’t deny that. I simply couldn’t be bothered to deal with other people. I used to feel that my life was utterly boring.
“Deities, power, bloodlines… everything happened in the past, yet my life and my identity were already determined by what took place back then. Even though I wasn’t particularly resentful or disgusted, still…”
He paused for a moment, suddenly unsure of how to articulate the feeling.
Siles provided the annotation for him instead: “However, you felt as though you were born trapped inside a label.”
Chendo thought about it for a moment, then let out a rare sigh. “Yes. ‘Old God’s Scion.’ The only remaining Old God’s Scion in the world. Before meeting you, I felt this world was vast and empty—teeming with people, yet leaving me entirely alone.”
Siles looked at him in surprise.
Chendo looked back at him as well. After a moment of silence, he spoke with slight awkwardness, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Because I find it quite rare for you to use such a literary expression, Chendo. It caught me by surprise.” Siles smiled, walked over to Chendo, held him in an embrace, and said softly, “You have me now.”
Chendo raised his arms, hugging him tightly, and whispered softly, “Every time this happens, I feel that your gentleness is like a blessing bestowed by a deity upon a believer.”
Siles said, “It isn’t. You are my lover. This is not a bestowal; you deserve this affection.”
Chendo nuzzled against the crook of his shoulder and said, “I am very grateful that you think so.”
…Which implied that he didn’t view it that way himself? Siles felt a touch of helplessness.
After finishing the study’s organization, Siles bade farewell to Chendo.
“Will I become your teaching assistant tomorrow?” Chendo asked.
“Presumably so,” Siles said. “I can go confirm it. However, it’s the beginning of the semester, so there isn’t much to do. You don’t need to rush.”
“…I’m in a hurry,” Chendo muttered softly under his breath. “Of course, I’ll wait for your confirmation. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” Siles replied.
Returning to No. 6 Hayward Street, he organized the items in his backpack, then showered, washed up, and did his laundry. He regretted it slightly; had he known the weather would be so nice today, he would have hung his clothes outside to dry.
I hope tomorrow will still bring good weather, he thought.
…I really wish this world had weather satellites or something. Siles sighed inwardly. Come to think of it, could the power of Lusmi, the God of Stars and Radiance, be used to predict the weather?
He pondered the question with utter seriousness.
Once his daily chores were finished, Siles put on his pajamas. Wrapped in the steady warmth of the fireplace, he turned on the wall lamp next to his desk and opened the letter from Professor Calverley.
“…
“Greetings, Siles. I am afraid you must read the ramblings of an old man near his death; my sincere apologies.
“Spending time with you was truly a pleasure, Siles—you must admit that much. Especially when we shared common interests, and especially when my life was entering its twilight years while yours was just beginning.
“I do not say this to make you feel guilty or uneasy. The world constantly requires this cycle of renewal between the young and the old. I am fully aware of my impending death, and it comes as no surprise to me.
“My sole concern—as you have likely guessed—was the collection of books I accumulated. I have gifted these little treasures to various individuals: to you, to other old friends, and to several other promising young people. I trust you will all care for and preserve them well.
“Having resolved this matter, I feel I can leave this world without regrets. I once discussed related topics with you, touching upon whether spending a lifetime on such a pursuit was worthwhile.
“And now, I can tell you with unrepentant conviction—in the most literal sense of being ‘unrepentant unto death’—that yes, I believe it was worth it. There is nothing more worthwhile than this.
“Death cannot sever my love for books.
“The reason I brought up your youth is that you still have a long road ahead to pursue what you love. As for me, it took an entire lifetime to realize that if I could spend it doing what I loved, then my life was already immensely valuable.
“This is a cold winter, and I am afraid I will not survive it. Siles, death is closing in step by step. Sometimes when I awaken in the middle of the night, I can picture Thaddeus’s cloak floating around me. He is preparing to receive my soul.
“…And so, the time has come. Siles, it is time for me to embrace my death.
“One final matter I must explicitly mention to you: although my will lists one hundred and thirty-five books, the actual number should be one hundred and thirty-six. However, that final book requires you to retrieve it in person.
“It is stored in safe deposit box No. 99 at Becker Bank, and the password is ‘Age of Silence 555’.
“Regarding what this mysterious book actually is… I once spoke about you with a few friends, including Professor Bright. He mentioned your previous graduation thesis to me.
“So… The Life of a Man Named Conan Fremont. The complete edition. Siles, this is the final surprise I leave for you.
“I originally intended to mention it to you casually after winter passed, during a spring day when we were reading a book together, just to see your surprised and delighted expression… Forgive an old man’s wicked sense of humor; young people always need a bit of trial.
“However, time has run out. Thus, I can only mention it in this letter of farewell.
“The reason it could not be included in the will is that it is a book that isn’t quite safe. You should exercise caution when reading it. Given your relationship with the Church of the Past, however, you likely understand what I mean.
“…It is time to say goodbye, Siles! Please do not be sad. Every book I once collected records a moment of my life. They compose my existence, and therefore, my life shall endure forever.
“May the joy of reading abide in this world forever; may the radiance of the written word forever illuminate your heart.
“…
“Danton Calverley. A happy bibliophile. (What word should be used to describe the identity of a ‘bibliophile’? I always feel ‘happy’ is the most fitting.)”
Siles stared blankly at this farewell letter.
After a moment, he couldn’t help but let out a long sigh. In the stillness of the night, he switched off the wall lamp and silently gazed out the window. A deeply complex emotion welled up inside his heart.
Was it the shock and grief brought on by death? No, it went beyond that.
It was something outside of death itself.
Life and death might be frequently spoken of, yet between a person’s birth and passing lies an expanse of endless time and years.
…Professor Danton Calverley likely died without regrets, even if death itself remained a mournful affair.
Siles couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose. Slowly regaining his composure, he carefully placed the letter into his drawer. By now, the drawer was filled with letters sent by various people.
This was likely a feeling of correspondence unique to this era.
He pondered whether he should organize them at some point, but then felt it wasn’t strictly necessary.
Before long, his thoughts shifted to the book mentioned in Professor Calverley’s letter: The Life of a Man Named Conan Fremont.
This monumental, almost encyclopedic autobiography reflecting life during the Age of Silence had—due to various reasons—only its preface, Volume I, Volume V, and Volume XII preserved in surviving public records.
Because it was incomplete, very few scholars researched the book. Siles wasn’t sure how his body’s former host had chosen this topic in the first place… It seemed to be simply because he saw the existing records in the library?
Siles had previously wondered if Professor Calverley, as a bibliophile, might have collected the remaining volumes of the work.
However, he had never expected that Calverley hadn’t merely collected them—he had acquired the complete set!
This was truly an unexpected delight.
Judging from the cautious wording in the letter, however, Siles realized that this set of books was far from simple. In all likelihood, it hid numerous secrets and records regarding the deities.
Conan Fremont had once been a believer. Yet after the god he worshiped fell, the devout believer did not give up in despair. Instead, he turned to literature, spending the last decade of his life completing this massive masterwork.
…The deity he worshiped was none other than the God of Death and Disaster, the Curtain at the End of Death, Thaddeus.
In truth, among the surviving fragments, text concerning Conan Fremont’s faith was quite sparse. Most of the time, Fremont merely recorded the daily lives of himself, his family, friends, and juniors, as well as memories of his past.
The section mentioning Thaddeus the most was actually the “Preface,” which described how Fremont became a devout believer after attending a funeral as a young child, where he was struck with awe by the solemn and quiet atmosphere.
Siles couldn’t help but wonder if the lost portions of the text contained content related to Thaddeus.
He was quite curious about it. Furthermore, he was intrigued as to how Professor Calverley had managed to collect the entire set. It sounded almost incredible.
After thinking for a moment, Siles checked the time and saw that it was nearly nine o’clock.
He spent some time putting the final touches on his paper, intending to find a copyist at the university tomorrow afternoon to transcribe it. Afterward, he wrote a letter to the publisher, Benton, inquiring about channels for submitting academic journal papers.
He had a general understanding of the process himself, having submitted to journals during his days as a scholar on Earth; nevertheless, asking the publisher remained a good option.
Finally, he briefly reviewed the material for his upcoming classes, wrapped up his tasks, and soon drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, he first visited Professor Eitly’s office to inquire about the teaching assistant position. Professor Eitly stated in a businesslike manner that the application form was currently held up with Professor Mantel.
Siles couldn’t help but frown slightly. In a low voice, he asked, “So, what is Professor Mantel’s reason for withholding approval?”
Professor Eitly hesitated for a moment before replying softly, “He said… since you have the time to write novels, you surely don’t require the assistance of a teaching assistant.”
Siles: “…”
He and Professor Eitly looked at each other in silence for a moment.
In truth, Siles found Professor Mantel’s reasoning utterly ridiculous. Even if Mantel had argued that Chendo was a foreigner of unknown background and rejected the application on those grounds, it would have been far better than this almost absurd excuse.
One could tell just by looking at Professor Eitly’s awkward expression. Having spent his entire life handling administrative work, the old professor had likely rarely encountered such an awkward situation.
Siles pinched the bridge of his nose and said calmly, “Perhaps I should speak with Professor Mantel directly. Is he at the university today?”
“He is here. However,” Professor Eitly cautioned, “I wouldn’t advise you to speak with him, Professor Noel. He is a stubborn old professor who looks down on some of the… views held by younger professors.”
Professor Eitly weighed his words carefully.
“…Views,” Professor Eitly repeated. “I can forward your application form directly to Dean Hurst. If he approves your request, that will settle it as well.”
Siles thought to himself that doing so would elevate an internal department conflict to the faculty level.
The novelist from Earth realized with a slight headache that there would likely be quite a few complications ahead.
Naturally, he had no intention of backing down. Professor Mantel’s inexplicable cancellation of his two teaching assistant slots was already a blatant attempt to suppress him.
Since Professor Eitly intended to handle it that way, Siles expressed his gratitude and agreed with the plan.
He shifted the topic and asked, “So, do you believe Professor Mantel is doing this because he dislikes my views? My apologies, I simply wish to understand the full picture better.”
According to Dorothea Grant, Professor Mantel disliked Siles taking on writing as a side business because his novel was linked to the Greyson incident, prompting the professor to deliberately make things difficult.
According to Professor Bright, Professor Mantel wanted to engage in nepotism by bringing his own relative into Lamifa University, but the position was taken by Siles, making Siles a thorn in his side.
And just now, Professor Eitly had brought up the matter of differing academic views. The varying accounts were not entirely consistent, leaving Siles with a growing number of doubts.
Professor Eitly hesitated, let out a sigh, and said, “Professor Noel, I know this situation might be difficult for you to understand. But… as time passes, the older professors gradually realize that, at least in academia, they must slowly step aside for the younger generation.”
Siles couldn’t help but pause.
“You are a highly appreciated professor. Dean Hurst admires your teaching methods, and student feedback has been quite positive. I also overheard that your academic paper this year is exceptional.
“…For the vast majority of older professors, this is naturally something to be celebrated. After all, knowledge and academic achievements must be passed down from generation to generation. The older generation must gradually step back to make room for capable successors.
“Most older professors share this awareness. However… Professor Noel, not everyone views it this way. Professor Mantel’s… harshness toward you might simply stem from a strict, conservative, and inflexible personality.
“I am unsure how much personal interest is involved, nor do I know if Professor Mantel fears losing his position as department head… Regardless, you are young. You still have plenty of time ahead of you.”
Professor Eitly seemed to imply something deeper, but Siles couldn’t help but knit his brows slightly.
He wasn’t particularly fond of the underlying implication that he was “still young,” “had plenty of time,” or could simply “outlast the older generation.”
Nevertheless, he thanked Professor Eitly before leaving the office.
When his morning classes ended, Chendo was already waiting for Siles outside the classroom. As they walked, Siles explained the teaching assistant situation to him.
Chendo scowled, saying darkly, “Courting death, that old fool.”
Siles said, “The matter seems a bit peculiar… Regardless, let’s see how Professor Eitly handles it. They don’t seem keen on having me communicate directly with Professor Mantel.”
“Of course you shouldn’t have to step forward!” Chendo declared. “It’s not your fault in the first place.”
Chendo’s blatant defensiveness brought a slight smile to Siles’s face. He added, “Still, perhaps I should write under a pen name in the future. Using my real name indeed brings trouble; I didn’t pay much attention to the matter back then.”
Chendo nodded, agreeing with the approach.
“It is safer that way,” Chendo noted.
They first went to find a copyist near the library. Siles handed over his paper and paid the fee—five Duke coins. Chendo looked as though he wanted to say something, but held back.
After leaving the area, Chendo finally spoke up: “Is hiring a copyist truly that expensive?”
Siles looked at him in slight surprise and said, “The copyist’s work involves taking on a degree of risk. My paper is certainly fine, but the records and materials provided by others might not be.”
“Even so, you shouldn’t have to bear that cost when your text material poses no issue,” Chendo argued. “The risk isn’t being distributed fairly.”
Siles nodded, but then shook his head, saying, “Consider it paying for safety. A high hiring fee deters those with malicious intent.”
Chendo paused, then conceded, “You’re right. I hadn’t considered it from that perspective.”
Leaving the library, Siles went to a carriage station outside the campus to mail his letter. Calculating the time in his head, he felt confident that his paper would be published in a timely manner, which put his mind at ease.
Holding his hand, Chendo muttered, “Your hands are a bit cold.”
“We’re outdoors, so that’s normal,” Siles replied.
Chendo didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he said, “Fair enough. We should go eat. What do you plan to do this afternoon?”
After giving it careful thought, Siles said, “The library. I need to borrow a few books—it’s been delayed for quite some time.”
He was referring to the book list regarding the “Gods of the Age of Shadows” that Kellogg had given him. Coincidentally, their club meeting this Friday called for a discussion on that very topic.
Chendo opened his mouth as if to speak, but ended up merely shrugging. “Very well, I’d be happy to keep you company while you read.”
Naturally, while Siles read his books, Chendo would be watching Siles. The scene felt so familiar it bordered on perplexing, as if certain moments from the past were repeating themselves.
…The power of a Revelator. Indeed.
Siles had been looking forward to the books on that reading list, and his afternoon reading yielded good insights. During Friday’s club activity, he shared these findings with the students.
“The Age of Shadows was an era seemingly shrouded in darkness. Many events transpired in secret, unknown to the public, and appeared to have been deliberately concealed by those with ulterior motives.”
Siles opened the tea party gathering with this statement while sitting at the front of the classroom.
“Does anyone here know much about the Age of Shadows?” Siles asked.
Although Kellogg was clearly the student in the room with the deepest understanding of the Age of Shadows, she merely blinked and remained silent, evidently unwilling to bring the discussion to an abrupt end right at the start.
Thus, a student from the School of Theology was the first to speak up: “In our theology classes, the Age of Shadows is mentioned. As far as I know, many deities vanished during that era, such as Ligadia and Lusmi.
“However, stories of several other deities were still preserved through word of mouth—Thaddeus, for instance. There is a rumor that the Fourth Era was named the Age of ‘Shadows’ because a vast number of people perished back then, leaving a shadow over human hearts.”
Siles nodded in agreement.
In some of the books he had read, mention was likewise made of the “massive mortality rate” among humanity during the Age of Shadows.
This assertion was quite common across various texts. Historians from the Age of Mist derived their understanding of the Age of Shadows primarily from administrative records of longstanding cities or nations, including demographic statistics.
During the Age of Shadows, humanity experienced a sharp, linear surge in “excess mortality”—that is, non-natural deaths. Compared to normal times, humanity seemed to have been mysteriously struck by some calamity over that thousand-year span.
Even though the overall human population continued to grow, the rate of growth was significantly slower than in previous eras. Yet theoretically, human civilization during the Age of Shadows had not reached a stage where development would negatively impact birth rates.
That was a period spanning over a thousand years. If it were merely a year or two, or a specific phase caused by disease or war, a decline in human population would not be unusual. But that was a continuous “shadow” lasting over a millennium.
Consequently, some scholars proposed that it might have been influenced by “Thaddeus.”
That God of Death and Disaster could very well have done something during the Age of Shadows that led to a drastic decline in the human population.
However, this remained merely a hypothesis. In fact, the theory was not particularly popular in current academic circles. The era of the Old Gods had passed after all, and even if the existence of the Age of Shadows left people feeling uneasy, one couldn’t attribute every event to the Old Gods.
The prevailing view in modern historical circles favored the idea that a massive disaster had occurred during the Age of Shadows—most likely a natural calamity or a widespread plague.
This disaster led to the decline of human civilization, causing significant population loss and even the collapse of certain nations, thereby resulting in a historical fault line.
The catastrophe might have even affected the Old Gods, indirectly causing their fall during the Age of Silence.
Both the Old God theory and the Disaster theory garnered significant attention in historical academia. Yet beyond these two hypotheses, a third prominent theory existed: that the Old Gods caused the disaster, which in turn backfired and compromised their own power.
Should it be called the “Backfire Theory”?
Aside from these three main theories, there were other less popular claims, such as the War Theory, the Divine War Theory, the Disease Theory, and the Climate Theory.
Regardless, when it came to the historical gap of the Age of Shadows, scholars’ ideas boiled down to a few causes: human-made, divine, natural disaster, or a random combination of the three.
The hypothesis raised by the theology student carried a strong “theological” flavor.
Following him, several other students took turns sharing what they knew about the Age of Shadows. The atmosphere remained relaxed and casual, with students occasionally chiming in or drifting off onto side topics.
Siles would step in to steer them back whenever the conversation veered too far off course, though for the most part, he was content to let it flow naturally.
From the information they shared, Siles noted—unsurprisingly—that the students’ understanding of the Age of Shadows was limited to basic facts: the era existed; its history suffered a break; and no one truly knew why that gap occurred.
It was a superficial level of knowledge. Yet these students were university scholars of this era, mostly from the Faculty of Literature and History, who were expected to possess a foundational grasp of history and literature.
…It was a peculiar sensation, mirroring how Siles had previously felt regarding the “fall of the Old Gods” and the “spreading mist.”
“Did the history of the Age of Shadows really suffer a break?” “Yes, of course. Didn’t you know that?”—accompanied by a look of slight bewilderment.
Everyone knew the Old Gods had fallen; everyone knew the mist covered the Fisher World; everyone knew the history of the Age of Shadows was broken. Yet there were no details, no specific events, and no historical figures attached to it.
It was as though it were an established fact, as self-evident as one plus one equals two, embedded deep within everyone’s subconscious.
…Almost like a hardcoded program.
Siles drifted off in thought for a moment. By the time he snapped back, the students in the classroom were still enthusiastically discussing the topic, though their conversation had shifted toward “why so many deities vanished during the Age of Shadows.”
Including Ligadia and Lusmi, numerous deities had vanished during that era.
Drawing from the Old God theory, the Disaster theory, and the Backfire theory, the students offered their own guesses regarding the deities’ disappearance—such as being affected by the calamity, or losing power and becoming unable to manifest.
Ultimately, however, these remained mere speculations.
If one were talking about wild guesses, Jan Calder’s claim that Lusmi lost too much power after giving birth to a child with Thaddeus—forcing Her to vanish during the Age of Shadows—didn’t sound entirely impossible either.
Kellogg joined the discussion at that point: “My advisor recommended a book titled Digest of Literature from the Age of Shadows, which references a portion of surviving literature from that era. There aren’t many—only about ten volumes—and they are extremely difficult to find.
“Among them is a play written by a theater troupe, mocking the state of despair and self-abandonment among Lusmi’s believers after Her disappearance.”
“That sounds quite interesting!” the medical student remarked.
The theology student, however, showed a slight expression of discomfort, muttering softly, “Mocking believers of the Old Gods? That sounds a bit dangerous.”
The others chuckled at his comment.
Kellogg opened her eyes wide and said, “The line that left the deepest impression on me was a piece of dialogue from the script.”
“What was it?” the students asked curiously.
“‘Stars also have a corresponding melting point. When a molten star falls into the ocean, it causes both the star and the sea to evaporate together,’” Kellogg said softly.
