Pillar of Yita

In the dark room, dust gently floated up and down in the moonlight, while a longsword lay quietly on a silk cushion. The blade was slender, bright, spotless, and emitted a faint silver light. Abstract patterns, like flames, extended along the spine of the sword, finally growing into several small branches, encircling a line of delicate fairy script:

’Gatt’s Dárkáun, Súésl’s Flaéűm; Luáth’s március, Ctam’s réshett.’

’Sleep with dragons, hide with stars;

Rise with the moon, burn with the fire.’

Mazak quietly picked up the sword, his calm gaze directly facing the cold, shining blade in the dark environment. The heritage of a thousand years could not leave the slightest mark upon it, as if attributable to the exquisite skills of the fairies, or perhaps the protection of the Oly Pantheon.

It bore an ancient name:

——Fairy Kin, Galapea.

The innkeeper’s deep gaze was entwined with many memories of the past years, his ancestors, kin, and loved ones all emerged from his thoughts, but in an instant, they shattered into countless fragments, disappearing into a massive, black whirlpool.

He seemed to see that silver sand sea again, flowing serenely beneath the unchanging moonlight of a thousand years.

But reflected in the depths of his dark eyes was the dungeon beneath Idus, a deep, dark corridor, where the darkness gradually faded, and his sister’s face emerged, unchanged from thirty years ago.

Under the moonlight, he used a cloth, gently wiping the blade from bottom to top.

The motion was careful and slow, as if treating his lover, but the dragon slayer had no love left, only fate and ancient curses lurking as shadows—the desk before him held a letter in the bright moonlight. On the silver-white envelope was neatly written a line of small words:

’Mr. Mazak, personally opened——’

Beneath the signature, under an Istania seal, were the words ’Ade’.

The seal of the letter was open, and the letter itself was taken out, pressed beneath the envelope.

Mazak lifted his eyelids, glanced at the letter, his gaze lingering long on the seal. How long had it been since he saw such a seal? That sand sea often appeared in his dreams, and recently he began dreaming again—dreaming of childhood playmates, some already departed.

And his own sister.

A soft sigh sounded within the room.

It took a while for Mazak to realize it was his own voice, lifting his head and looking toward the other side of the hall—there once hung a huge dragon horn, but now nothing remained.

The hall once brightly lit was now eerily empty, the torches on the stone walls no longer lit, leaving only black iron recesses—the chandeliers on the wooden beams hanging like naked frames, though no longer holding bright candles’ flames.

Many tables and chairs that once filled the hall were now stacked together, idly piled in a corner, making the hall appear strikingly spacious.

Mazak still remembered the only table, about a year ago, some young people sat here, an Elf Miss, a short Papalarian, and among them one of whom’s appearance remained vividly in his memory.

A badge with a pattern of a giant dragon with a broken dragon horn lay flat on the table, beside the sword box, with a noticeable slash on it—the other side of the badge showed the hall’s only remaining decoration, an old hanging picture.

On the picture, a middle-aged person with silver-gray short hair seemed to sternly gaze at the hall.

The person held the same kind of sword.

Time was nearly up—he seemed to hear the sound of blood slowly flowing within, sometimes like a gentle stream, sometimes like a rushing river, endlessly continuing, sometimes causing an impulse—as if the sound was inciting something.

But Mazak knew clearly what it was, and he could hold onto his true self, making sure it remained unaffected.

Perhaps the sound would exploit a moment of vulnerability, but certainly not now.

A sound of someone opening the door emerged from the darkness.

Since the inn closed, most of the dwarf goblins who once resided and worked there were dismissed—no longer did anyone meticulously oil every door hinge of the inn, so at this moment, the door made a teeth-clenching ’creak’, drawing significant attention in the empty hall.

But Mazak didn’t even raise his head, remaining focused on his actions.

A voice came from the darkness: ”In the end, did you sell this place to those people?”

”I wanted to find a better home for it,” Mazak replied while wiping the sword, with his head lowered: ”a trustworthy heir, but time didn’t allow. I originally favored a young person, but it seems their aspirations lie elsewhere.”

He finished wiping the sword blade and then lifted his head to face the direction: ”Those people are merely regular businessmen, next time this place might not bear this name anymore, but that’s fine, let it be an ordinary inn.”

The middle-aged person standing in the darkness had a solemn face, wearing a black robe, layered over with a wide cloak. If Fang Hong were here, perhaps he would recognize this ’stranger’ who once shared a joint adventure with them in Dolifen.