C19 Meeting and Dreaming!!

Behind the Thvelond Temple lay a serene, rustic courtyard, a cornerstone of the Thvelond Sect known as the herb garden.

Outside the garden, Zopyrus sat, his face swollen and bruised, leaning against a massive greenstone, his eyes half-closed as he gazed at the faint outlines of distant mountains.

The creaky wooden door of the herb garden swung open. Clements, holding several Faewort in his hand, stepped out and approached Zopyrus.

"What's on your mind?" Clements had already tended to his wounds, donning a fresh black robe. The bloodstains on his face had vanished, giving him a rejuvenated appearance.

Yet, the strong scent of herbs lingering around Clements betrayed the severity of his injuries.

"I was pondering a saying," Zopyrus replied, taking a Faewort from Clements and popping it into his mouth. After chewing briefly, he swallowed.

Instantly, a surge of wild divine power enveloped Zopyrus. Brilliant celestial light swirled around him, and his wounds visibly began to heal.

"What saying?" Clements sat next to Zopyrus, a warm smile gracing his aged face.

"Somebody once told me that a mouse can turn into a wolf. I've been wondering exactly how a mouse transforms into a wolf!" Zopyrus returned Clements's gaze, a smile spreading across his disfigured face. But it was a chilling smile that sent an inexplicable shiver down Clements's spine.

Clements sensed a change in Zopyrus, a shift that made him seem almost unrecognizable.

Previously, Zopyrus would have seethed with rage and sworn vengeance after such torment and humiliation. But now, he had changed.

He had grown silent, and the look of hatred in his eyes had turned icy. Step by step, he seemed to be treading an irreversible path.

"Get dressed and go see Kallisto," Clements suggested, producing a clean light blue robe from his Inner World, the distinctive color of Thvelond.

Without a word, Zopyrus donned the light blue robe and rose to his feet. Together with Clements, they made their way toward the secluded courtyard nestled in the mists behind Thvelond.

"Squeak!"

The moment Zopyrus pushed open the wooden gate of the courtyard, his somber expression transformed into a beaming smile, and he sprinted into the house.

"Kallisto, I'm home!"

He bellowed, standing in the courtyard.

"Zopyrus!"

In the cramped kitchen, Kallisto's face lit up with joy. She dashed into Zopyrus's embrace without even bothering to untie her apron.

"Zopyrus, it's been days. I've been so worried!"

Kallisto clung to Zopyrus's slender frame, her eyes shimmering with tears beneath crescent-shaped brows. She thumped his chest, her voice tinged with an inexplicable note of reproach.

"Don't cry, Kallisto. Look, I've returned," Zopyrus said, his complexion growing increasingly pale as he fought back severe pain and tenderly wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Come on, Kallisto, I'm back now. Let's whip up a feast; I'm famished!" Clements, observing Zopyrus's faltering stance, swiftly pulled Kallisto away from his embrace, clamoring for the delectable dishes she prepared.

"Zopyrus, what would you like to eat?" Kallisto gave Clements a playful glare, then turned and coaxed Zopyrus with a tug on his arm.

"Well, isn't there still some Songbird meat? How about a pot of Songbird stew with mushrooms?" Zopyrus's lips were ashen, but he managed a strained smile.

"We're out of mushrooms. I'll go pick some from the hill behind us!" Kallisto laughed, her large eyes crinkling into crescents. She grabbed a basket and headed for the hillside.

"Cough, cough!"

No sooner had Kallisto left the courtyard than Zopyrus began to cough violently. He clutched his mouth, his frail body shaking. With each cough, thick droplets of blood oozed through his fingers.

"Zopyrus!" Clements rushed to his side, steadying his trembling form.

"You shouldn't push yourself like this!" Clements exclaimed, his heart aching. He couldn't fathom why Zopyrus would still let Kallisto be so carefree in his arms, despite his grave injuries.

Even a gentle punch from Kallisto could cause Zopyrus excruciating pain, enough to make him cough up a mouthful of blood.

"Old man, looks like you're still a virgin!" Zopyrus said, wiping the sweat from his brow and managing a rare smile at Clements, whose face was flushed with embarrassment.

"Damn, you little punk, you dare to mock me!" Clements barked back at Zopyrus, visibly angered.

"You don't get it. I don't know how much time I have left to be with her!" Zopyrus said, wiping away the blood at the corner of his mouth, his smile tinged with unspeakable sorrow.

"You're leaving?" Clements asked, shocked.

"Old man, are you afraid of dying?" Zopyrus turned to gaze out at the mountain range shrouded in mist beyond the courtyard.

"I'm not afraid. Where I die is irrelevant to me; the important thing is that I don't die in Thvelond!"

"Zopyrus, what nonsense are you spouting?" Clements shouted, his eyes turning red as he sensed something amiss.

"I'm just..." Zopyrus trailed off with a smile, choosing not to elaborate. His gaze remained fixed on the grandeur of the mountains and the vast expanse beyond.

"Dinner's ready!" Kallisto's voice rang out, a melodious sound that was music to the ears of the two men eagerly awaiting their meal.

In the courtyard, a large table was set, dominated by a massive stone pot that took up more than half its surface.

Without chairs, the three stood, wielding long chopsticks as they plunged into a fierce battle with the contents of the pot.

A layer of golden oil floated atop the thick broth, with steaming slices of meat tumbling in the heat. The intense aroma nearly made Zopyrus's knees buckle.

It was delicious, incredibly delicious.

Inhaling the savory scent deeply, Zopyrus felt utterly blissful.

He placed a slice of meat in his mouth, and the flavors exploded, the fragrant steam escaping, leaving a tantalizing taste.

"Kid, you're as ruthless as a wolf!" Kallisto and Clements were astounded as they watched Zopyrus deftly maneuver his chopsticks with both hands.

The scene was beautiful, a moment so perfect it left no room for regret in a life well-lived.

While Clements, Zopyrus, and Kallisto were savoring their meal, the scene unfolded at the foot of Thvelond Mount. Atop the highest peak of the nine continents sat Sablewings, the premier sect of the region. Despite the encroaching night and the deepening darkness, Thvelond Mount was still bathed in a rainbow-hued celestial glow, transforming it into a realm akin to a fairyland.

The architecture, resplendent in gold, was meticulously arranged, with the prismatic celestial glow casting the buildings in a jade-like sheen, their divine essence flowing as if one had stepped into the fabled ancient Celestial Court.

To the left of the Sablewings' grandeur, unnoticed in the shadows, lay a very small courtyard. It was barren, yet the greenstone-paved ground was spotless, clearly well-maintained. The only structure was a house, its simplicity surpassing even that of the humblest disciple's dwelling.

While Sablewings shone brightly, the entire Thvelond Mount enveloped in celestial radiance, this neglected corner remained shrouded in darkness throughout the year.

Suddenly, the dark and somber courtyard was disturbed by a ripple, like that of water, and a slender figure emerged from the void. He was tall and lean, dressed in a black bodysuit with a tattered cape billowing behind him, exuding the air of a solitary wanderer.

His face was obscured by a black mask, revealing only his narrow, almost rectangular eyes that glinted with an unforgiving chill, tinged with a subtle fatigue. His hair was thick and black, cut short in a style unlike the shoulder-length fashion of this world, with long bangs that danced in front of his eyes.

In his hand, he held a magic staff, with eight more strapped to his back. His shadowy figure resembled the most enigmatic of nocturnal prowlers.

"Number 1, you've returned!"

In that instant, the sole room in the courtyard opened, and a slightly stooped figure emerged. He was broad and muscular, his frame akin to iron and steel, with strands of white amidst his black hair that cascaded over his shoulders.

Bucolus, one of the three Chief Elders of Thvelond, was a different man in the darkness. Away from the eyes of his disciples, his aura turned dark and somber. The once upright figure they knew now seemed hunched, a shadow of his former self, as if he had aged prematurely into a sorrowful twilight.

"Lord, are you still among the living?" he lamented.

With a heavy sigh, Bucolus's once erect posture collapsed under the weight of his despair.

"I fought! I was defeated!" Number One's voice was cold, his words sparse.

Another sigh escaped Bucolus, his face creased with lines that seemed to age him by years in mere moments.

"The heavens seek to destroy Thvelond!" Bucolus cried out, his eyes brimming with tears as he looked skyward.

"He was overpowered!" Number One mused, breaking the silence with a chilling tone. A bizarre and formidable presence swirled around him, his aura as engulfing as an abyss, ready to consume all in its path.

"The turmoil is about to start. He will surely return to fight. We must take him down!" Bucolus's voice grew cold and resolute. "My Thvelond does not need such a Lord!"

"I understand," Number One responded, his voice resonating with a captivating magnetism.

"The past conflicts severely weakened our Thvelond Sect. This time, we cannot allow history to repeat itself!"

"If it means protecting Thvelond, I will resort to the most extreme measures without remorse, even if my actions defy all that is sacred," Bucolus declared, his gaze fixed on Number One, his expression dark. He was a man born from the shadows.

Years ago, during Thvelond's turmoil, the sect was besieged by numerous Wing Commanders from the Fell Lands. With the protective circle inactive, Bucolus suspected a traitor within, conspiring to bring about Thvelond's downfall.

The Wing Commanders launched their assault, and the Thvelond Sect was bathed in blood, the mountains themselves nearly collapsing under the onslaught.

Ultimately, Old Golden Roc shattered the Divine Rock and emerged with formidable force. In a single battle, he slew thirteen enemies, and thirteen Wing Commanders fell, saving the sect from certain ruin.

Yet, the eve of that chaos also witnessed the mysterious death of Maeander.

"I could suspect anyone within our sect, but never him—Kenway!" Bucolus sighed, his face shadowed with gloom.

Kenway, the progeny of the Thvelond Sect's founder, Everett, was foreseen by his father to face a great destiny. Before Everett vanished, he sealed Kenway within the Divine Rock. It wasn't until this era that Kenway emerged, waged battles across the nine continents, and forged a legacy of splendor rarely seen in the Thvelond Sect.

"Anyone who poses a threat to Thvelond must be eliminated. Whether they are devoid of conscience, commit every conceivable evil, or are scorned by the world, I will do whatever it takes to protect our sect!"

"Number One, do you hold any resentment towards me?" Bucolus asked, his voice heavy with remorse.

"You were meant to shine over the nine continents, to rise above all, to become a young Supreme, with the sun's light destined to shine upon the Continent of Sin!"

"But now, you've become the Abyss, forced to navigate through darkness. Fame and dazzling titles have all slipped away from you. Do you hold any resentment towards me?" Bucolus sighed again, memories flooding back.

"For my family!" Number One stood in silence, then spoke with an icy tone; he seemed like a machine designed only for killing, devoid of emotion.

"If our family has become the sun, then we must be the abyss, protecting them from the shadows!"

"If our family is like leaves basking in sunlight, we must be the roots buried in darkness, drawing in all nutrients to nourish their growth!"

"To sacrifice oneself, to silently guard one's family from the shadows... that is the true calling of a mage!" Number One spoke, his slender eyes betraying an unmistakable exhaustion.

"No matter how dark the sect becomes, no matter if I'm forgotten, I remain a part of Thvelond—I am Maeander!"

His declaration was startling. This man was none other than Maeander, believed to have perished and dissolved into pus and blood; he was Clements's first disciple, the once young Supreme of the Guiltlands!

"Go, check on Buteo," Bucolus said, a weariness evident on his face as he gestured to Maeander and headed toward his quarters.

"Oh, and I forgot to mention—you have a new junior brother and sister!" Bucolus turned back to inform Maeander of the arrival of Zopyrus and Kallisto.

At that moment, the figure that had remained steadfastly still throughout trembled fiercely.

"Master, you won't be alone anymore!"

With a surge of water-like ripples, Maeander vanished, leaving only Bucolus concealed in the deep darkness.

"Maeander, it appears that your bond with the Skystaff is growing ever more perfect!"

"The day I fail to detect your presence will be the day of your demise. I shall shoulder the darkness of Thvelond by myself!"

"I had planned for Buteo to slay Judas, then invoke the sect's laws to put Buteo to death, driving the crazed Buteo to kill the demon and shift its focus. In doing so, upon Kenway's return, without the demon's aid, he would not dare to recklessly take the Sacred Cauldron, and Thvelond would be spared another river of blood."

"Alas, my plan!"

"Kenway, what could possibly compel you to willingly conspire with demons and seek the downfall of Thvelond?"

The chill moonlight failed to chase away the shadows that clung to him; he was born of darkness.