Chapter 1033 — The End of Eternity

As they spoke, they had already passed the last ring of metal circles around the "tower" and drawn near a certain platform on its upper half. They descended toward it, and the dragons' forms began to change in midair — in the blink of an eye, their enormous dragon bodies became human shapes.

Hragor landed steadily at the edge of a crescent-shaped platform. Beside him, Anqian's figure came down as well — but the aged Speaker stumbled, nearly falling on the final step of his descent.

Hragor hurriedly reached out to steady him. Once the other man had found his footing, he shook his head with a smile: "I haven't flown in far too many years... It was fine when Omega was controlling me before, but now I can barely land smoothly."

Hragor only patted his shoulder, then raised his head to look toward the end of the platform.

A figure draped in a pale golden robe stood there. As Hragor's gaze went to it, the figure seemed to turn its head back toward them — but it was only an illusion. The next second, the figure silently dissolved into the air.

That was him from one million eight hundred seventy thousand years ago — leaving only a phantom behind in this place.

Anqian watched the scene quietly. He seemed about to speak, but in the end all his words became a soft sigh. He shook his head and strode forward, Hragor following close behind — they crossed the front of the platform, crossed the place where that long-dissolved figure had once stood.

A few minutes later, they had walked the curved passage at the platform's far end, and following the route remembered from long ago, they came at last to the end of a staircase near the highest point of the "tower."

A massive gate stood quietly before them. Beside it stood a middle-aged man with short gray hair, a high nose bridge, and a resolute face — none other than the ruler of the Holy Dragon Principality, Grand Duke Bayang'er Kerner.

"I didn't expect you'd already be here," Hragor said, a hint of a smile appearing on his face at the sight of him. "It's been a long time."

"It has been a long time," Bayang'er's gaze moved between Hragor and Anqian, and on that ever-too-serious face there even surfaced a rare smile. "I thought you might not be able to find this place anymore — when I saw you flying in, I even wondered whether I should light the lamps here to guide you."

"To be honest, I thought I wouldn't find it either..." Hragor closed his eyes gently, a faint smile on his face. "But when I close my eyes, everything here is still so clear."

"That's enough reminiscing — we still have the final step to complete," Anqian's aged, low voice came from beside them, cutting short Hragor and Bayang'er's "catching up." "Bayang'er, have you checked?"

"While waiting for you, I made a rough inspection of the situation inside: the power of the Eternal Storm and the power of the gods have together held everything here in stasis. The years have not destroyed our life's work — it remains in as good a condition as back then, without even a trace of aging. I managed to start the lift leading to the deep levels just now and activated the deep-level power assemblies. That has loosened the current space-time somewhat — I believe that should count as making ready for departure."

Hragor gazed into Bayang'er's eyes and could not help saying: "After all these years, you are still the finest machinist..."

"You flatter me, Chief," Bayang'er said, stepping half a pace aside and gesturing in invitation. "Come — the three of us have been away from our posts far too long."

The ancient, heavy gate opened without a sound. In this stagnant space-time, one million eight hundred seventy thousand years had not in the least corroded the miracle the dragonkin had once created with the strength of their entire race — Anqian and Hragor stepped through the gate, and the lights came on one by one as they entered.

Bayang'er followed close behind.

They passed through a very short corridor, through a connecting passage far too vast for human bodies, and arrived at a ring-shaped platform where a cylindrical lift was already waiting.

Lights flickered on the lift's surface, and on its smooth alloy shell, concise symbols marked useful information — a style utterly different from the decadent, corrupt Talrond of one million eight hundred seventy thousand years later. Hragor had not seen its like in many years.

The lift descended in silence, carrying the three dragonkin in human form deep into the "tower" — they passed through layer after layer of isolation bulkheads and heavy gates within the shaft, and the whole descent lasted a full half minute before the lift came to a stop in a broad place that resembled a control room.

As Hragor stepped out of the lift, the lights before him brightened in unison. He saw a spacious hall, lined with pillar after pillar in the ancient dragonkin style, and between the pillars many seats — everything just as it was deep in his memory.

They quickly found the seats that belonged to them — three seats so conspicuous, set at the very end of the hall's front, still as new as ever despite the vast stretch of time.

A faint tremor came from outside, and the air seemed to carry a chilling aura of malice and madness, a power beyond mortal imagination.

And yet, compared with the past million-odd years, this presence had weakened immeasurably, to the point where Heragol could resist it by willpower alone.

He knew that this "weakening" had been bought at a tremendous price.

The three did not speak; they simply walked forward in silence and sat down in silence. Bayang'er began working the many buttons before him, An Qian activated the systems under his charge, and Heragol laid his hand on a crystal protrusion at the front of his seat, delicately steering the many magical conduits within the crystal — and so an ancient creation slowly stirred from its long slumber.

Before them the great curved window brightened, becoming a projected veil that displayed the scene outside: in the crisp image one could see the sky near the "Tower," the light that kept seeping in, and the phantom dragons hanging motionless in the heavens.

An Qian's gaze was drawn irresistibly to those phantom dragons. His hand rested beside a panel on the right of his seat, but before carrying out the operation he could not help saying softly, "Want to look a little longer? Once we start, we will never see them again."

Heragol's gaze too fell upon those phantoms of the past, and among them he found many figures he had once known — old friends, old lovers, old sons and daughters... The names of those lost in the War of Defiance one million eight hundred seventy thousand years ago flowed slowly up from the depths of his heart, and yet he closed his eyes.

"Navigator An Qian, I authorize you to activate the engine — let these phantoms be released. They have long since taken up residence in our hearts."

"Yes, Captain."

An Qian drew a deep breath and activated the final sequence of the system.

The next moment, a low rumble came from the body of that vast, ancient beast, and the trembling of the entire hall heralded the belated "maiden voyage" at last beginning, millions of years overdue.

Heragol felt a gentle yet unwavering acceleration.

Outside, the space-time that had been frozen for one million eight hundred seventy thousand years finally began to break apart. The sea surged, the ancient phantoms dissolved one by one, and the metal "Tower" at the center of the vortex commenced its slow ascent — its full body, hidden in the deep sea, gradually surfaced: first the bow, thrusting skyward like a blade, then the tower-like hull, then the auxiliary engine groups arrayed amidships, the bulging reactor arrays, the antenna and radar systems, and the vast nozzles of the main engines...

This was not a tower.

This was a starship.