Chapter 1274 — The Front End
Blade of Dawn · Page 3 of 4
She looked at Amorn, recalling the "scene" she had seen and the conjectures she had formed in that wondrous state not long ago. She imagined, she sketched out a view from a higher dimension—and from that vantage she seemed able to see another "appearance" of the old friend before her: this being named "Amorn," composed of countless quantities and variables, a ripple pattern crossed and influenced by countless ripples while itself trembling ceaselessly... drifting in the omnipresent cosmic background radiation.
...
Firna raised her head and gazed at the foul, heavy clouds high above that blotted out the sunlight, watching the thin, feeble radiance of the sun struggle down to the base of the clouds and form a dim, twilight-like curtain across the sky. Amid the drifting of the high clouds, she suddenly broke the silence in a soft voice: "The wind up high has changed direction again..."
"Yes, 'again'—atmospheric systems in the grip of magical energy are always undergoing changes that are hard to predict," Lerna's voice came from beside her, light and unconcerned. "But no matter how it changes, this wasteland remains as it was."
"Just like this pitiful world... The wind keeps shifting, all things replace one another without end, yet it is forever trapped in these brief cycles, unable to escape. Gravity is this planet's 'grand wall,' and beyond the wall lies the starry sky that mortals have no right to touch..."
The elf sisters, whose features were almost identical, sighed and answered each other atop a great boulder like opera performers, while on the open ground behind them a vast spatial rift, like a swirling mirror, was gradually growing stable.
The rift was filled with a dazzling azure radiance; streams of light raced swiftly through the vast space deep within the fissure, and the slight overflow of energy stirred the nearby air, drawing out a whistling wind around the rift's edges.
Two aberrant giants, their bodies covered in flowing slurry of flesh and blood, were striding with heavy steps toward that rift which looked so exceedingly dangerous. One behind the other, they carried a huge and intricate rune stone, and upon its surface a dim magical radiance was slowly awakening.
The rune stone was cast into the rift. No sooner had it passed through this "door" than, under the action of some automatic guidance mechanism, it flew swiftly toward one of the blue streams of light. The intricate device slipped silently into the surging torrent of magic, and only then did a treant priest, who had been directing the aberrant giants, come down from a nearby hillside and say in a tone of relief, "There. Now we have secured another node... Prelates, we are one step closer to success."
Firna nodded slightly and gave the approaching treant priest a sweet smile: "Yes. Thank you for your hard work."
Lerna, at her side, said nothing; she merely raised her right hand slightly, and one pale blue phantom light after another took shape above her palm. In the clear magical projection, a crisscrossing network of passages like blood vessels could be seen emerging, while a portion of the light streams within it glowed more brightly, as though deliberately marked out.
These streams clearly extended farther than the others and produced more branches; their ends crossed and interwove, and faintly, dimly, they seemed to be gathering into a sphere.
"Yes, we are a little closer to success," Lerna said softly with a smile. "This meaningless cycle, carried on generation after generation... at last it is about to mean something."
...
The shrill whistle of the train entering the station carried across the entire stronghold and then out over the open plains, far and farther still. The great architect Bruce Bedrock climbed a tower near the southern wall. The outstanding craftsman of dwarven blood gazed into the distance, and after a moment nodded slightly: "We have got a firm foothold here. Not bad at all."