Deep inside Thunder Marsh’s lake, the water lay still and dark.

Shana pulled at the oars while Camon looped a rope around a giant dragonfly.

Giant dragonflies were common in the marsh and rarely attacked anyone.

Their plan was to guide the dragonfly into the mist and test the rumors.

“Buzz buzz buzz.”

The dragonfly’s wings shrieked, so loud Shana longed to cover his ears, yet his hands stayed on the oars.

The sound rattled his skull, raising goosebumps across his skin.

Even after the dragonfly drifted farther off, the buzzing stayed sharp in their ears.

Camon steered the dragonfly with the rope the way a child flies a kite.

He let the rope slip out, lengthening its reach.

From the stern, Shana shouted, “Did it enter the mist?”

Camon stood, craning his neck. “It’s in,” he confirmed.

“Is it still moving?” Shana asked.

Camon swayed left and right, hoping for a better angle. “I can’t tell!”

Wisps of cloud drifted across the crystal‑blue lake.

The deeper they rowed, the thicker the clouds became.

They stacked in layered banks that climbed upward.

Soon the layers merged into a single cloud mountain.

The giant dragonfly dove headfirst into the white mist, its buzz fading.

Shana and Camon stared for a long moment yet saw nothing.

After a pause, the buzzing suddenly swelled again.

“Buzz buzz.”

Both men felt trouble brewing.

The dragonfly had turned and now arrowed straight at their small boat.

“This is bad!”

“It’s coming right at us!”

Camon dropped the rope, seized an oar, and spun the boat around.

They paddled in a panic until the boat finally gained speed.

Once more, Camon faced forward and Shana pulled from the rear.

Shana rowed hard, glancing over his shoulder at the charging dragonfly.

Before their eyes the creature dissolved, its body turning to pale mist.

Though moments from vanishing, it kept beating its wings, driving toward the two tormentors who had bound it.

They feared not the insect but the white mist that shrouded it.

The monster closed in, leaving no path of escape.

Shana shouted in desperation.

“Too late, it’s on us!”

“Jump, now!”

He plunged into the lake with a splash.

The idea seemed sound, but the mist was no ordinary vapor and it drifted underwater as easily as above.

As he fell, the giant dragonfly followed, slicing into the water after him.

At once, the dragonfly fizzed away like foam, and the eerie white mist spread freely below the surface.

Shana watched from beneath the waves and panicked.

How could he flee now?

Thrashing, he inhaled water along with a mouthful of the mist.

He broke the surface and clung to the gunwale.

Face draining of color, he gasped, “Not good, not good!”

“The mist got into me. I’m finished!”

Camon stood frozen with an oar in hand as Shana’s every move drew more danger, while Camon remained motionless and untouched.

Shana grabbed his throat, eyes wide, convinced death was near.

“I’m finished!”

“Done for.”

“This time it’s truly the end.”

Yet, after moments of gasping and clutching, he did not die.

He still felt deathly ill, pale and drenched in cold sweat.

Camon watched but saw no hint of him dissolving.

He prodded Shana with the oar.

“You look fine.”

Shana looked up. “Fine?”

“How can I be fine?”

Camon insisted, “You really are.”

Shana checked himself and found no damage.

Excitement spread across his face. “Nothing at all?”

Not only had he survived, he realized the mist left him untouched.

That immunity meant he could pass through the mist, the barrier guarding the Lost Kingdom in the sky.

Afterward, Shana tested the mist several times, and it never harmed him.

“See?”

“It can’t hurt me. I’m not afraid.”

Standing on a fresh boat, Shana glided back out of the mist.

Camon waited afar and smiled when Shana reappeared.

“You truly are special!”

“The gods bar all others from that zone, yet they opened it for you.”

The boatman had said the gods forbade mortals from entering their sanctum.

Shana still lacked an answer, yet another of the boatman’s warnings came to mind.

“The white mist devours the living and spares only the dead.”

A shudder ran through Shana, and he shook his head at once.

“No, no!”

“I’m alive.”

After thinking hard he wondered, “Could it be because of my family’s special bloodline?”

His hereditary gifts seemed a likely cause.

Shana and Camon had now spent two months on Silver Fish Island.

They met fishermen, carpenters, blacksmiths, the shopkeeper, nearly every resident, and the merchants who stopped to gather wares.

Yet none of the islanders knew the true reason for their visit.

Shana claimed to be a noble scholar gathering lore on the Lost Kingdom.

The scholar Gwen had earned fame with a painting, and Shana hoped a masterful poem would win him renown across Suinhor and all of Ruhe Beast Island.

The explanation sounded sensible.

The islanders accepted it without doubt.

They welcomed Shana warmly and spoke to him with respect.

Each day someone urged, “Shana, you must write a great poem!”

He always answered, “I will, I will.”

Others asked, “Will you put Silver Fish Island in it?”

He promised, “Of course. Silver Fish Island is the loveliest place I have seen.”

During those weeks, Shana and Camon learned the Lost Kingdom surfaced roughly once each month.

That morning, Shana completed his preparations.

Two little boats waited at the foot of the cloud mountain, a place of danger.

At any moment the cloud mist could surge and swallow all nearby.

No creatures swam in these waters. The pure blue surface and dense cloud created a realm of spirits.

When the time was right, the clouds above slowly drew apart.

Above the cloud mountain, in the sunlight, the Lost Kingdom appeared.

“I’m off,” Shana said and set course for the distant mountain.

Camon waved. “Safe journey, Shana!”

“You have to succeed!”

“Come back and tell me everything.”

Shana vanished into the mist as his boat rose, climbing steadily toward the sky.

He was rowing a boat through clouds.

The mist was so thick the oars bit into it like water.

Soon he broke free of the mist.

By then, he had risen hundreds of meters into the sky.

Shana gazed toward the city Master Breman had named the Lost Kingdom.

It still lay far off, yet felt within reach as he drew nearer.

Brilliant sunlight poured through parting clouds like holy light, heavy with salvation and faith.

Shana rowed as though on a sacred pilgrimage.

He was a lone sailor on a sea of clouds.

His destination waited beyond sky and cloud.

He felt alone in the world. All else vanished from sight except the Lost Kingdom.

As he climbed, shadows moved beneath the cloud sea.

“What are those?”

Shana spotted graceful creatures.

They had clear canopies and waved glowing tentacles.

They looked like jellyfish.

Yet even the small ones spanned tens of meters, and the largest topped a hundred.

They drifted through the cloud layers like spirits of the sky‑sea.

Still, Shana knew their beauty hid lethal power no mortal could survive.

Deeper still lurked even greater shapes.

He saw only shadows, huge vines of glowing tentacle hanging from the sky and anchored to the mountain of cloud.

He stopped and hid within the mist.

Fear gripped him that they might notice.

Yet they gave no sign of sensing him and drifted away.

Only then did Shana row on, arcing around until he reached the uppermost cloud sea.

Here the sunlight blazed, and the city looked still more sacred.

Now the Lost Kingdom lay almost within reach.

He pulled harder, picking up speed.

At last, the boat’s hull thumped and scraped against solid ground beneath the clouds.

The craft jolted, and supplies rolled across the deck.

Shana rose, stared at the towering walls and the tiered buildings beyond, and cried out,

“I made it inside.”

“I’m inside!”

Dizzy with excitement, he scarcely remembered leaving the boat.

He knelt and touched stone wrapped in swirling mist.

At the city’s edge he saw its foundation was a single colossal slab of stone.

He had never heard of such construction, let alone imagined it.

He peered over the rim at the rolling cloud sea below and stood speechless.

When sense returned, he drew a deep breath and let it out.

Then he whispered, “Only gods could build such a place. This is their realm.”

Such wonders defied understanding.

Only gods could be credited.

Mortals often turn to deity when answers fail.

Shana walked toward the wall, the distant spires dipping from sight.

Only inside the gate did the buildings reveal their full grandeur.

He saw bell towers that scraped the sky and inns grander than the Temple of Fire Protection.

Wide canals branched in every direction toward the heart of the city.

Every structure was crafted with care: patterned walls, roofs set with statues, windows of clear glass.

“What gemstones are these?”

“They embedded them in windows?”

“Gemstones for windows, just to brighten a room or hold out the wind?”

He could not fathom such splendor.

It felt like breaking fine ceramic art to mix into mortar.

He stepped into a shop, fingers sliding over stained glass and bare shelves.

Countless wares must once have filled this place.

Workshop after workshop lined the street, beyond any alchemist’s dream. He sensed they had housed mountains of pottery, food, and cloth.

He knelt, as though the scent of fabric still hovered, and brushed scattered sugar crystals.

An empty bookstore came into view.

In its corner he found a lone scroll.

He unrolled it and froze.

The page was silk of a kind he had never seen, covered in the Trilobite script, and though he had never learned it he grasped the meaning.

Snake People knew only coarse cloth and even kings did not have silk like this.

To him the fabric itself felt divine.

He exclaimed, “They used a divine gift for mere writing!”

Harder still, the text itself held nothing important.

It was only a poem praising love.

What did that say about them?

Silk like this must have been common to them.

They possessed plenty and used it freely.

Holding the silk scroll tight, Shana stepped back outside.

The marvels left him reeling.

Sight and sound surpassed his grasp.

“Is this truly the divine realm?”

“Were its people the gods’ most devoted followers?”

“Did they live so well because divine grace never ended?”

Shana had heard wild tales, like streets of solid gold, yet those places had disappointed.

But the Lost Kingdom surpassed every fantasy he held about the realm of gods.

He felt like a beggar guessing how a king lived.

Shana realized Snake People were less than beggars beside these citizens.

Even their kings.

These folk were clouds, while Snake People were mud‑bound dust.

He wandered a city so vast one could be lost, preserved as it had been 250 million years ago during Yinsai’s most prosperous time.

The God‑Descended City stood frozen in time, hence its perfect preservation.

That was why Shana could witness it now.

Finally, Shana reached the royal palace and recognized it at once.

He had seen it portrayed in the mural The Lost Kingdom at the Temple of Fire Protection.

He crossed an empty plaza where ancient fountains had dried, and not a soul moved.

He stopped at a certain spot.

“This is it.”

He recalled standing here, gazing up at Suinhor’s deity, the Blood Progenitor.

She had fiery red hair and unearthly beauty.

Among the ancient ones she shone brightest.

Obscure words rose unbidden from Shana’s throat.

“The Most Ancient Ones!”

“God‑Descended City!”

He dimly understood the Most Ancient Ones had lived here and this was their God‑Descended City.

He climbed the steps and found a stone tablet before the palace.

It bore the first law of King Yesael, which opened with an introduction.

“The divine beings withdrew their gifts and in doing so set the Trilobite People free.”

“The close of the God‑Given era marks the dawn of history.”

That single line explained the birth of this city.

The Trilobite People left the God‑Given Land and crossed the sea to shape their future.

Their true civilization began from this point.

Shana could not grasp its depth as his mind clung to the words “divine beings.”

“Gods?”

“Which god? Which deity?”

He did not know that the Trilobite era had known only one god.

He could only continue reading, feeling he could find important information here.

“The second Wisdom King, Yesael, under King Redlichia’s command, departed the God‑Given City to seek the God‑Descended Site.”

“He sought the Origin Site of all things.”

“A place of ancient descent where gods made the Wisdom King and the Mother of Life.”

“That is… where the world first received life and wisdom.”

“Guided by divinity, King Yesael rode the Ruhe beast and found the promised paradise.”

“He named it the God‑Descended City!”

Shana noticed the name Ruhe, its pronunciation exactly the same as in Ruhe Beast Island.

Yet he had no idea what a Ruhe beast was.

Even so, his mind fixed on one sentence.

The site where gods created the Wisdom King and the Mother of Life.

“Mother of Life?”

A tremor shook him as though lightning had struck.

Unable to accept it, he repeated,

“Mother of Life?”

He shook his head. “Who could create the Mother of Life? Is she not the highest deity?”

“Is she not the Creator?”

A being able to create the Creator?

What sort of being could do that?

Shana suspected the tablet was wrong or someone had played a cruel joke.

Yet who would dare craft such deceit?

The Blood Progenitor had once stood here. No one would mock her with false words.

Even Shana’s family deity could hardly match a power like this. To equal the God of Alchemy or the Blood Progenitor was feat enough.

He had grown up hearing countless myths of her.

The Mother of Life had forged Ruhe Beast Island and ruled all living things.

His eyes drifted to the title Wisdom King, linking it to King Redlichia, as though no other deserved it.

“Wisdom King and Mother of Life?”

“Then?”

“Is there a deity equal to the Mother of Life?”

At last Shana understood what beings had lived here.

They were not mere believers.

They were descendants of gods.

“The Lost Kingdom.”

“Yes, truly the Lost Kingdom.”

Shana gazed humbly at the top of the steps, recalling the scene of the red-haired deity placing a crown on the king’s head.

“This is a place where ancient gods once roamed.”

“The capital of the Most Ancient Ones.”

His words were not precise, yet they were not wrong.

This was the city of demigods such as Xiao, Vivien, and Asai, a sacred place.

Weakness swept through him, and he sank to his knees.

He wished to prostrate himself, unworthy to tread this soil.

Here had lived a civilization beyond Snake People’s dreams.

They had wielded power words could not capture.

Their resources had seemed endless.

They had walked beside gods.

Indeed, they themselves were descendants of gods.

Now all was lost, preserved only in this city adrift among clouds.

Shana now grasped why Master Breman had titled the painting The Lost Kingdom, though he still wondered how the man had known.

Was it sudden inspiration?

Or divine guidance?

“The Blood Progenitor must have guided him!”

Thinking of the Blood Progenitor reminded Shana of his own purpose.

“The god our clan worships must have lived here as well.”

“Why did that god send me here?”

“What must I retrieve?”

He moved deeper into the palace, pulled by an unseen force.

The palace was immense, its rooms a maze.

Yet a mysterious guidance soon led him to his goal.

He stopped in a corridor of the Wisdom Palace and looked out.

Blood‑red flowers bloomed beyond.

They swayed in bright sun, revealing perfect forms.

He knew them at once as the emblem of the Blood Progenitor.

“Blood Mist Cups!”

These lovely flowers never appeared in the mortal world and held extraordinary power.

A sea of flowers so vast could devour any who dared enter.

At its center stood a birdcage‑shaped garden set with thick glass.

The Blood Mist Cups had once been Sun Cups that grew from that garden.

Shana dared not step among them and watched from afar.

“There it is.”

He glimpsed something hidden deep within the flowers.

It was a row of tombs.

The last tomb held what he sought.

Using his strange gift, Shana’s sight pierced the flowers and the tomb.

Yet something on the tomb flared and shut his vision out.

“A ritual array!”

Lines of light crossed the tomb, etched with ancient spells.

Blocking sight was only one function. It possessed even more terrible power.

Anyone who broke it would meet deadly backlash.

Shana could neither cross the flower sea nor shatter the ritual array.

Reluctantly, Shana stepped back.

When the cloud mist closed once more, he lost his way and feared meeting the creatures within.

He remained in the God‑Descended City for a month before choosing to return to Silver Fish Island.

Camon greeted Shana with joy.

“How was it?”

“What did you see?”

Shana held back because the truth was too shocking.

Some secrets stay hidden because they endanger ordinary folk.

He only said, “One more step. If you still wish to know after that, I’ll tell you.”

Camon smiled. “Wonderful!”

“One last step.”

Shana turned to him. “Camon!”

“Are you not curious about my goal?”

Camon’s grin widened. “If you want to tell me, you naturally will.”

“Still, you entered the Lost Kingdom.”

“That must be because of divine guidance. You are the chosen one.”

“I trust you.”

Shana felt he truly was the chosen one, otherwise how could everything have gone so smoothly.

“Perhaps it really is so.”

Camon asked, “With one step left, what will you do?”

Shana tucked a written letter into a package. “I’ve made preparations.”

“Trust me.”

“Soon you will have answers.”

Shana looked outside. The island’s fishermen were readying their nets again.

They cast nets across the lake, busy with their work.

The boatman who had ferried them opened the door. “Mr. Shana, time to go.”

Shana nodded. “Yes, we must leave for a while.”

Suinhor City‑State.

Johan Town.

Shana’s father walked through a forest outside town and slipped past an illusory barrier.

He looked up.

A dreamlike tree bloomed with colorful flowers.

The Shana clan, ancient since Alcina’s era and rich in artifacts, was out of place in this modest town.

Thus the family had ways to locate rainbow trees and had used them for years to pass messages.

They had even attempted to reach their master through such means.

No reply had ever come.

Shana’s father took a letter from the hollow and returned to the family’s castle.

The elderly grandfather opened the letter and his deep wrinkles eased.

Joy was impossible to hide.

It was as if a stone that had weighed on him for years had been lifted.

He looked at Shana’s father, and the gloomy old man smiled for the first time.

“He found it.”

The father stood stunned, eyes flooding. “That is wonderful.”

After a long pause he asked,

“Can he do it?”

The grandfather folded the letter, his face growing stern again.

“Fate will see it done.”

“He cannot resist or refuse. He must act.”

“Because…”

“He is Shana.”