Storage Spirit Realm.

Sunlight bathed the beach in a warm glow, where ocean waves shimmered gently. Towering flower trees stretched high, their colors catching the light and scattering faint rainbows. This place felt far removed from the ordinary world.

This was a Spirit Realm.

The puppet Oran’s wheelchair rolled slowly down the slope, coming to a stop beneath the Rainbow Tree. It looked toward the tree’s hollow and waited for a while before the wheelchair finally moved away again.

The next day, it came again.

Sometimes it came by itself. Sometimes Saint Raphael pushed it there.

It kept waiting for Tut to reply to its letter, but a reply never came.

“Why hasn’t the letter come?”

“Did he forget?”

Saint Raphael did not seem worried. “Old Tut must be very busy,” she said. “He has many things to do.”

The puppet Oran teased, “Or he’s just getting senile. Too old to remember to write back to me.”

The puppet Oran decided to write another letter to Old Tut, asking about his recent situation and how his textile machine manufacturing workshop was doing.

“I will send another letter.”

The puppet Oran wrote the letter and put it into the hollow of the Rainbow Tree. Although the Rainbow Tree in the Storage Spirit Realm was not used for sending and receiving letters, it had the same function.

The letter was sent to the Letter Spirit Realm, then cast into the distance.

But this letter could not find its destination.

Ultimately, the letter found its way back, undelivered.

Under the Rainbow Tree, the puppet Oran, lying in the wheelchair, could not help but reach out and take the letter.

It looked at the letter, which showed no signs of being opened, then turned its gaze toward Saint Raphael.

“The letter was returned? It wasn’t delivered?”

“What does that mean?”

Saint Raphael looked at the letter without speaking.

As part of the dream race and as messengers of the gods, they understood better than anyone the significance of an undelivered letter.

Saint Raphael hesitated. Her voice trembled when she replied. “The messenger… couldn’t find Old Tut.”

The puppet Oran’s gem-like eyes fixed on her, its voice steady but questioning. “Couldn’t find him? What does that mean?”

Saint Raphael’s composure finally broke, her words spilling out in anguish. “It means he’s gone. Tut is dead.”

The puppet Oran froze, its voice barely a whisper. “Dead?”

The Wood Nymph’s sobbing grew louder. Unlike the puppet Oran, her understanding of death was very shallow.

She had never learned how to say goodbye to a life.

“Living beings are directly connected to the source,” she explained through her tears. “The messengers on duty in the Creator’s Kingdom could not possibly fail to find them.”

“As long as a person is still alive, letters will not be returned.”

“They will keep waiting for the other party to receive them.”

“He might have transformed into a Lamp Spirit and entered the kingdom of the God of Alchemy and Desire, or his life’s dream might have entered the Dream Starry Sea.”

After death, one could choose to enter the kingdom of their faith’s deity, where their god would personally guide them.

One could also choose to enter the Dream Starry Sea.

That was the destination the Creator had arranged for ordinary beings and civilizations.

Of course, there was another possibility. One’s life dream could be shattered, unable to enter the Dream Starry Sea.

Ordinary people did not have this ability. Even Ability Users below the mythological rank found it difficult to destroy the laws and obliterate another’s life dream. Only an Ability User could do such a thing to themselves.

But who would willingly shatter their own life dream?

The puppet Oran looked toward Saint Raphael. No emotion could be seen in its gem-inlaid eyes.

Then it mechanically turned its head to look at the tree hollow again, saying nothing.

Saint Raphael’s emotions finally overwhelmed her, and she broke into loud sobs.

“He left,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

“And he’s never coming back.”

Saint Raphael had long understood that the farewells of mortals and the farewells of Wood Nymphs were completely different.

She understood that when mortals said goodbye, it was often final.

If there was a chance to meet again, people rarely said goodbye so easily.

But this farewell of eternal separation came too quickly.

As the figure turned away, bathed in the fading sunlight, it seemed to dissolve into the horizon. It was a farewell that felt eternal, a departure never to be seen again.

The puppet Oran took its letter and quietly returned to the Exile White Tower.

It entered the small house where Old Tut once lived and walked in circles, often stopping before the stairs where Old Tut had repeatedly blocked its path.

From a young age, it had joined the Tower Spirit School, quickly earning recognition as a prodigy. While still quite young, it had already achieved the rank of a Third-Rank Ability User, a testament to its extraordinary talent.

Like its teacher, it shared the same relentless pursuit of the Tower Spirit mysteries.

The only difference was that the teacher was nearing the end of his years, while Oran was still young. The teacher’s time was limited, but Oran had the luxury of years ahead to chase after the Tower Spirit mysteries.

A great goal was usually accompanied by the accumulation of several generations, measured in centuries.

Most people were simply builders of tall towers, never destined to become those who reach for the stars.

People always said to leave opportunities for the younger generation, but who did not want to become the one who plucked the stars?

The teacher was too impatient. He did not want to wait for futures he could not see.

What he wanted was a future he could grasp immediately.

He wanted to become the star-plucker himself.

The puppet Oran had witnessed firsthand the establishment of the white tower. This tower was built to pursue the Tower Spirit mysteries, built for their dreams.

In the end, it became the resting place for their dreams and their final tomb.

It had thought many times about what it would have chosen, if it had been the teacher at that time.

“Would I choose to become the foundation-layer?”

“Or would I become the star-plucker at any cost?”

It had once silently agreed to the teacher’s experiments, never openly opposing them.

At that moment, the answer revealed itself.

It got up from the wheelchair and stood beneath the white tower.

For the first time, it saw itself so clearly.

It saw its teacher, and it also saw the shadow of its former self. The two stood back to back, with the white tower and circling evil spirits behind them.

The puppet Oran extended its hand, reaching toward the shadow it imagined standing beside its teacher.

“What I did was not a mistake.”

“I am guilty.”

“Old Tut was right. I am guilty. The teacher and I are the same kind of people.”

“Like him, I was not willing to become a foundation-layer. We only wanted to become the most dazzling people in this world, to become the successful star-pluckers.”

“We were not for everyone’s dreams, not for the mysteries that the Tower Spirit School had pursued for generations.”

“We…”

“We were only for our own dreams, only for our most brilliant selves.”

“For these things, we blinded our own eyes. We tried to take those impossible shortcuts.”

The puppet Oran admitted for the first time that it had committed the same sin as its teacher, finally facing its own heart.

It lowered its head and whispered softly.

“Tut…”

“I’m sorry.”

The puppet came before the Wood Nymph.

He simply said, “I’m leaving.”

Saint Raphael was not surprised. She seemed to know Oran would come.

Yet, she could not bring herself to agree.

To her, the puppet Oran would follow the same path as Tut.

To leave and never come back.

The Wood Nymph Saint Raphael found various reasons, telling the puppet Oran it should not leave, that it should stay.

“Oran, you can barely move,” she pleaded. “Every step you take worsens the erosion from Elena’s Heart. One day, it will turn you into a lifeless puppet.”

“A puppet that can’t even speak.”

“The outside world is full of dangers. I should never have let Tut go.”

Saint Raphael bit her lip, her voice trembling. “He left us… he truly left us.”

Saint Raphael regretted it deeply. She felt that because she let Tut leave, Tut had died.

She held onto the belief that if Tut had remained in the Storage Spirit Realm, they could have shared a lifetime of happiness.

The puppet Oran spoke softly. “Isn’t this just the way of mortal life?”

“We are born, we grow, and we age.”

“Time wears us down, little by little.”

“And in the end…”

“We die.”

“Whether we are eroded by time or by the power of Elena’s Heart, it is actually the same.”

The puppet Oran spoke softly to the Wood Nymph, not as a puppet but as a simple Snake Person.

“Saint Raphael,” Oran began.

“You are a Wood Nymph, a messenger of the gods. To you, life is like a vast river that flows endlessly, its end hidden beyond the horizon. You walk alongside gods, untouched by the passage of time.”

“But we mortals are different.”

The puppet Oran looked toward the Rainbow Tree, watching its petals fall and blow into the sea. “In our eyes, life is like the leaves on a tree.”

“It is born on the tree, but one day it falls.”

“It drifts with the wind and settles into the earth.”

“Covered by soil, it breaks down and fades away.”

“And in time, it becomes nourishment for the tree once more.”

The puppet Oran stood before the Wood Nymph. It wanted very much to show a smiling expression, to tell her that mortal birth and death were just normal parts of life.

It wanted to ease Saint Raphael’s mind and gain her permission to leave.

But its steel face could not convey any emotion. Even its voice carried a coldness.

“This is my destiny.”

“A mortal’s destiny.”

“Compared to death, becoming a real puppet is also quite romantic, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps then I could truly return to your side, a real puppet, forever sitting beside you.”

When Saint Raphael heard Oran say this, she immediately shook her head.

She could not bear it.

“No!” she cried out, her voice trembling as she looked at Oran.

“Don’t say that!” she pleaded, her emotions spilling over.

“I don’t want you to become that. I don’t want that kind of puppet. I don’t want that kind of you.”

Saint Raphael’s emotions surged, a mix of anger and sorrow that she could not contain.

“I don’t want you to become that kind of puppet,” she repeated, her voice trembling with emotion.

Saint Raphael gazed at the puppet, her sorrow evident in her eyes. Holding back her tears, she whispered, “That wouldn’t be my puppet.”

The puppet Oran asked, “What is the difference between you making me stay here and you making me become a real puppet?”

Saint Raphael looked at it. “Can I come with you?”

The puppet Oran had experienced the kingdoms of two gods and heard many rumors about them, secrets that mortals should not know.

Wood Nymphs were born carrying a mission given by the Dream Sovereign. Only when performing their missions, when completing them, were they messengers of the gods.

When they had no missions to fulfill, they ceased to be messengers.

They were no longer elevated above others.

The puppet Oran gently declined. “You have a mission here, Saint Raphael. This Storage Spirit Realm is your dream, your purpose.”

“You’ve poured so much of yourself into this place.”

“You shouldn’t give it all up for me.”

The puppet Oran reached out, wanting to comfort Saint Raphael.

In the end, it let its hand fall gently to its side.

“You are a messenger of the gods,” it said softly. “Your mission and your duties are what define you.”

“When you begin interfering in mortal disputes, you will no longer be a messenger of the gods.”

Saint Raphael looked at the puppet Oran. She understood she could no longer stop him from leaving.

She had actually known this long ago, but she did not know the separation would come so suddenly.

Saint Raphael could not help but let her tears flow.

The puppet Oran told her, “When we mortals part, we always say goodbye with smiles.”

“And besides,” the puppet added softly, “your smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in this world.”

When Saint Raphael heard the puppet Oran say this, she suddenly laughed.

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with her laughter in a bittersweet moment.

Though sadness weighed heavily on her heart, Oran’s words brought a glimmer of joy.

She could not help but smile through her tears, gazing at the puppet Oran with a mix of sorrow and warmth.

Saint Raphael looked at the puppet Oran for a long time. Her voice was soft when she finally spoke. “Will we always be friends?”

The puppet Oran nodded, its voice steady. “Always.”

Saint Raphael smiled faintly. “Forever?”

The puppet Oran replied without hesitation. “Forever.”

Saint Raphael walked in front of the puppet Oran, hugged it gently, then reached out toward its heart.

Colorful light flowed into the puppet Oran’s heart, forming a polygonal barrier that bound the heart’s boundaries.

“I asked my friend to examine the Divine Cup.”

“Oran,” she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of concern.

“You are not part of the Divine Cup’s artifact sequence.”

“The reason you have not lost yourself to madness is because you have not fully merged with the artifact. Your source remains intact, untouched by complete erosion. It seems Elena’s Heart has a threshold, allowing only those who meet its criteria to truly bond with its power. You have not been fully accepted by her yet.”

“But I cannot restore you to your original state. As a being of dreams, I do not fully understand creatures of the Wisdom bloodline.”

“Dream power operates within its own domain. I can help you by sealing it.”

“As long as the seal remains intact, the erosion will stop.”

“However, you will not be able to freely use the power of Elena’s Heart anymore. You will only have access to the remnants of your strength.”

“If the seal is broken, the erosion will resume immediately, and the process will accelerate.”

The puppet Oran looked at the colorful light on its heart, as if seeing Saint Raphael protecting it.

“Thank you, Lord Saint Raphael.”

“I feel much better this way, as if you are always holding my fragile heart, not letting it explode.”

This description made Saint Raphael laugh through her tears. “Just call me Saint Raphael.”

The puppet Oran could finally stand up and walk freely.

It put on alchemist robes and a pointed hat. Saint Raphael also gave it a pair of boots and gloves, which looked very suitable.

Before leaving, the puppet Oran spoke to Saint Raphael.

“Old Tut gave you a music box, but I have been thinking for a long time and still don’t know what I should give you.”

“Everything I have was given to me by you.”

“Even this wheelchair.”

Even Oran itself was Saint Raphael’s puppet.

Saint Raphael looked at the wheelchair she had always used to push the puppet Oran. She suddenly remembered those past times.

She had once used it to bring the puppet Oran rushing down from the high tower, then running crookedly everywhere on small paths, the bumps making the puppet bounce continuously.

Those scenes all became the past.

The laughter from the past, when recalled now, carried an uneasy weight.

It felt like something precious was slipping away.

Saint Raphael gripped the back of the wheelchair, as if she were still pushing Oran.

She looked at the puppet Oran and spoke softly.

“I’ll keep the wheelchair,” she said, her voice steady yet filled with emotion.

“I’ll preserve it,” she added, her gaze unwavering. “Forever.”

The puppet Oran had once been an alchemist genius, but geniuses were often solitary, and it was equally taciturn.

At times like this, it did not know how to express itself.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for always taking care of me, Saint Raphael.”

Saint Raphael shook her head. “I don’t like it when you thank me. It feels so distant.”

The puppet Oran did not know what to say anymore.

Like Saint Raphael’s unfamiliarity with eternal farewells, it also did not know how to say goodbye.

The puppet stood by the seaside, looking at the vast ocean.

As the gate of the Storage Spirit Realm opened, it saw the distant sunrise coastline of the seafloor, the prosperous and busy mortal world.

Oran knew it should leave, but when it really had to, it was confused.

It had been separated from this world for too long.

The outside world was no longer the world it was familiar with.

The Exile White Tower and this isolated island had imprisoned it for too long, even making it accustomed to an imprisoned life, treating this place as its world, as its everything.

When you lose freedom for too long, you begin to fear freedom.

The puppet Oran stood by the seaside for a long time.

At last, it turned and walked away.

Saint Raphael watched the puppet Oran leave, crossing the illusory and hazy spirit realm gate and disappearing over the sea surface.

Now, the Storage Spirit Realm was quiet, with only Saint Raphael and a gathering of Storage Spirits remaining.

Saint Raphael waited until she saw the gate completely close and all the ripples settle.

Only then did she push the wheelchair alone, slowly returning to the white tower.

She pushed the wheelchair bit by bit up the spiral stairs outside the tower, her tears dripping continuously.

She pushed while wiping her eyes with her hands.

Ordinarily, she would have cried openly, letting everyone see her sorrow, her joy, and the emotions she carried.

She never concealed these things.

But when she was left all alone, she found she only had sadness left.

She activated a storage compartment belonging to her and watched it open.

Then, she gently pushed the wheelchair inside and watched as the storage compartment slowly closed.

Buzz buzz buzz~

Inside the storage compartment were the wheelchair and a small wooden box.

Looking at these two things, looking at the densely packed storage compartments, looking at all the things people had placed here, Saint Raphael finally understood her duty.

She was a Storage Nymph.

She once thought that after becoming a Storage Nymph, she could possess all the treasures in the world.

She felt that she would be the richest person in the world, the most envied person.

But at this moment, she suddenly understood.

Not all things were worthy of being called treasures. The treasures each person possessed were also completely different.

True treasures are not defined by their inherent value or rarity alone but by the unique and special meanings they hold.

Irreproducible.

Uncopyable.

She could preserve those moments and memories entirely, keeping them safe within the storage compartments.

Here, every item held was a treasure, not for its worth, but for the memories and meaning it carried.

City of Gold.

The puppet Oran traveled for several days to reach the city, keeping to quieter paths and avoiding crowds because of its unusual appearance.

It hitched a ride on a cart carrying wood. The Sail Beast steadily pulled the cart into the City of Gold.

The main street bustled with activity, filled with the chatter of passersby and the rhythmic clatter of other carts.

Oran adjusted the brim of its hat, leaning slightly to peer through the gaps in the wooden boards. It took in the lively scenes of the city with quiet curiosity.

It used its own eyes to search for traces in its memory that it could match.

It hesitated, searching for the right words, its feelings caught between hope and uncertainty.

In the Land of Sunrise, there was not yet a saying for the way one’s courage falters when nearing home.

Decades had already passed.

The City of Gold had many shadows of the past, but in the puppet Oran’s eyes, there were more changes.

This was a city where it had lived from childhood to adulthood, and also a city that was now completely unfamiliar.

Eventually, it arrived at the Tut Textile Machine Manufacturing Workshop. The scene was chaotic. Several individuals were in a heated argument while the craftsmen stood nearby, unsure of what to do.

“Still haven’t found the teacher?”

“Did anyone see the teacher last? No one at the temple saw him either?”

“What about the workshop?”

“The teacher is missing, and all you can think about is the workshop?”

“Moorman, this is the teacher’s life’s work! How can we just watch it decline like this? And what about the water-powered spinning machine? Are we still making it or not?”

“Alsmo, I think you’re just…”

Several Servant Alchemists who had just been granted abilities, and had not even mastered their first Divine Technique, were now arguing fiercely, almost ready to fight.

Workers in the workshop hurriedly held them back, but the atmosphere was very tense.

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed from the main gate as someone stepped into the workshop.

This person immediately attracted everyone’s attention, and many people’s eyes widened.

This person stood out, wearing black leather boots and notably lacking a tail.

A young man stepped forward. “Who are you?”

The person raised his head. “My name is Oran.”

Under the pointed hat was a metal face, which frightened everyone present.

Many Snake Person craftsmen retreated repeatedly.

“What is that?”

“An iron… iron person.”

“A puppet?”

“How can a puppet speak?”

But some others suddenly felt the name Oran was familiar. After a long moment, they realized this was the close friend that Old Tut had mentioned.

A powerful alchemist from the Tower Spirit School.

The young man named Alsmo stepped forward, asking skeptically, “Mr. Oran?”

He repeated, “Mr. Oran from the Tower Spirit School?”

The puppet walked in front of him. “You know me?”

Alsmo nodded. “I heard the teacher mention you.”

The puppet looked Alsmo up and down. “You’re Tut’s student?”

Alsmo looked at the others around him. “Not just me. Moorman, Guan, Stia, and the others too.”

Although the puppet Oran’s appearance was somewhat strange, in Tut’s words, this person was an alchemist with apostle power.

It would not be surprising for such a powerful being to have a strange appearance.

In the legends, were apostles not said to possess the form of gods?

It seemed to fit perfectly.

The puppet Oran asked, “What has been happening here? What are you all arguing about?”

“I have not received letters from Tut for a long time and sensed something might be wrong.”

“So I came here specifically to look for him.”

Several of Tut’s students immediately reacted. They instructed the craftsmen in the workshop not to speak carelessly, then brought Oran inside to carefully explain recent events.

From the account of Tut’s students, the puppet Oran finally learned what had happened.

It learned how Tut established this workshop, how he led his students to create spinning and weaving machines, and how he achieved huge success.

The students even talked about the water-powered spinning machine. Though the machine was not here, they could only explain it with drawings.

The puppet had not expected that Old Tut had already taken so many students so quickly.

Looking at these chattering young people, their eyes full of hope and motivation, Oran could not help but think of the former Tut and itself.

The once-destroyed Tower Spirit School seemed to be reappearing here.

“So, you also don’t know where Tut went?”

Several students looked at each other, then shook their heads.

“No one has seen him again?”

The students still shook their heads. Tut’s disappearance was too sudden, without any warning or clues.

Alsmo asked hesitantly, “Mr. Oran, do you have any idea where Teacher Tut might have gone?”

“Could he have left to look for you?”

Another student, Moorman, asked with great worry. “The teacher won’t be in danger, will he?”

A student named Guan was particularly anxious. “We must find the teacher. Without him, the entire Tut Textile Machine Manufacturing Workshop will be finished. He worked so hard to start this enterprise, and it would all be wasted.”

The puppet Oran looked at the students’ eyes and knew they did not know what had happened.

They still thought Tut had just suddenly left for some reason, not knowing that he was already dead.

In the end, it simply said, “Everything will be fine.”

“Since I’m here, you don’t need to worry.”

“I will solve the matters that follow.”

Tut’s students finally felt relieved and invited Oran to stay at their homes.

But Oran chose to stay. It wanted to look at this workshop that Tut had established.

It did not tell the students that Tut was probably dead. Perhaps it was unwilling to say such cruel things, or perhaps it could not accept it itself and held onto a thread of hope.

It wandered around the workshop, which had stopped operating, looking at the finished wooden spinning and weaving machines.

As it walked, it recited a passage that the students had just mentioned Tut saying.

“Everyone knows to lift their heads and look at the stars in the sky.”

“They all want to grow wings, want to ride the wind and fly.”

“But no one lowers their head to build the ladder to the sky.”

“Because building a ladder is too troublesome, and it takes too long. It is possible that one could die before this ladder is even built.”

“Not everyone can grow wings, and the wind does not always blow.”

“Those with extraordinary talent who grow wings will eventually become unrepeatable legends that disappear in history. Those lucky ones who ride the wind will also eventually end when the wind stops, unnoticed.”

“They change only themselves, not the world.”

“But with the ladder to the sky, it is like the ancient Snake People who once built the Tower of Heaven in the City of Life.”

“We can all climb to the sky and touch the stars.”

“In that era, everyone had wings to soar, everyone could ride the wind and fly.”

The students said that when Tut finally left, he said he would send Oran a letter.

The puppet Oran could not be certain if the letter included this passage, but it felt likely. These words seemed to reflect not just Tut’s aspirations but Oran’s as well, capturing the essence of the entire Tower Spirit School.

Finally, it stopped in front of the first spinning and weaving machines that Tut had made.

The two machines were placed on the highest platform, clearly not for sale.

The puppet approached these heavy and solid machines, which looked much cruder than the later, streamlined versions.

Dense small characters were carved on the front.

“Tut, Moorman, Guan, Alsmo…”

Those were the names of the craftsmen who made this textile machine.

Finally, it stopped at a sentence.

“This is the first rung of the ladder to the sky, the first foundation stone of the Tower of Heaven.”

The puppet Oran now completely understood what Tut wanted to do, what his intention was in establishing this workshop.

The puppet Oran could not help but say, “Tut!”

“You are the true hero. You are the one who truly has dreams.”

“You are the true alchemist pursuing the Tower Spirit mysteries.”

As the evening deepened, shadows stretched across the workshop. Then, without warning, a lamp flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the quiet space.

The light illuminated only these two machines.

Dust under the lamplight was like golden threads. The words on the wood were clearly visible, even seeming to carry golden patterns.

A figure appeared under the lamplight, standing behind the machines.

The puppet Oran looked over.

The other party stood just outside the light, so Oran could not see its appearance clearly, no matter how it looked.

The figure took down the lamp and held it in its hand.

Light overflowed, illuminating the entire textile machine manufacturing workshop.

The entire workshop seemed to become an ocean of light.

Yet that lamplight still could not illuminate the other party’s shadow. At this moment, the figure seemed to merge completely into the light, becoming a being of light.

The puppet stood below the platform, not speaking.

It did not ask who the other party was but stared tightly at it.

The light-formed figure’s palm brushed over the wooden machines. Its fingertips passed over each name, brushing over that final sentence.

“Do you know?” the figure asked.

“Besides artifacts belonging to Divine Technique artifacts, which you call Alchemical Artifacts, there is another type of Dream Ability artifact called Miracle Tools.”

“The appearance of the first Miracle Tool was to understand the truth and knowledge of this world.”

“Each one represents life’s exploration of truth.”

“Whenever the descendants of the King of Wisdom take a great step on the path of truth, miracles descend.”

“This was in that era when the supreme deity still walked the earth, in that era when gods and humans walked together, in that era when mortals lived at the foot of the Pyramid Temple.”

“It’s just that this god is not the god you imagine, and this eldest child is not as simple as the eldest child you imagine.”

“And these blessings no longer exist now.”

“Gods no longer appear in the mortal world. Mortals do not even remember their names anymore.”

“Otherwise, when you create such things, you would immediately receive divine blessings.”

“Unfortunately, this is the supreme deity’s favor toward the descendants of his eldest child.”

The light-formed figure raised its head, speaking to the puppet Oran.

Its voice carried infinite sighs.

“Trilobite People.”

“The lineage of the God’s eldest child.”

The light-formed figure seemed very moved by the lineage of God’s eldest child, perhaps because its own past had countless connections with them.

The puppet Oran thought of something, thought of the mural it had seen in the Blood Kingdom.

The beginning of mythology.

The source of all things.

“The Creator’s eldest child, the King of Wisdom Redlichia.”

The mysterious person nodded. “It seems you learned many things from the Wood Nymph.”

Then, the figure looked toward the puppet Oran’s chest.

That stone “heart” was emitting light under the robe.

“Elena’s Heart.”

The figure spoke its name.

The light-formed figure said, “Give it up.”

“You cannot bear the responsibility it carries.”

“Elena was the disciple of the first Sage of Truth, Sandean. She was the close friend of the second Sage of Truth, Lan.”

“And whether it is the God of Knowledge and Truth Asai, the Scarlet Goddess Vivien, or the Abyss Evil God Xiao.”

“They are all just third-generation inheritors of the Temple of Truth.”

The puppet Oran already knew of Elena’s shocking background but had never known such details.

However, the puppet Oran wanted to know other things, things it cared more about.

“Then what about those people from the past?”

“Those people from the Temple of Truth, did most of them also become gods? Did they become ancient and eternal mythology?”

The light-formed figure told it, “It was precisely because they went forward, one after another, that they opened the path to truth and eternity.”

“It was precisely because of them that the current gods exist.”

“That the present exists.”

The puppet Oran heard this answer and suddenly felt somewhat relieved.

So it was.

It was those ancient seekers, those ancient sages pursuing generation after generation, that created the current gods.

It was they who built the high tower that led to what came after.

The present.

Those who reach for the stars.

The puppet Oran looked at its own heart. “You said it carries responsibility. What kind of responsibility is that?”

The light-formed figure replied, “The responsibility of a race.”

The puppet Oran also lowered its head, touching its own chest. “Is she a Trilobite Person? She projects those ancient cities again and again, wanting to do something for her race?”

The light-formed figure shook its head at the puppet. “She is not a Trilobite Person.”

“She comes from another ancient race.”

“The People of the Abyss.”

The puppet Oran heard of this race for the first time. It had always thought Elena was one of the Trilobite People.

What were the People of the Abyss?

The puppet Oran looked confused.

It looked toward the light-formed figure. How could one person know so many secrets from the previous epoch, secrets about the gods?

“Who are you?”

The puppet had a vague guess in its heart but did not voice it.

The light-formed figure also did not say but left a copper-shelled book on the spinning machine. “We will meet again.”

The puppet Oran watched the light gradually disappear, the lamp returning to its corner.

It climbed onto the high platform and got the copper-shelled book.

This was not an ordinary book. It was an Alchemical Artifact.

The puppet Oran looked at the text on it. “Art of God’s Grace.”

The puppet Oran raised its head. Now it was certain.

It sat on the spinning machine, looking at the entire workshop.

It thought for a very long time.

Finally, it decided to stay.

It not only wanted to find the truth of Old Tut’s disappearance but also wanted to inherit Tut’s will and complete what he could not achieve.

“Everyone wants to become a star-plucker.”

“I do too.”

“But if this era needs me to become a foundation-layer, then I will follow this mission.”

The puppet Oran looked toward the other side. In its eyes, another figure seemed to appear.

“Right Tut?”

Sky Miracle Garden.

The Golden Queen asked God Iva, “Is that the new apostle you have chosen?”

God Iva shook his head. “I do not know.”

“I do not know what kind I should choose. I just feel it has the qualifications to become a spark, at least.”

“As for whether it is the new apostle…”

“Let us see what kind of people the people of the Land of Sunrise will choose to become the apostles and mythology of the new era.”