Chapter 232: Chapter 224: In the Darkness, Hope Still Remains

Jon knew the phantom meant no harm, so he held back from attacking.

But the three below the altar didn’t know this. They immediately tensed, ready for a fight.

Noticing their movements, Jon impassively moved to shield them from the phantom. With a hand behind his back, he quickly signaled them to "stand by," worried they might accidentally ruin the mission.

Although the Warrior siblings and Dolores were confused, they had no choice but to obey Jon’s command.

After placating his teammates, Jon took a deep breath. Facing the pure white phantom before him, he asked in a low voice.

"The one from the prophecy... What do you mean by that? What prophecy? And what does it have to do with me?"

The phantom’s featureless head tilted up slightly. Though it was just a blurry halo of light, Jon clearly felt a "gaze" land upon him—one that seemed to penetrate his very soul. It was a look of scrutiny, but also... of expectation?

The phantom was silent for a moment before its ethereal voice—one that resounded directly in the depths of his mind—spoke again.

"Meaning... has been worn down by time, like weathered rock."

"Our lingering wills are sustained by the prophetic fragments the Sage glimpsed as he burned away his soul. We guard this place, awaiting the arrival of the ’variable’—one who can touch the source and hear our lament."

Its voice was weary, like the mournful cry of an ancient zither in the wind.

"And now, your arrival has finally sent ripples through the silent prophecy, fulfilling the glimmer of light that pointed toward an end and a new beginning."

’A Sage...? One with the power of prophecy?’

Jon immediately thought of the fallen god, Wyatt, the God of Destiny.

When this powerful and mysterious deity was still among the living, His followers took it upon themselves to navigate the river of Destiny and guide all mortals, resolving many great crises.

But that was thousands of years ago.

In a great cataclysm unknown to the world, the God of Destiny fell along with his countless followers, an event that triggered tremendous turmoil and panic.

To this day, even the Divine Hall of Destiny lies in dilapidated ruin, having become an Advanced Level Dungeon: the [Lost Temple].

The reason he knew all this, of course, was because he had run this Dungeon before and seen it in the cutscenes.

From this, he could also deduce that this story likely began thousands of years ago.

Jon studied the phantom, searching for any clue that might reveal its origins. He spoke again, his tone cautious.

"If you’re saying I’m the one who brings this ’variable,’ can’t you be more specific?"

The phantom didn’t answer directly. Instead, it slowly spread its "arms," which were formed of pure light.

As it moved, the entire altar—and even the faintly glowing Crystal Stone vines on the vaulted ceiling—seemed to resonate with it. The flowing, silvery-white light of the Runes flared brightly, and a soft halo filled the entire underground space.

It began to "sing."

Through spiritual resonance, it branded a "poem" directly into the depths of consciousness of everyone present:

"When the stars descend, descending upon a crown of green."

"The Forest-speakers wander rivers of coalesced starlight, their roots entwined with the dreams of the earth."

"When the earth sings its long song, a song in the eternal green shade."

"The wisdom of the sacred ones whispers in the veins of leaves, breathing as one with the wind."

"We are the Guardians of all creation, our roots sunk deep into the bedrock of the world."

The opening of the poem described an ancient and glorious race—beings who lived in symbiosis with the forest. Their origins could be traced back to the world’s creation, and they were nature’s favored children.

Jon had a faint suspicion. ’This is likely a race from the Legends, something like the ancient Tree Spirits or Forest Fairies.’

But the phantom’s song continued.

"But the starlight dimmed, and shadows fell from beyond the heavens. The light of knowledge was extinguished in the darkness."

"Our roots were stained with filth, and sorrow flowed through our veins..."

"The crown of glory was trampled into mud, the verdant halls reduced to a nursery of corruption..."

"Our former kin became hateful phantoms, wandering and wailing through ruins shrouded in eternal night..."

"——!"

Jon’s heart suddenly sank.

’This description... it matches the terrifying Legend Claudio told by the fire!’

’The "shadows that fell from beyond the heavens"... aren’t they those "unknowable beings" from beyond, the ones that feed on the spiritual essence and fruits of wisdom of entire civilizations?’

’The Spiritual Famine they bring has reduced countless brilliant ancient civilizations to dust!’

’The ancient race this phantom represents... they must have been victims of those terrifying entities as well...’

Jon’s mind raced as he tried to piece together fragmented memories, hoping to reconstruct more information about that catastrophe.

The phantom’s lament had not yet ended, but a hint of relief now colored its telepathic voice.

"The prescient Sage, in his despair, burned away his very being to glimpse a single ray of light in the long river of Destiny."

"He said: In darkness, hope still remains. The variable will come, and he shall ring the bell of deliverance."

"To preserve this faint hope, my people willingly forsook their innate wisdom, becoming the Guardian shadows of the prophecy."

"Waiting... waiting for the traveler who can touch the source and hear our lament..."

The poem ended here.

Dolores and the Warrior siblings were utterly dumbfounded, staring blankly at the tall figure of Jon upon the altar.

’They couldn’t quite make heads or tails of it, but the "traveler who can touch the source and hear our lament" that this weird shadow was talking about... that has to be Mr. Jon, right?!’

’He sounds so incredible!’

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