Gray Ridge was much harder to climb than Aiden had imagined.
It was called a ridge, but in truth it was a low mountain range stretching over ten miles. Its highest point was barely two hundred meters, but the slopes were steep, the path gouged by rain into countless gullies. Every step had to be placed on loose scree; a single misstep and he would slide down. Sera walked ahead, light and fast as if strolling on level ground, occasionally stopping to wait for Aiden. When she waited, she said nothing, just stood there, her gaze sweeping across the plain below.
Aiden followed behind, wheezing like a broken bellows. His legs had begun to shake, blisters had formed on the soles of his feet, and every step felt like treading on red‑hot iron. He had lost track of how long it had been since he last slept—barely an hour under that locust tree last night, then the fire, the escape, the pursuers at the fork, the mad dash through the woods, the hollow by the streambed. His body was like a wrung‑out sponge, no strength left to squeeze.
But he did not stop.
"How much farther?" he asked, his voice hoarse as sandpaper.
Sera did not look back. "Over this ridge, down the other side, half an hour."
Half an hour. Gritting his teeth, Aiden put one foot in front of the other. Repeat. Repeat again.
At the highest point of the ridge stood an outcrop of rock, like an outstretched palm hanging in midair. Sera stopped there, and when Aiden had climbed up to join her, she pointed north.
"Look."
Aiden followed her finger, panting, squinting.
The plain spread out below like a gray‑green blanket, cut into irregular patches by rivers and roads. Far off on the horizon was a blurred silhouette—not mountains, not trees, but buildings. Dense buildings, stretching from one end of the horizon to the other, a forest of stone and brick. At their highest points, countless spires pierced the sky, and from those spires flew white banners, snapping in the wind.
The capital.
The largest city in Tricolor Flag City, and the seat of the Holy Light Church.
Aiden stared at that silhouette, his heart pounding. Not from the exhaustion of the climb, but because inside that city were the people he needed to find, the answers he needed to uncover—and also the heart of the Church.
"Let's go." Sera turned and began the descent.
Going down was easier than going up, but harder on the knees. Aiden half‑slid, half‑walked behind Sera, loose stones cascading like small avalanches. The sky darkened, the shadows below lengthened, as if something were rising from the earth to swallow the light.
By the time they reached the hunter's cabin, it was fully dark.
The cabin was a crude structure of logs, its roof missing several planks; through the gaps, stars were visible. Inside, there was nothing—no bed, no table, no stove—only a heap of long‑dead ashes. Sera crouched, used a flint to ignite the embers beneath the ash, added a few dry twigs, and the flames leaped up again.
"We'll rest here tonight," she said. "At first light, we enter the city."
Aiden sat against the wall, stretching his feet toward the fire. The heat made the blisters on his soles throb and itch. He pulled out the remaining piece of hardtack from his shirt, broke off a small piece, chewed it for a long time before swallowing.
"Where is the Preservation Society's stronghold in the capital?" he asked.
Sera did not answer immediately. She added a twig to the fire, watching the flames lick the wood with soft crackles.
"Underground."
"Underground?"
"The capital has an ancient drainage system, built centuries ago. Later, when the city expanded, most of the drains were filled in. But the Preservation Society discovered part of it and converted it into a stronghold." She paused. "Underground, the Church's 'True‑Seeing Light' can't detect anything."
Aiden remembered the milky‑white stone on the inquisitor's short staff.
"What is that light, anyway?"
"The Church's 'divine magic,'" Sera said. "They call it the 'power of holy light,' saying it's a gift from their god. But in truth, it's just an ancient energy technology—left over from the Era of the Gods."
Aiden's fingers stopped.
"The Era of the Gods?"
Sera looked at him. The firelight danced in her pupils, like two burning coals.
"An age before the Church," she said. "An age that was completely erased."
She added another twig to the fire; the flames rose higher, illuminating the whole cabin. She was silent for a few seconds, then began to speak.
"Three thousand years ago, before this kingdom was founded, before the Holy Light Church existed, there was a highly advanced civilization on the continent. They mastered technologies we cannot now understand—not just the 'True‑Seeing Light' you saw, but devices that could manipulate matter, energy, even time itself. The cities they built were ten times larger than the present capital. They stored their knowledge in indestructible crystals. Their lifespans were three times longer than ours."
Aiden's mind flashed to the images in that ancient book—the vast hall, the walls of glowing stone, those silver‑skinned figures.
"Those silver people," he said, "were they—"
"They were the inhabitants of the Era of the Gods." Sera said. "The Preservation Society has very little information, but one name has been handed down: 'Eru'thian'—meaning 'First Light.'"
Aiden repeated the name silently. Eru'thian. Rolling it on his tongue, it had a strange rhythm, like a language he had once known but long forgotten.
"They weren't human?" he asked.
"They were human," Sera said. "Or rather, they were humanity's ancestors. The Society's theory is that at some point, the humans of the Era of the Gods underwent a 'leap'—their bodies, their intellect, their lifespans all changed, and they became what we now call the Eru'thian. But then something happened. That civilization collapsed, the Eru'thian vanished, and humanity regressed to a primitive state. Then the Holy Light Church arose and began to rebuild order."
"Rebuild order." Aiden repeated the phrase, a trace of irony in his voice. "Or rewrite history?"
"Both," Sera said. "The Church rose from the ruins. They used the leftover technology from the Era of the Gods—the 'divine magic' you saw—to establish their rule. But they knew that if people learned a greater civilization had existed before them, the Church's authority would be questioned. So they did two things. First, they destroyed every record of the Era of the Gods. Second, they fabricated a new history, casting themselves as the saviors who 'led humanity out of darkness.'"
Aiden thought of the first chapter of the textbooks: "The Unifier Aldric led humanity out of darkness."
"False," Sera said. "Aldric was no unifier. He was a puppet chosen by the Church. The true unifier of this continent was the Church itself. They needed a hero to embody 'unity,' so they invented one. They needed a face to represent 'humanity,' so they painted one. They needed a history to prove their god's existence, so they wrote a whole book."
A log in the fire snapped in two. Sparks flew up, traced a few small arcs in the air, and died.
"How did the Era of the Gods collapse?" Aiden asked.
Sera shook her head.
"No one knows. The Church's purge was too thorough; even the ruins were filled in, demolished, burned. The Preservation Society has searched for more than twenty years and found only a few broken stone tablets, a handful of restruck silver coins, and—"
"That door," Aiden said.
"Yes." Sera's gaze fell on the ancient ring on his left little finger. "That door. Old Karl's wife and my father both believed that behind that door lay the truth of the Era of the Gods' collapse. But neither had the chance to open it."
Aiden rubbed the ring's surface; the pattern of the two serpents was faintly raised under his fingertip.
"Is this ring the key?"
"Perhaps. Or perhaps only part of the key," Sera said. "Annals will tell you more. She is the one in the Preservation Society who has studied the Era of the Gods the most deeply."
Aiden clenched the ring, as if afraid it might slip from his finger.
"Who else is in the Preservation Society?"
Sera thought for a moment.
"Annals—her real name is Yalveit. A professor of history at the capital's university. She is the Society's core leader, responsible for researching and interpreting all the artifacts we find. There are also several field operatives, in charge of gathering intelligence, carrying out missions, and protecting people like you." She paused. "And there are ordinary members, who have their own jobs and only appear when needed."
"How many field operatives like you?"
"It's not fixed," Sera said. "Some are alive, some are dead. The number is always changing."
She said it in a flat voice, as if stating something ordinary. But Aiden heard the weight beneath those words—the "dead" ones were her comrades, her friends, perhaps her family.
The fire died down, the flames shifting from orange‑red to a dull crimson, until only a few glowing coals remained. Sera stood, wrapped her cloak tighter, walked to the doorway, and leaned against the frame, facing outward.
"You sleep," she said. "I'll keep watch."
"Aren't you going to sleep?"
"I've had enough." Her voice came from the darkness. "I'm used to it."
Aiden did not insist. He pulled his clothes tighter, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. Exhaustion washed over him like a tide. Just before consciousness faded, he heard Sera's voice, very soft, as if talking to herself.
"The Era of the Gods… wasn't the only thing erased."
He wanted to ask what she meant, but his mind had already sunk into darkness.
The next morning, Aiden woke to birdsong.
The sky was barely light, a gray‑blue glow seeping through the gaps in the roof, painting slanted beams of light across the cabin. The fire had gone completely out, leaving only gray‑white ash. Sera was not at the door, nor inside.
Aiden stood, every muscle aching, as if he had been beaten. He walked to the door and pushed it open.
Sera stood in a clearing outside the cabin, her back to him, facing the direction of the capital. The morning wind stirred her short hair and the hem of her cloak. Her sword was thrust into the earth at her feet, its blade reflecting the cold light of dawn.
"You're awake?" she said without turning.
"Yes."
"Let's go." She bent, pulled the sword from the ground, and sheathed it. "The capital is waiting for us."
Aiden followed her down the slope in front of the cabin, onto the last stretch of road leading to the capital.
In the distance, the outline of the capital grew clearer in the morning light. The white banners on the spires fluttered in the wind, as if waving a greeting, or a warning.
He unconsciously touched the ancient ring on his left little finger.
The ring was still there.
He was still there.