Chapter 141:
The Child Who Returned With Truth
The Valley stirred.
Since the dawn of its myth, it had rarely felt true change—not like this. Now, An'narel's return, veiled in celestial silence, cracked the very rhythm of the sacred soil. From elder trees to the lowliest roots, life turned to listen.
He walked through the whispering winds, three truths wrapped like chains and wings around his spirit.
Those who looked upon him—disciples, mortals, beasts, spirits—saw not a boy, but a thread that shimmered with inevitability. The fire of future war. The calm before the collapse. And hope.
But outside, beyond the Valley's borders, the gods had taken notice.
The Outer Realms Stir
In the Inner Void Palace, where stars were melted into scripture, the Obsidian Veil moved. A faceless entity composed of unread prophecies shifted into clarity. It whispered:
"The vessel carries knowledge from the Library of Ends. Prepare the Abyssal Accord."
On a shattered moon far across the Broken Spiral Sector, a conclave of cloaked immortals debated violently around an altar of still-breathing time. One spoke:
"If he bears the mirror of betrayal, he will fracture the Great Oath. He must be… sealed."
And elsewhere, where light no longer traveled, an entity known only as The Forgotten Reader turned a page that had not existed until this moment.
"He remembers what we chose to forget."
An'narel's Burden
Back in the Valley, Errin saw his son—though he did not yet know how to name what he had become.
An'narel smiled like someone who had tasted both sorrow and triumph. He no longer spoke idly. He chose his words like one would wield a sword.
In his dreams, he re-lived the mirror's prophecy:
A cloaked figure of starlight,
A blade buried in their heart,
The Valley in flames.
He had not yet seen the face.
Was it his father? Was it himself?
The truths did not tell him what to do.
They only demanded he decide.
The Valley Reacts
In the Ancestral Grove, trees bowed of their own will. Ancient spirits awoke, long-sleeping to await a child who would carry the old flame.
Children born in this moment opened their eyes glowing with ancestral light.
Healers could cure wounds long deemed cursed.
The air itself shimmered with the memory of creation.
And the Sky Bell, dormant for centuries, rang thrice. Once for power. Once for truth. Once for choice.
The Factions Prepare
The Ashen Lotus Sect sent envoys cloaked in offerings.
The Daughters of the Hollow Queen laid traps not to kill, but to delay.
The Sovereign Conclave forged an artifact called The Binding Word, a sentence that could halt time itself—but only once.
In shadows deeper than death, an old one muttered:
"Let the Scholar fall first. Let him see who writes the end."
They would not strike all at once.
No. First, they would test him.
Bleed him.
Force him to choose.
And then—perhaps—invite him to join them.
For the child who bore truth from the End's Library could not simply be killed.
He had become a necessary enemy.
Or worse… a possible god.