Our exploration of the ancient temple was cut short when a soldier arrived, slightly out of breath from hurrying to find us. I believe his name was Danish, if I remembered correctly from our earlier conversation. He was from the island called Surila, located in the southern reaches of Selon—a place he had described to me with obvious homesickness as having the most beautiful beaches and the freshest seafood in the entire empire. He was a squad leader who commanded ten soldiers under him, a position of some responsibility. He had been serving as a soldier since he was merely fifteen years old, which meant he now had a full decade of military experience under his belt despite being only twenty-five. His face bore the weathered look of someone who had seen more than his share of combat.
"We're done with the cleanup, Your Majesties," he announced with a deep, respectful bow that spoke to his disciplined military training. His posture was perfect, his tone appropriately formal yet not stiff.
Arvid glanced over at me, his eyes asking a silent question—would I accompany him to inspect the work that had been completed? I could see the request in his expression, the invitation to join him in his duties.
"Go on ahead, I'll be out in a minute," I told him, offering a small smile. I wanted just a bit more time here, alone with my thoughts and with the presence I could feel lingering in this sacred space.
They left together, their footsteps echoing as they descended the stone stairs, and I found myself alone in the ancient temple. The silence felt profound, almost sacred. I moved closer to the magnificent statue to inspect it more carefully, taking my time to appreciate the details I had missed in my initial viewing. The artist's ability to create a statue of such exceptional caliber was truly an amazement that left me in awe. The level of skill required was extraordinary. How had they accomplished such a remarkable feat nearly a thousand years ago, with whatever primitive tools and techniques they must have had access to? What kind of dedication and talent had gone into creating something so lifelike, so perfect in every detail?
"Touch it." I heard Aiona's voice say from within me, breaking the contemplative silence. Well, it seemed she had decided to break her earlier silence and communicate again.
"The statue, you mean?" I asked her, feeling somewhat doubtful and hesitant. For some reason, the statue felt genuinely intimidating to me, despite being nothing more than carved stone. That intimidation probably had something to do with the fact that it felt so impossibly alive, so present. Or at least, that was how I perceived it, though I wasn't sure if it was objective reality or just my imagination.
"It is, in fact, kind of alive," Aiona confirmed, validating my suspicion in a way that sent a slight shiver down my spine. "I planted part of my essence—a fragment of my very being—into this statue many centuries ago, so that it would continuously bless the people who came here to pray and seek guidance or protection. You see, this temple was situated in the northernmost corner of the Heinnas Kingdom in those days, far from where I preferred to dwell. I've always preferred to live by the sea, near the sound of waves and the smell of salt air, so I spent most of my time at the southernmost end of the kingdom, where the land met the ocean. The distance between was vast, too far to travel regularly just to receive every supplicant. So instead of making that journey constantly, I planted part of my essence into the statue after it was built, creating a sort of… extension of myself that could remain here permanently."
She fell silent for a moment, and I could feel the weight of memory pressing down on her.
"Since there are no worshippers anymore, no one left who remembers or cares," her voice carried an unmistakable undertone of deep sadness, "you should reclaim it. Absorb that essence back into yourself. There's no purpose in leaving it here to fade away with the ruins."
"I'll do it," I replied without hesitation. After all, there couldn't be anything that would go seriously wrong with reclaiming her own essence, could there? It was already part of her, part of us. It should be a simple matter of reunification.
So I walked forward with determined steps and carefully placed both of my hands on the statue, resting my palms against the dragon's scaled body. The stone felt warm beneath my touch, warmer than it should have been given the coolness of the temple interior. Then I started to feel it—a distinct tug, like an invisible thread being pulled taut. A warm, tingling sensation began spreading from my palms up through my arms. The statue itself started glowing with an ethereal silver hue, soft at first but growing steadily brighter. The light was so intense that it soon illuminated the entire chamber, chasing away every shadow and making the ancient murals on the walls visible in perfect detail.
Then, as I watched in fascination, the diffuse silver glow began to condense and consolidate. It drew together, compressing itself into one tight, brilliant sphere of silver light. The ball of concentrated essence slowly detached itself from the statue, floating free in the air like a small star. It hovered there for just a moment before beginning to drift purposefully toward me, drawn by some invisible attraction.
The next second, my bare hand made contact with the floating sphere of light. I felt it immediately beginning to be absorbed into my body. The sensation started at my fingertips—a warm, almost electric feeling—and then traveled rapidly inward. I could feel it moving through my veins like liquid silver, spreading from my extremities toward my core. It flowed through my arms, into my chest, dispersing throughout the whole of my being. The feeling was much more profound and amazing than I had thought it would be—not painful, but intensely powerful. It felt like coming home, like a missing piece of myself clicking back into place where it belonged.
As the entire ball of light was gradually absorbed into me, I looked down at myself in wonder and saw that my whole body was now glowing with an inner silver radiance. The light seemed to emanate from within, shining through my skin as if I had swallowed a star. This was something bigger than I had anticipated, something deeply significant. That much was abundantly clear, even if I didn't fully understand all the implications yet.
It took several long minutes for the glowing light to gradually fade and return me to normal appearance. When it finally subsided completely, when the last traces of silver luminescence had dimmed and disappeared, I turned to look back at the statue. Sure enough, just as I had suspected, the peculiar life-like feeling that had emanated from the stone dragon was completely gone now. The statue felt truly and utterly hollow, nothing more than expertly carved rock. Whatever spark of divinity had animated it was now inside me instead.
"That was… something else," I said aloud, speaking into the empty temple. I wasn't quite sure which words I should use to adequately describe this extraordinary feeling, this sense of completion and expanded power that now filled me.
"You should get out of here. Now." Aiona's voice suddenly cut through my contemplation, and her tone was unexpectedly hurried, almost urgent. It was as if she was genuinely concerned about something, worried about some consequence I hadn't foreseen.
I opened my mouth to protest, to ask what she was worried about, but something in the urgency of her tone made me pause. I felt instinctively that I should obey without question or delay. So I did exactly what I was told and quickly made my way out of the temple, moving as fast as I could without actually running.
As soon as I had descended the ancient stone stairs and reached the bottom, putting some distance between myself and the structure, I heard an ominous, heavy crumbling noise from behind me. I spun around just in time to see the temple—the structure that had somehow lasted almost a thousand years through weather, time, and neglect—collapsing in on itself. It fell apart rapidly, disintegrating into nothing more than a massive pile of dust and debris. Within seconds, where a magnificent temple had stood moments before, there was only rubble.
"My essence was what had been keeping it standing, holding it together for all these centuries," Aiona explained, her voice carrying a note of finality. "Without that animating force, the natural decay of a millennium caught up with it all at once."
The explanation made perfect sense from a logical standpoint, but looking at the ruins, I couldn't help but feel a profound sadness for what had been lost. This hadn't been just a building or just a pile of ancient stones. It had been a place that told a story of devotion spanning many generations, a testament to faith and love that had endured for centuries. All the beliefs those long-dead people had cherished, all the hopes they had invested in their dragon deity, were now lost beneath piles of debris and settling dust. It felt like witnessing the final death of something that had already died long ago—a second, more complete erasure.
"Are you okay?" Arvid's concerned voice came from right beside me, startling me slightly. I hadn't heard him approach in my distracted state. He must have come running when he heard the collapse. "The structure looked so sturdy before, almost indestructible. How in the world did it just… fall apart like that?" He was understandably confused, his brow furrowed as he stared at the ruins. Of course he would be bewildered. Who would believe that such apparently solid walls could turn to debris in mere seconds without any visible cause?
"I'm fine," I assured him, though my eyes continued to linger on the pile of rubble for a few more seconds, memorizing the sight. "Let's go," I finally said, turning away from the ruins with an effort of will. There was nothing more to be done here. The past was truly buried now.
---
Later that night, after we had returned to camp and I had finally fallen asleep in our tent, exhausted from the day's events, Aiona reached out to me in my dreams. She extended an invitation to visit her domain, to see something she wanted to show me. My curiosity immediately awakened, as it always did when presented with mysteries. I eagerly followed her invitation, allowing my consciousness to slip into that inner realm.
What I found there was absolutely astonishing.
Standing at the highest point where the dramatic cliff overlooked everything below, I could see that Aiona's inner domain had expanded dramatically once again. The changes were remarkable. There was now a lush green forest added to the landscape, mixing harmoniously with the sea that added new as a part of expand. The trees were tall and verdant, their leaves rustling in a breeze that existed only in this mental space.
But what truly captured my attention was the ocean itself. I had never actually seen or visited a real ocean in my life. I had encountered plenty of illustrations in books and had read countless texts describing the ocean in flowery, enthusiastic language, but I had always suspected that those secondhand accounts could never truly capture the reality. Now, spread out before my eyes in vivid detail, was what appeared to be a completely real ocean. The waves rolled and crashed, the water stretched to a distant horizon, and I could almost smell the salt in the air.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Aiona asked, her voice soft as she materialized beside me on the clifftop.
I turned to look at her, ready to agree enthusiastically, and then I found myself astonished all over again by what I saw.
This time, Aiona's appearance had transformed dramatically. She was wearing an exquisite golden saree—I had only recently learned the proper name for that style of traditional southern clothing through my conversations with the soldiers. The fabric shimmered as she moved, and it was adorned with intricate silver-threaded embroidery that must have taken months to complete. The patterns were complex and beautiful, depicting what looked like vines and flowers in elaborate detail. She wore an impressive array of jewelry as well—an elaborate mix of silver and gold pieces adorning her arms in the form of bangles and arm cuffs, dangling from her ears in long, delicate earrings, and encircling her neck in multiple layered necklaces. Her long dark hair was styled in an elegant half-up, half-down arrangement, and woven throughout the flowing locks were fragrant jasmine flowers, their white petals standing out beautifully against the darkness of her hair. She was absolutely breathtaking, radiating a beauty that seemed almost otherworldly.
"This is how I used to look when I was alive," she said, and there was something almost shy in her tone, as if she was uncertain about revealing this part of herself. "This was my preferred human form during the height of the Heinnas Kingdom."
Looking at her now, seeing her in all her glory as she had once been, I could completely understand that young king from the murals. Who wouldn't fall helplessly in love with this woman? It would be utterly impossible to resist her charm, her grace, her presence. She was magnificent.
Then, with a small gesture, she conjured a book into her hands. It appeared from nowhere, materializing in her arms as if it had always been there. It was a leather-bound tome, substantial and well-made despite its obvious age. The pages visible at the edges were browned with the passage of centuries, delicate and fragile-looking. I recognized it immediately—it was the same book she had been clutching protectively in her arms in those temple murals. The same book that the hornless dragon's human companion had held in the very first image.
Without a word, she simply handed it to me, extending it with both hands in a gesture that felt ceremonial, significant.
"My father wrote it," she said, trying to sound casual but not quite managing it. The emotional weight and importance the book held was far greater than she was letting on, far more profound than her offhand tone suggested. "He wrote it on behalf of my mother, recording her knowledge and wisdom so it wouldn't be lost."
The revelation sent a shock through me. Her father—the man in the mural. Her mother—the gentle, hornless dragon.
"What's their story?" I asked her carefully, reverently accepting the precious tome and cradling it gently in my hands as if it might crumble to dust at rough handling. "Tell me about them. Please."