Chapter 451: Mysteries Within History and History Within Mysteries

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As the team journeyed on, the oppressive darkness of the cave was intermittently pierced by the soft, eerie glow of ghostly flames. These luminous apparitions seemed to guide them, sketching out the path they should follow and marking their descent deeper into the cave’s depths. The dim light from their lantern melded with these ghostly illuminations, providing just enough light for them to barely make out their surroundings.

As they trudged along, the overwhelming prevalence of raw ore captivated their attention. This ore, of incredible purity, made up the very fabric of the cave. Layers upon layers of dense rock created a solid, sphere-like structure. At the cave’s base, innumerable loose minerals lay strewn about, their sheer quantity making it impossible to gauge.

These minerals, vital to modern industry, were the heartbeat of the city-state known as Frost. Yet, in this context, they added an eerie, almost surreal ambiance to the cave.

For Duncan, though, the uncanny nature of their surroundings was of little concern. Ever the pragmatist, he saw value where others might see superstition. Regardless of whether this ore was the handiwork of some ancient deity, or even the infamous Nether Lord, its utility was paramount in Duncan’s mind. Had he been in charge, he might even have contemplated the viability of setting up a mining operation within the Cold Sea.

He kept these musings private, knowing that to someone like Agatha, his thoughts could appear radical, perhaps even heretical.

Distracted by his internal deliberations, Duncan was jolted back to the present by an ambiguous shadow at the far end of his vision. Stopping dead in his tracks, he noticed he wasn’t alone in his observation. Morris, clutching his lantern, pointed ahead, his voice echoing a mixture of curiosity and concern, “There’s something up ahead.”

With the combined illumination of the lantern and the ghostly flames, the form of a massive shadow began to take shape from the cavern’s seemingly infinite darkness. At first glance, it looked like a towering monolith or perhaps the massive trunk of an ancient tree, its upper half branching out, reaching into the inky void above.

The sheer size of this silhouette wasn’t lost on Agatha. Its sheer magnitude hinted at a structure so massive it could probably prop up an entire mountain, and even from their distance, it exuded an overwhelming sense of power.

Vanna, ever vigilant, tightened her grasp on her oversized blade, urging the group to tread carefully.

As they continued their approach, the once vague shape began to crystallize in their view. A titanic pillar, reminiscent of the main tower of a grand cathedral, stood at the heart of the cavern, taking their breath away when lit by their lantern’s feeble glow.

In awe, Morris uttered, almost as if in a trance, “Eye of Wisdom...” The pillar’s rugged, coarse surface looked like an enormous tentacle of some deep-sea leviathan. Its base seemed deeply embedded in the earth, with crumbled, scarred rocks suggesting its violent emergence from the sea below Frost. The pillar extended upward, losing itself in the cavern’s dark canopy, branching off into dimly lit tendrils that reminded one of a bizarre, oversized tree silently thriving in this mysterious underworld.

The sheer size of the massive column was so overwhelming that the pale, hesitant light emanating from Morris’s lantern could barely penetrate the immense shade it cast. The weak light revealed only a small patch of its rough exterior, a small speck compared to the vastness of the structure. Beyond that meagerly lit spot, the rest of the column was illuminated by an ethereal green flame that seemed to seep out from its many cracks and fissures. This ghostly flame highlighted parts of the monument, creating ominous shadows that danced in its eerie embrace. But large portions remained hidden in darkness, forcing Morris to squint, attempting to distinguish any finer details.

Feeling an urgent need to share her discovery, Agatha turned to find Duncan. But before she could speak, her usually dark, chaotic vision was suddenly flooded with swirling patterns of light and shadows. An overwhelming rush of memories engulfed her—memories that didn’t belong to her yet felt profoundly personal. Emotions, as delicate as gossamer threads, wove through these recollections. It was as if a reservoir of dormant information had suddenly sprung to life within her mind, awakened by her touch on the palm prints.

Visions of navigating the abyss, encountering the remnant aura of Governor Winston, the truth behind the Abyss Project, the endeavors of previous governors, the looming threat of ancient gods to the city-state, and a jumble of ancient thoughts wavering on the line between dream and reality all merged in her mind.

Taken aback, Agatha gasped and swayed, on the brink of losing her balance.

But a familiar hand caught her just in time. Duncan’s voice, tinged with concern, resonated through the cavernous expanse, “Are you alright?”

Shaking off the daze, Agatha quickly grasped the weight of the information that had just inundated her. Her voice urgent, she blurted out, “I’ve tapped into memories—residual memories left by ‘her’!”

“The clone’s memories? Here?” Duncan’s brow furrowed, piecing together her words.

Nodding vigorously, Agatha began recounting her experience, “Yes! She had an encounter with Governor Winston in this very place, where she learned the truth of the Abyss Project...”

Words poured out of Agatha in a fervent torrent, her voice edged with desperation as if fearing the memories would fade if she didn’t share them quickly. She relayed every detail she had gleaned from Governor Winston’s final revelations to the Frost Queen’s original intentions and, crucially, the last prevailing thought of “her” before vanishing.

The central message was clear: the “Ancient God” that threatened Frost was not genuine.

It was a mere imitation of the Nether Lord.

A weighty silence descended upon the group. Despite the startling nature of Agatha’s revelations, none dared to interrupt her. Once she finished, the silence persisted, thick and palpable.

Morris, the wise old scholar, finally found his voice, reflecting the collective sentiment, “History shrouded in mist and mist shaping the history...”

Duncan, his countenance grave, turned his attention back to the imposing “pillar”, sensing its significance more profoundly than ever.