Chapter 453: Pointing to Divinity

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The swirling wind, laden with light grey dust, slowly faded from Duncan’s line of sight.

Agatha was gone.

Only after the last remnants of the dusty breeze had fully dissipated did Vanna speak, piercing the heavy silence, “I can’t shake the feeling that she’s transformed so much since our last encounter,” she said, a note of uncertainty in her voice. “Her final words were particularly striking—they don’t sound like something the ‘Gatekeeper’ we once knew would say.”

Duncan, ever the pragmatist, replied, “Life’s experiences can reshape a person, and given what she’s been through, it’s not surprising. Moreover, her position now isn’t just that of a simple ‘gatekeeper’. The responsibilities she bears demand she evolve.”

Vanna, trying to gauge Duncan’s reaction, asked, “Aren’t you concerned at all?”

He responded with a measured tone, “She’s remained steadfast. Those who undergo profound shifts in understanding often come out with even greater resolve. She might be burdened with the survival of the city-state, but she remains rational. She won’t be swayed into paranoia or misguided paths. Her closing remarks might not exude the devoutness of old, but they were spoken with clarity.”

Vanna was quiet for a beat, and when Duncan turned to gaze intently at her, he posed a probing question, “Your real concern isn’t about Agatha, is it?”

Hesitating only briefly, Vanna confessed, “My faith dictates honesty. Yes, my concerns are more personal. When I look at Agatha, I see a reflection of my own faltering faith and actions that border on heresy.”

Duncan waited, giving her space to speak her truth.

Vanna continued, “I always thought that all challenges could be met with strong faith and an unyielding spirit. I believed that the gods set the cosmic order, and we, as their creations, functioned harmoniously within that design. Yet, I’ve come to realize this cosmic order is as ephemeral as sea foam. Mere belief and tenacity can’t save our city-state. The world as we’ve known it is being questioned...”

“Our belief in the eternal ‘Sun’, the ‘metal ore’ that drives our era possibly being a gift from ancient deities, the realization that gods can’t shield the city-state from all perils, and the uncharted mysteries lurking in the ocean’s depths, which no holy book has mentioned. Your arrival even challenges my long-held beliefs about subspace.”

Duncan replied with a thoughtful nod, “On that last point, remain questioning. As for the rest, you’re largely right. Our comprehension of the universe is inherently flawed. We can’t pin our hopes on a singular, unchanging ‘truth’ to explain everything. If such an unwavering ‘truth’ does exist, it’s beyond our current grasp. So, having our beliefs shaken is a necessary step in our civilization’s progression.”

Absorbing Duncan’s insights, Vanna seemed lost in contemplation. After a prolonged pause, she whispered more to herself than to him, “Then where do the gods fit into all this?”

Duncan replied candidly, “I don’t really know. My encounters with them, if any, have been from a distance, too distant to form a concrete belief. But two things I’m sure of: firstly, the four gods are real entities in this world. And secondly, they have, to some degree, been the guardians and guiding forces of our civilization.”

Vanna’s face registered a brief hint of confusion. In her two decades of life, she had never come across anyone who spoke of the four gods with such clinical detachment—without the usual reverence or admiration, as if they were mere items for scrutiny. This type of evaluation seemed almost blasphemous and audacious. Yet, coming from Duncan, who had experienced the enigmatic subspace, Vanna couldn’t help but be affected by...

His words struck her as chillingly analytical, much like a tool used to gauge the world around her.

Her introspection was disrupted by Duncan’s voice, gently chiding, “Vanna, don’t overcomplicate things. You still have faith in Gomona, right?”

Without hesitation, Vanna replied, “Yes, my faith remains steadfast.”

“Alright, the surroundings are secure, potential distractions are minimal, and the book is still related to mathematics... it’s time for the third attempt,” Dog muttered, prepping himself.

With renewed determination, Dog dived deep into the book’s content, absorbing the formulas, internalizing the symbols, and working through the calculations. He sought to unravel the mysteries of the universe using the collective knowledge passed down by generations.

Initially, distractions and stray thoughts fragmented his concentration. But soon, the intricacies of math began to weave a cocoon of focus around him. As always, the subject drew him in, engrossing him completely.

As numbers and symbols swirled in his mind, painting a vast tapestry of comprehension, Dog felt an unfamiliar sensation. It was as if he wasn’t alone in his quest for knowledge.

Someone else was reading the same lines.

Someone else was processing the same thoughts.

An unseen presence was observing his journey with quiet interest.

Perplexed, Dog tilted his head.

Beneath the stark white pages, between the neatly printed words, and amidst the intricate web of knowledge crafted by symbols and diagrams, a radiant red glow, encircled by a myriad of tiny, luminous points of light, regarded him with an intense focus akin to an eye.

Dog stiffened.

He was transfixed by the mesmerizing red gleam.

Drawn inexorably closer, he felt as though he was floating towards this constellation of radiant points.

But this sensation was short-lived.

Suddenly, an overpowering force originating from the mysterious chain he wore jerked him back to reality, breaking the spell that the pulsating red light had cast.

Stunned, Dog gasped, his senses reeling from the abrupt interruption. Almost reflexively, his gaze darted to the black chain draped around his neck.

It was this very chain, and the mysterious power it harbored, that had saved him in that crucial moment—evidence of Shirley’s protective influence.

Yet, upon inspection, the chain lay slack on the floor, showing no signs of recent movement.

Further along the chain, Shirley remained undisturbed, nestled comfortably on the table, still lost in the land of dreams.

She had not stirred, not even slightly.