The wind carried the scent of old dust as Fitran and Rinoa ascended the rocky path towards Temple of Mount.
Their footsteps echoed among the rough stones, cracked by time and the earthquakes of ages past. The atmosphere around them grew increasingly gloomy, with a thin mist shrouding the area, creating a thick sense of mystique. The air felt cool, and as the wind whispered gently, it seemed to convey messages from antiquity.
Before them lay the center known as Stones, a sacred site revered by three ancient civilizations — the Gamma Nation, the Gaia Nation, and the Earth Nation.
A flat hill, covering 800 square meters in area,
towering 200 meters above sea level. The temple's architecture appeared magnificent, adorned with intricate carvings depicting the gods of long-lost civilizations. These decorations showcased the mastery of the craftsmen, with each detail seemingly telling its own story.
Temple of Mount.
"This is not just a geographical center," Rinoa whispered.
"This is the center of the will of three civilizations."
Circling the hilltop,
the stone walls rise 5 meters high, softly shimmering in the dim light. Their surface is adorned with Proto-Speech glyphs, some worn by rain and wind, yet their presence remains powerful, as if revealing secrets embedded within layers of history. As they continue onward, the initial feeling of tranquility begins to shift into a creeping tension, as though an ancient and sacred force is beckoning them to delve deeper into the mysteries of this place and partake in experiences that have unfolded for centuries.
At every corner,
four towers stand strong, though parts of their summits have crumbled. Among the shadows of the towers, the atmosphere feels silent and laden with mystery, accompanied by a cool breeze that gently whispers, as if walking upon the surface of long-forgotten history.
"Once... from these towers,
the watchers could survey the entire circle of Stones,
even extending to the Labyrinth Forest and the Plain Stones."
Rinoa touched the rough, cold stone.
The surface of the stone was adorned with intricate carvings depicting sacred events, whispering softly in the silence. The sounds of nature surrounding the Temple of Mount, with distant forest birds singing and the rustling leaves, created a thick mystic ambiance.
"Now, they only see the new will that has replaced the old world."
Within the walls of the Temple of Mount,
Three main structures stood in a triangular formation within the Temple, each showcasing stunning architecture that reflected the unique philosophies and influences of their civilizations. The intricate carvings embodied the wisdom of each nation; Weitesten Gotteshaus — the Gamma Nation was filled with spiral-shaped ornaments, Holy Cathedral — the Gaia Nation displayed sacred symbols of nature, while Rock et de Temple de la Chaîne — the Earth Nation highlighted stone carvings shaped like tree roots, creating a visual narrative that connected these buildings to the surrounding landscape and illustrating their deep bond with the forces of nature.
The atmosphere around became increasingly tense as the sound of drizzle began to echo, heightening the tension among the ancient buildings that stood solidly. The damp ground, infused with a musty scent, blended with the cold temperature that touched the skin, creating a sensation of being in a sacred place, suspended outside of time, as if depicting the long journey of history intertwined in this place.
Building Gamma.
The oldest.
The first.
Once, the tall pillars supported a ceiling layered with blue crystals, reflecting soft light that created a twinkling starry ambiance throughout the room. The air felt cool and humid, as if filled with morning dew clinging to the intricately carved walls, which illustrated tales of gods and legendary creatures. The walls were adorned with paintings of the Void and star pathways — symbols of the search for boundless meaning, enveloped by the mystical aroma of incense that wafted gently, rekindling the longing for a bygone era.
Yet now, only the remnants of its destination remain, silent signs of a glorious past.
All that remains are ruins.
Collapsed five years ago due to a massive earthquake, creating a booming sound that echoed through the valley, shaking the very essence of its historical significance. Fragments of pillars lie scattered on the ground, resembling broken pieces of memories, an eerie reminder of the fragility of their legacy. Rare artifacts that were once sought after by looters now lay buried beneath the rubble, blanketed in a thick layer of dust and moss, which adds to the haunted and mysterious ambiance of this place.
"This place is the last whisper of Gamma."
"And now... we are its voice."
Fitran gazed silently at the ruins, sensing the suffocating tension in the charged air, "It is not the will of power that erased Gamma, but rather the inability to preserve the meaning of that power which has led to this emptiness."
"Yet it is their own will that has failed to bear the meaning they chose."
Buildings with towering arches and stained glass, most of which are cracked, allow vibrant colors of light to filter through, almost fading away. Within, the ancient altar where kings and the wizards of Gaia swore to maintain the balance of the world lies shrouded in profound silence. The whispering wind that weaves through the cracks of the ruins enhances the sacred aura, as if the universe remembers every vow ever made here.
The mosaic on the wall depicts the revered Four Dewi Harmoniae, with increasingly faded ornamental details that reflect the sacredness that once flowed vibrantly through every carving. A faint aura of harmony still lingers, despite the decay, akin to memories that refuse to fully fade. As the sky grows darker, this place stands as a solemn witness to the uncertainty enveloping the disjointed forces that once thrived here.
"The Holy Cathedral still stands.
But the will of Gaia has shifted to us," Rinoa whispered, her voice nearly swept away by the wind. "We are no longer successors. We are the authors of the next chapter."
The Earth nation constructed it with a robust architectural style: large stacked stones, iron chains coiling around the small towers at the building's sides, creating an impression of strength and resilience. Each carving holds stories passed down through generations, and when the moonlight illuminates the ruins, their shadows seem to dance, reviving the spirit that lies dormant in the Temple of Mount.
The chains are not merely decorative elements; they symbolize the enduring philosophy of the Earth Nation:
They symbolize the philosophy of the Earth:
"Freedom must be upheld by strength."
Fitran touched one of the rusted chains.
"But these chains also represent fear.
The Earth nation once believed that free will must be controlled...
or the world would fall back into chaos."
Now, the chains creaked softly in the wind.
No one is bound by anyone's will anymore.
Beneath their feet, the ground rumbled gently, creating a haunting resonance in the air that filled their lungs. The atmosphere at the Temple of Mount felt thick with mystique, enveloping every corner. A thin mist floated gracefully between the towering pillars, which were adorned with ornate carvings from each nation, effectively narrating the rich history and traditions embedded in this sacred ground. The air was cool, a slight bite sending shivers, as if each gust of wind carried with it whispers from a long-lost era.
The Temple of Mount stood tall over a great cavity, symbolizing both its strength and vulnerability.
Its earthen structure was inherently unstable, appearing as though it vibrated in tune with the heartbeat of the surrounding nature. Each step created an echo that resonated in the emptiness below, as if the ground itself bore witness to the stories untold, waiting to be uncovered. The sound of trickling water from a hidden source deepened the ambiance, fostering a harmony with the contemplative silence that gradually gave way to an eerie tension.
Surrounding them, towering trees reached toward the sky, while dark clouds drifted ominously, hinting at undisclosed secrets. Dewdrops clung to the leaves, reflections of light enveloping the area as if this place was a gateway to another world; a realm where every breath felt significant and every sound resonated with the sacred brew guarded by an ethereal presence.
"Why did they build the center of the three nations on unstable ground?" Rinoa asked.
Fitran nodded slowly.
"Because they believe,
that any truly strong will...
must be able to withstand uncertainty."
"If that will falters,
this land will collapse,
and with it...
all the meaning they have built."
Fitran stood amidst the three structures, adorned with intricate carvings and distinctive ornaments from each nation, narrating the intertwined histories in a monumental unity. The atmosphere around him felt cold and damp, as if time had frozen. The wind whispered softly between the towering edifices, creating a haunting mystical aura. Each architectural detail glimmered subtly under the dim light, while the walls felt chilly, signifying the weight of the history contained within.
"Once, the three nations divided power.
They believed compromise was the path to peace."
"But compromise only postpones the clash of meanings.
When those wills collide, Gamma falls.
Gaia cracks.
And Earth binds itself with chains."
Rinoa gazes at the sky transformed by the Grand Cross, sensing the tension accumulating in the atmosphere around her. The dim light casts dancing shadows on the walls, and the previously calm ambiance begins to shift into a menacing one.
"And now... all those compromises have vanished.
What remains is only the will we choose for ourselves."
Suddenly, the ground beneath Weitesten Gotteshaus emits a new crack.
The sound of stones scraping together rumbles like the breath of a colossal creature awakening. The surrounding atmosphere seems to vibrate, the air feeling heavier, as if it carries ancient secrets that long to be revealed.
The ruins shift.
Dust and debris swirl around, adding to the chaos that threatens the stability of this sacred place.
"There is something beneath the Temple of Mount," Fitran asserts, his voice echoing, intensifying the tension filling the space around them.
"Not just a hollow...
But something that has been waiting all this time."
Rinoa clasped Fitran's hand.
"Perhaps this is the voice of a new will.
Or maybe...
it's the final denial of the old world."
The wind ceased, leaving a damp and cold air enveloping them, as if nature itself was holding its breath.
The sky darkened slowly, with low-hanging clouds casting a heavy atmosphere, reminiscent of a night ready to engulf the day.
Something — or someone — began to rise from beneath the ground, shaking the silence with an unseen tremor, creating an unsettling sense of dread.
Temple of Mount,
once a symbol of compromise and shared will,
now stands as the battlefield for the birth of the ultimate clash of meanings.
Intricate carvings representing each culture are etched into the sacred stones, creating a majestic yet chilling sight, as if ready to harbor unspoken secrets.
The cold air intensifies the mysterious atmosphere, with every whisper of the wind seeming to convey tales of a bygone era.
Fitran and Rinoa stood at the summit of a hill that might become the stage for destruction, symbolizing the absence of hope or the birth of meaning that transcends a history long forgotten.
In the distance, the rumble of thunder roared as if heralding events to come, and lightning intermittently illuminated the Temple of Mount, emphasizing its majestic yet frightening form.