Thirty-one Only I myself can go

Kude held up a torn-out book frontispiece in front of Gerard.

It was an ordinary, academic-type book, and because it was a torn-out frontispiece, the title was incomplete—only "Metal Prosthetics Automation" could be discerned.

But the title was clearly not the focus. The focus was on the painting on the frontispiece.

Emblazoned on it was a colossal being, whose body was interwoven from metal and Holy Light, fashioned like a classical and sacred piece of art.

But Gerard knew this was no artwork.

This was... It.

Yes, this was Lyra itself.

"Do you recall anything?" Kude said, "I tore this from one of my father's books, a remnant from all the books he owns from twelve years ago, mandatory in all official publications."

"I know," Gerard said solemnly, "Ten years ago, Night Star would pray to this painting every time before entering the Polluted Land, because..."