Chapter 605 Buried Letters from the Genesis Era

Altar Sheena stood silently in the deepest corner of the Temple of Mount, a place where light could not touch and roots dared not delve too deep. There were no flowers. No prayers. Just the heavy air of time held too long, and remnants of Proto-Speech carvings swallowed by stone moss. In that silence, Rinoa felt the vibration of invisible energy, as if the altar was the heartbeat of the earth connecting her to a long-forgotten history. She imagined Liroa, a teacher who once said that memories are the bridge between the soul and time; now, she felt as if she were exploring that very bridge, amidst the fog of vague knowledge.

Rinoa approached it with slow steps. As she drew closer, her heart began to beat erratically, as if the altar had an unseen pulse, gently yet powerfully calling her. In her mind, the figure of Liroa appeared; her wise eyes and warm voice seemed to draw her nearer. Her thoughts drifted to the past, to hazy memories of something greater than herself, something she did not fully understand. Perhaps this altar was not just a stone, but also a mirror of souls trapped in time—a symbol of an unending quest.

Something was calling her.

Not a voice. Not an echo. But the absence of sound—a silence so thick, as if there were lyrics caught in the throat of the world. In that stillness, she felt a deep knowledge, connecting her to something that transcended the boundaries of time and space, something that might relate to her lost identity. For a moment, Rinoa felt her heartbeat synchronize with the mysterious pulse of the altar, as if it were a mirror to her soul. She felt as if she could hear soft whispers from her fingers touching the cold surface, every indentation and crack holding untold stories, fragile yet powerful history. She took a deep breath, trying to digest the overwhelming feelings within her, a force reminiscent of the dawn after a long night.

She touched the altar. Her fingers pressed against a faint indentation covered in dust and hard earth. The altar stone vibrated gently. From the fine cracks, a thin scroll of unknown metal emerged, as if hidden by the roots themselves. Seeing the scroll, Rinoa's heart trembled with anxiety and fear of something that might only be understood by Liroa, her long-lost sister. She had felt lonely for so long, estranged from the melody of life that should have intertwined, and at that moment, she remembered their conversations—dialogues that transcended time, where Liroa was always the light, a guide in the darkness. It was as if she had found a missing piece of her life's puzzle, and restlessness mixed with hope flooded her mind.

As she touched it, the surface of the scroll glowed in Proto-Speech patterns, forming lines of poetry in a silent language:

ꦭꦁꦒꦸ ꦭꦼꦩꦠ꧀ ꦲꦸꦪꦸꦱ — Langu Lemat Huyusa (The Song Forgotten by Time Itself)

No power radiated from the scroll. No magical pressure. But Rinoa knew... these words were not spells.

They were songs.

She read them slowly. Word by word, rhythm by rhythm. And the more she read, the air around her changed. The light of the roots glowed softly. The altar stone began to melt... not physically, but from within its logical structure. The world responded to the lyrics—as if recognizing it as the first song.

As if cursed in a hazy memory, Rinoa felt her soul filled with a profound curiosity. It was as if this song was not just about what was sung, but also about who she had once lost. With every word spoken, the shadow of an unclear face emerged in her mind, as if calling her from afar.

Unknowingly, the memory of a longing took shape again. Perhaps it was Liroa, singing this melody in the quiet of the night, her voice like morning dew gently dripping to the earth. Rinoa imagined Liroa standing in the wind, her hair dancing beautifully, and every smile of hers hinted at an unfinished story. The song was the bridge connecting them, as if the sky and earth were separated by time and space. In those moments, the feeling of loss and hope united, creating a symphony of eternity in Rinoa's heart.

"The sky is not a place, but a window of wounds. And the world above is not above, but a place where the rejected names continue to sing."

Suddenly, Rinoa jolted.

Her eyes widened, but the world around her vanished. She was no longer at the altar. She was inside a memory.

In the suffocating darkness, Rinoa posed a question to the existence of her soul. Why did her heart feel bound to this melody filled with sorrow? A melancholic feeling filled her, as if it flowed through every pore of her body, guiding her to answers she had yet to find. Every second felt like a year, like autumn leaves drying on wet ground, reminding her of the depth of memories often overlooked. She felt that this melody was a bridge between two worlds, as if signaling the presence of a figure who always accompanied her in silence.

In a pale blue-lit empty space, Rinoa stood on a floating patch of grass. In front of her stood a girl with silver-blue hair, sharp yet gentle eyes, wearing a uniform like hers... but different, too similar and too foreign. The girl's face radiated a light that made Rinoa feel as if she were trapped in a dream she did not want to end. In her mind, fragments of moments when they both laughed, painting hopes in the twilight sky with seemingly limitless dreams flashed by. Yet, at the same time, there was a pressing sense of longing, as if her soul missed the lyrics they once sang together.

In Rinoa's heart, an undefined feeling surged, like waves of memories trying to flood a harbor that should be calm. She felt a vibration in her soul that seemed to call her, bringing her closer to this mysterious figure. Each heartbeat resonated with hope and vague fear, waiting for answers to the unsolved puzzle. In Rinoa's mind, the image of Liroa carved wonder, bringing memories of places where they both kept buried secrets—an eternal place that now felt one step closer, as if space and time were weaving together the threads of a story that had been cut off.

The girl turned. Smiled.

And without hesitation, took Rinoa's hand.

That touch triggered a flash of memories that Rinoa didn't even know she had—laughter together under a window of golden light, whispering secrets behind the walls of a blue-lit corridor. In her mind, Liroa's soft voice echoed, like a sweet melody filling the empty space. Forget everything you know, as if that voice whispered, and let yourself fly into deeper secrets. The name of the girl... was there, but buried.

In the emptiness surrounding her memories, Rinoa felt an invisible web connecting them, as if every second they spent together had left an indelible mark. Every heartbeat resonated in harmony with her soul, even though separated by the boundaries of time and space. An unspoken call echoed in her heart, creating a faint sound that vibrated against uncertainty, as if the lyrics of a song only they understood.

"Liroa..." Rinoa whispered.

As soon as that name was spoken, the Proto-Speech poetry on the scroll lit up again, and the sky of the memory space split.

Mysterious shadows haunted Rinoa, creating the subtlest sadness, as if there was an unspoken sorrow in Liroa's smile. Every finger that held hers carried the weight of a history she did not fully understand, making her feel trapped between the desire to draw closer and the fear of loss. Rinoa knew there was something more to Liroa—a deep secret waiting to be discovered, a window to another world that could change everything. In her bright light, Liroa seemed to be a symbol of hope standing between the past and the future, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of her own doubts.

Liroa turned and said:

"If you read that song to the end, we will meet again."

From within the basement, a sound like a small whistle that could not be heard by the ear passed by. Rinoa came to her senses, returning to reality. But something had changed.

In Rinoa's heart, waves of curiosity vibrated. What might be found in the depths of that pale orange light flowing? Both memory and fear blended into one. The attachment to the mystery surrounding Liroa became both a burden and a comfort. She could not ignore this surge, as if there were an invisible thread pulling her closer.

In her soul, Rinoa felt a kind of dance between light and dark, as if that orange light was a reminder of an unforgettable past. Every memory flowed like water forming poetry, and every vibration made her wonder about what was lost. Rinoa knew that behind this mystery lay a lesson waiting for her, a learning that could only be revealed if she dared to step into that darkness.

Behind the altar, a vertical crack opened. Pale orange light flowed slowly from within. Not a portal, not magic, but something older—a vertical path between the Stones and the upper world, an ancient corridor that could only be opened by a song that had no desire for power.

As if the altar was a bridge between two worlds, Rinoa could feel how deep the connection was between Liroa and these songs, as if every melody was a mosaic of their souls. The vibrating light suggested that within it lay a thousand secrets, waiting to be unraveled by a hopeful heart. She felt an unbroken bond between them, where every note was a reminder of the connection that had formed despite the reality separating them.

Yet, in every note she heard, Rinoa felt Liroa's presence, even though her face was hazy. A burning hope ignited within her, mixed with a painful longing. Where was she now? Why did that song, which should have freed her, only lead her deeper into unspoken sorrow?

Fitran approached, his eyes radiating caution.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Rinoa turned, her face still half in memory. "I... I was reading the song that Sheena left behind. But it's not just that. I saw... someone."

With every word spoken, Rinoa could feel tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to hold back the pain that surged. "It felt like there was a story lost, a promise left between us," she said as if speaking to her own shadow.

In Rinoa's heart, a burning desire to understand this funny weave of time surged. She felt like a golden thread cut in the middle of life's path, trapped in a web of fate that brought sadness. Liroa, a figure that only existed in hazy memories yet felt so real, created bright colors in the grayness of her life, like a rainbow after the rain. Rinoa imagined how they should have run together in a field of flowers, building limitless memories that now could only be dreamed of.

"Who?"

She clutched her chest. "I don't know. But she held my hand, and I knew... we had made a promise."

That promise flowed like water in a dream, thin and hard to reach. Rinoa felt how tightly Liroa's fingers gripped hers. In that brief moment, they connected more than just memories; there was a presence that stirred her soul, urging her to find out who she truly was. She felt like a bird trapped in a cage, chirping for freedom that was nowhere to be found, and Liroa was the key that might bring her back to the sky.

The Proto-Speech scroll was no longer glowing. But on its surface remained one line:

ꦭꦶꦫꦺꦴꦄ — Liroa (A Name Not Written, Yet Remembered by the Singing World)

Rinoa held the scroll tightly. Her soul felt bound to that name, as if Liroa was a part of her that was lost. In her memory, she felt a gentle breeze reminding her of a past she had never experienced, yet was close to her heart. As if a dry desert longed for rain, Rinoa could almost feel Liroa's presence beside her. Every breath she took became a spirit for her quest, uniting all the broken pieces of her heart.

And far above, in the corridor between dimensions, a faint sound began to emerge:

The first note. The second note. The third note.

And the song... was not finished. Each note felt like a call from afar, awakening Rinoa's desire to know more, to delve into the darkness behind that engraved name. It was as if the music intertwined with her destiny, and she felt a gentle vibration between its notes, an invisible bridge between the past and the future. She felt as if Liroa was a reflection of her own sorrow, a mystery inviting her from the depths of an endless ocean. Yet, within Liroa's soul, Rinoa detected a light; one hope, nestled among the shadows of darkness. The music, like waves spreading, called her to dive deeper, to unearth the pain and hope that lay buried. "Who are you, Liroa?" she whispered, her voice gliding like a gentle night wind, yearning for answers from the trembling sands of time.

"I don't remember her at all," Rinoa said.

"Friend ........