Chapter 644 Storm Before the Stone

The mornings in Stones are never truly bright. The sky remains heavy with remnants of spells. The massive roots of the Tree of Life hang like pillars of the world, forming a protective arch that isolates this place from the outside world. Yet this time, the silence feels... too neat.

Rinoa sits on the central altar, gazing at the crystal heart of Alexander, which now lies still—only pulsing when she touches it. Fitran stands on the eastern side of the Colosseum ruins, carving new Proto-Speech glyphs into the ground as a protective system.

Sheena, who usually gazes at the roots with a faint smile, is silent today.

A gentle whisper slips through the air, as if an unseen voice is trying to awaken the dormant power within the roots. Rinoa feels something, a subtle vibration in her palm as she touches the crystal heart. "Are we really ready?" she thinks, uncertainty wrapping around her mind that was once filled with hope.

She senses something changing.

A root bird—a living creature from the Tree of Life—flies into the sky but falls back down before it can soar higher.

"The roots have not fully accepted the new heart," Sheena says.

"There's a foreign frequency… as if the world is not ready to embrace the new harmony we are creating."

Fitran responds without turning:

"It's not the roots that are rejecting. But something is touching the fabric of the world from the outside."

Rinoa looks at him. "A threat?"

Uncertainty lingers on the tip of her tongue, as if the words are a bridge between two separate worlds. Rinoa can feel a chilling presence close by, like a shadow passing behind her. "What we create may not compare to what is to come," she murmurs softly, her eyes reflecting deep concern.

"Not yet. But... the landing of will.

Someone who has never been welcomed by this land… is coming in."

Far beyond the first circle of Stones, where the roots begin to thin and the mist of the world rolls in, Althur Malgraven stands before a broken gap in the wall of roots. Behind him, 17 sorcerers, necromancers, and arcanists, all wearing cloaks with broken spiral logic patterns.

Among the sorcerers, anxious whispers fill the air, exchanging questioning glances. They sense, intuitively, a greater threat looming. "What should we do when he arrives?" someone asks, their voice trembling.

One of them is Sibylla—standing further back, her eyes dim. Her hand clutches a time bell bound by Althur's blood contract.

Unable to shake off the prophecy looming in her mind, Sibylla shakes the bell, producing a sound that fills the air with unexpected energy. She feels as if something is awakening from the depths, reminding them all of the darkness that envelops Stones.

"We have arrived," Althur says quietly.

"Stones. The core of the will that has never bowed."

A young sorcerer beside him asks:

"Are we going to kill them?"

"No," Althur replies. "We have come to **uproot.

And that root... is her."

He points deep into the mist—toward the altar where Rinoa sits.

As Althur's finger points, the whispers of his presence echo in the hearts of the sorcerers. Rinoa, they think, is both hope and threat. Amid the wild sounds breaking the silence, curiosity and fear intertwine, creating an unexpected web in their plans.

In her mind, Sibylla sees fragments of the future: Rinoa bleeding, her voice silenced. Fitran bowed down, holding a lifeless body. Sheena, screaming without sound, her body absorbed by the roots. The world... crumbling again. And one voice—old, calm, like an echo from a God who has lost its way:

"When harmony is made a tool… then will dies."

She grips her bell. But she cannot speak.

In her mind, the faces of those she loves flash before her, one by one. Rinoa, who always shines even in darkness. Fitran, who carries an unbearable burden in his heart. And Sheena, who, though unable to see, continues to fight using the voice of her heart. All of them are swept into the vortex of emptiness, and Sibylla feels an unbearable pain.

"What can I do?" her inner voice roars, longing for a power long gone. Her fingers move, as if pleading with the unseen forces for guidance. In the silence, she hears another voice, formless yet full of hope, "Don't let fear take over you. Every heartbeat contains new hope."

As she tries to gather her remaining strength, another flash envelops her mind. Rinoa struggling, blood flowing freely, yet her eyes still gleaming with hope. She wants to see a new world, not destruction. Sibylla feels Rinoa's yearning for a life that is not yet fully over. "I can't let this happen," she thinks, that resolute voice beginning to strengthen her resolve.

Fitran finishes carving the last glyph:

✦ Astra Aletheia: Field of Harmonic Interrogation

A field that will only activate if someone enters Stones without an open will.

He speaks softly, "If someone comes without truth… then the world will reject them."

Yet... nothing happens.

As silence envelops, Fitran feels the weight of the atmosphere. Every heartbeat seems to be part of a song he doesn't want to hear. He looks toward Rinoa, the crystal light in her hands reflecting doubt and hope—a struggle within herself to understand the reality surrounding them.

Sheena realizes:

"They are not coming as invaders. They are coming as erasure. And the will that seeks to erase… cannot be detected by the root system."

Rinoa slowly stands. The crystal heart in her hand begins to vibrate.

In the stillness, she recalls the ancient legend of invaders who sought to erase all color from the world. Darkness, they say, is a tyrant that corrupts. Anxiety fills her chest. "Are we strong enough to stand?" she asks herself.

At the edge of the magic of Stones, a single step forward is heard.

Althur steps onto the sacred ground.

No explosion. No lightning. Just silence—silence deep enough for the roots to stop breathing.

Fitran immediately turns. Proto-Speech begins to burn slowly.

"They… are here."

With every passing second, the atmosphere grows more oppressive. Tension binds them in an enigmatic embrace that makes Rinoa's fingers tremble. "What will happen if we can't stop them?" she whispers, her voice nearly lost in the uncertainty surrounding them.

In the emotional space between the three of them—Fitran, Rinoa, and Sheena—there is no fear. Only the acknowledgment that the next fight is not about magic… but about what is worth preserving as the center of the world.

"Fitran," Rinoa begins to speak calmly, "what do you want from all this? Is it just to defeat them?"

She gazes at Fitran earnestly, as if looking into his wounded soul. Fitran averts his gaze, realizing that this is more complex than mere victory. He nods slowly, but his face reflects deep doubt.

— In the corner of the room, Sheena says nothing, but her eyes shine with hope and tension. The feelings swirling within her seem undeniable. She wants to believe in the right path, but the shadows of the past always follow her.

In the air, the Proto-Speech splits in two:

ꦲꦺꦴꦤ꧀ꦢꦺ ꦲꦸꦠꦶ ꦏꦼꦩ꧀ꦧꦸ ꦲꦶꦤꦼꦱ꧀ꦠꦺ —

Onde Uti Kembu Ineste

(*They do not come to attack. They come to… erase your existence.)

"We must unite," Rinoa continues, her voice echoing among the empty walls. "Together, we might change this fate."

A drop of sweat beads on Fitran's temple. His vision flashes back to how shattered this world would be if they fail. He realizes that this journey is not just about survival but about making choices that will affect many souls out there.

And the silent storm begins to walk.