Valerica was an ancient Vampire, deserving of titles like Elder and Master.
However, her makeup made her look quite young, with a full, slightly square face that exuded the graceful demeanor of an aristocratic old woman. Her hairstyle consisted of two simple buns, and her voice was low and clear, her words ancient and somewhat literary.
Serana lightly touched the magical barrier, and a tearing pain made her retract her hand. "Mother, how did you get trapped here?"
"Let's not talk about that yet. How did you get here? Did I fail after all? Harkon found a way to decipher the prophecy, didn't he?"
"No, you're completely wrong. Father has been defeated and imprisoned. I came here just to see you."
"What? Such a thing happened? Who defeated Harkon? A pure-blood, or a despicable Vampire hunter?"
"He's not a Vampire hunter, but he killed all the Vampires in Volkihar Castle."
"How audacious, how formidable, how hateful!" Valerica heard the news of Volkihar's destruction, and instead of getting angry, she felt a sense of relief. "Those fools brainwashed by Harkon, let them die. They were worthless anyway. Good child, it's good that you came to find me. Release me, and we can continue living in the beautiful mortal world. I'm tired of your mad father, and now he's no longer a threat… Wait, it would be best to have that person kill Harkon."
"Hey! Mother, why do you speak of Father like that?"
"He's a madman! Do you understand? He just wants to kill you, to use your blood to achieve his unrealistic wish."
"Whether he's a madman or not, he is still my father. We will go and rescue the person who imprisoned him. That way, he will owe us a favor and should repay it. Given his character, if I force him not to kill Father, then our family will be safe."
"Are you saying you'd rather trust a Vampire slayer than your own mother? Have you lost your mind!" Valerica's voice was stern and her tone unequivocal.
"Yes, in the short week I've spent with him, I've already felt his undeniable personality, like the sun, and the sense of security he gives me is something you haven't been able to provide in centuries!"
"Child! I am protecting you, preventing danger before it happens. Isn't that what a mother should do? Your father is a madman, and that stranger you speak of is even less reliable. You must know, I am the only one in this world who will never hurt you!"
"No, Mother, there's one more person who won't hurt me," Serana said with a smile.
"Damn it, you've fallen for a mortal? Don't you know that in a few decades, you'll be weeping over his corpse? For us immortal Vampires, only our own kind are worthy of love."
"Why not? Your love for me is ultimately just a form of imprisonment. You are no different from Father," Serana said, utterly disheartened and trembling with indignation. "Perhaps we are not meant to have family happiness."
"Don't be like that, child. Seeing you in such pain breaks my heart. Forgive my willfulness, forgive my assertiveness. I will always love you." Valerica, separated from Serana by the barrier, pressed her hand against it. The intense burning brought her pain, but Valerica's expression remained her familiar sternness, her eyes so gentle.
Serana took a deep breath, closed her eyes, letting her tears dissolve, then offered a generous smile. "Sorry, Mother, I'll get you out now. What do I need to do?"
"Go find those tallest floating spires. The barrier draws energy from the pathetic souls exiled here through the bases of those towers. Defeat the guardians, and you can dispel the barrier. But be careful, a Dragon calling itself Durnehviir (Dragon word for 'Curse Never Dying') patrols the Soul Cairn. It is the Overseer appointed by the Lord of Truth. Do not let It discover you."
"Don't worry, I understand."
...
In the dark, narrow black stone corridor, Simon had only his own light to illuminate the way. The faint white light illuminated an area of less than two feet around him before dissolving into a dim iridescence. He surveyed his surroundings; the walls were covered with bas-reliefs, some clear, some blurry. He felt the air was unusually humid and warm, as if mist was diffusing, and the thin mist illuminated by his light was like a persistent miasma above a swamp.
The ground was solid, but his legs felt weak, as if he were treading on soft cushions.
The impression here was like the intestines of some large creature.
He was the food, and the bas-reliefs on the walls were the digested remnants.
This was, of course, just a metaphor. Simon observed the bas-relief murals, depicting a myriad of human conditions, each different. They were mostly simple lines, recognizable as human figures, but beyond that, there wasn't much detail to ponder.
But the more he looked, the more he understood that the content depicted in these bas-reliefs was mostly heartbreaking and unforgettable. The people were striking insane poses, with an explosive expressive force, and in the chaotic background, there was always a deep, circular eye watching everything.
A breeze suddenly blew from deep within the corridor, light and gentle, reminiscent of the soft wind sweeping across green fields on a sunny spring afternoon, carrying a pleasant sensation.
Simon couldn't help but recall some past events—his student days, his time with Nati and Paya, the days spent studying scriptures at Shaolin Temple, the hours practicing martial arts in the small courtyard of the Lion Appearance Sect, and the times he prepared meals for Jonas.
It was peaceful and uneventful, yet beneath the surface lay infinite possibilities. Life at that time was layered; beneath the shimmering water were stories of fish and birds.
He snapped back to reality. Although he had no nostalgic thoughts, he touched his cheek, and a smile had, at some point, spread across his face.
The warm breeze in the corridor stopped.
Simon continued forward.
The sculptures were bizarre and unique in their details, yet there were similarities. Since they all represented sincere and unforgettable emotions, then all people in the world are interconnected. We share common joys and sorrows; my smile can be shared, and my grief can be borne by you. We are one.
This is the treasure of the Lord of Truth—the Corridor of Sentient Beings.
In the silent stillness, Simon's experience was strange. He felt as if he was still immersed in background noises, without any discomfort, and it took him a long time to realize how utterly silent the corridor was.
Such a contradictory feeling: it was clearly an extremely quiet environment, where even breathing, heartbeats, internal organ movements, and muscle contractions could be distinguished, yet it gave a sense of ordinary comfort.
Someone was whispering—it was the bas-reliefs, they were whispering.
"Here it comes again…"
"Find what you desire… otherwise, you will die."
"Give up, only servitude is truth."
"Give it back to me… give it back to me…"
"I thought death was liberation, but it was just the beginning of suffering…"
Simon listened carefully, and all the sounds vanished.
The corridor was still that quiet corridor.
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