"And you are?"
"Alas, your good student has pushed everything to an irreversible state!"
"What do you mean by that?"
"The bells of fate have rung; the judgment for mortals has not yet begun, but it will not wait much longer."
A-Ran was dazed, replaying the sentence in his mind. There was so much in that one sentence. He didn't hesitate, suspecting divine intervention. He had just heard the Black Worm Society's mages say that the sphere was the eye of magnus, and for such a treasure, it would be very normal even if gods and demons were truly involved.
"Alright, I understand. I'll take the students and leave now."
"It's already too late," the mysterious mage said. A-Ran was surprised to see eight more mages, similarly dressed, emerge from the void.
"What do you mean, too late?"
"Because of a boy," another woman spoke. She used Ancient Elf, which the knowledgeable A-Ran understood clearly. "Which boy?"
"The Dragonborn, possessing a dragon soul, a fragment of time. If not for him, that person would not have been able to rush into this time segment."
Among the crowd of faculty and students, A-Ran noticed the child they spoke of—a tall, robust Breton Boy, with a straight posture and a youthful face. Faralda had said he would become a master of Destruction magic, and it certainly seemed so now. Among all the still figures, only he was subtly trembling, not with excitement, but with a chill. Though his complexion wasn't visible, his expression was troubled.
"What's wrong? Will the child be alright?"
"The Crystal Tower bestows upon us the great power to fix time, like freezing a river with ice. This was originally perfect, until the appearance of this little fellow. He is a burning coal; even if he cannot melt the frozen river, he will emit a bright flame. For that person, it is enough."
"The Crystal Tower? You are the Psijic Order!" A-Ran exclaimed in shock.
This was an extraordinary organization.
And the Crystal Tower was an even more extraordinary creation.
Its extraordinary nature could not be simply explained; its history needed to be traced back to the Merethic Era.
The Ancient Elves, who once held dominion over Nirn, discovered through their research that magic was constantly fading, like entropy. From the world's genesis to its destruction, matter became increasingly disordered, energy became increasingly sluggish, and even the individuality of souls would gradually be worn away.
The primordial magic, the power demonstrated by the Aedra on the battlefield, was called Dawn magic, the most extraordinary and greatest.
But nothing could escape the grinding of time.
To preserve Dawn magic, the Ancient Elves built the Crystal Tower, also known as the Crystal Law, which was the supreme symbol of power in the Aldmeri Dominion at the time. It was precisely to rival this tower that the Ayleids, far away in Tamriel, built the White-Gold Tower.
The masters who built the Crystal Tower imbued it with all the Dawn magic they could gather at the time. For a long time, the Crystal Tower was an important magical energy beacon on Nirn, and in the eyes of the world, the greatest school of magic.
However, the mysteries of the Crystal Tower were far more complex than outsiders perceived. It, or rather He, like the Brass God numidium, was vibrant, representing the essence of the Ancient Elf race's supreme philosophy. He was the very stairway to godhood for the Elves who revered the Ancestor Path!
Noble and disciplined Elves would spend their entire lives perfecting themselves, studying art, magic, combat, alchemy, smithing, military knowledge, and so on, all to draw closer to the great Ancestor Gods. At the final moment of an Elf's life who had embarked on the Ancestor Path, he would enter the Crystal Tower to undergo a ritual called Dragon-Cocooning.
Dragon, meaning time.
Cocoon, meaning solidification.
Dragon-Cocooning, meaning solidifying time.
An Elf, in a state closest to his ancestors, would solidify into a Dragon-Cocoon, ascending to Aetherius and joining the ranks of the Aedra. Future generations would revere him, making him a new Ancestor God in the Elven pantheon.
No wonder the High Elves, as the legitimate descendants of the Ancient Elves, were so arrogant. It was only because they had triumphed over Auriel, who favored Elves and abhorred the mortal world, rather than Lorkhan, who favored humans and loved the mortal world. Their family's arrogance was ingrained, and for them, it was the most correct path.
At this moment, A-Ran was influenced by the subdued tone of these nine Psijic monks, and he couldn't help but feel a little flustered. He breathed for a while, feeling the air so heavy and devoid of scent, seemingly not flowing into his body, but merely passing through, taking a stroll in his lungs before leaving. If not for the surging magical energy around him, he would almost have thought he was in the eternal stillness after death.
"No matter what, I need to take the faculty and students and leave!" A-Ran was very serious. How similar was this predicament to when he had frantically abandoned his companions in Labyrinthian back then! But this time, I will not run away again. This is the honor of the Arch-Mage!
Blinding currents of electricity flared from the Dark Elf master's hands. "Stop when it's over, we're leaving immediately!"
A female monk coldly rebuked, "Will you please calm down! If it weren't for your outstanding strength, we wouldn't have singled you out. We hope you can accompany us in facing the enemy, not cause us trouble!"
"That's your own problem. Reign in your arrogant pride!" A-Ran retorted, "You are merely one of those struggling in the mortal world. If you had the ability to change history, why didn't you act sooner? Why wait until the situation is irreversible to put out the fire?"
The first monk to appear responded mildly, "Who can truly fathom fate? We are but grains of sand blocking a torrent, striving to protect the carefree little creatures behind us. This operation is rushed; if it succeeds, all is well. If not, we will proceed to the divine realm one step earlier."
A-Ran was moved by their pessimism. "Is it really that hopeless?"
"You are very right, we are merely one of those struggling in the mortal world, and that person is a demigod living in the mortal world!"
Ding-a-ling—!!!
Ding-a-ling—!!!
"What's that sound?" A-Ran asked.
The crisp sound of bells stirred the dormant air into joyful commotion. Magical energy was like a steaming pot of creamy cheese soup, rumbling, bubbling, bursting with effervescence, chattering incessantly. The colors of the world returned. A-Ran saw the Psijic monks wearing bright yellow robes with red patterns on their cuffs and collars. That layer of clear, bright light was still there, time had stopped, but everything was vastly different!
"The bells of fate, there's no mistake."
Another person flew through the opening in Saarthal, wearing a white robe, with mottled bloodstains on his ugly face, holding a huge brass umbrella with eleven bells gently swaying.
That person scanned the area, his expression stern and serious, his three eyes like those of an evil god from a monster story. He saw the Black Worm Society members, frowned, then saw A-Ran, nodded, and finally looked at the Psijic monks, grinning.
A-Ran recognized him—Jonas's foster father, the Foodie of Winterhold!
"It's you, who wants to harm my child?"
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