Chapter 1515
Can we take a short break now?
Ovira saw it all.
Beneath enormous wings, in the boundless world, amidst the vast cosmos, people dream and yearn; they cheer and rejoice; they indulge in pleasure and decadence; they ponder deeply, seeking no real understanding. No matter how civilization develops, knives and fire bring agriculture, paper and quills express hope, and scholarship and wisdom repeatedly occupy their minds, yet people still prefer to believe that "the past is all false, memories have no return, spring always comes and goes, and even the most passionate and persistent love is ultimately fleeting."
This is a quote from a "writer" who left a deep impression on Ovila. It's highlighted because he has an extraordinary background: he's not a real person, but a character created by another writer in his novel. Logically, since he was created, all his glory should belong to his creator. Why single out this quote instead of considering it the original author's statement?
Perhaps it's because, even though she's forgotten the original author, the title and content, and even the story itself, Ovira still remembers the character's role in the book. An elderly wise man, far from home, flees to a remote town to escape endless war. There, he opens a bookstore, meets four young people with vastly different personalities and fates, and spends half his life surrounded by books and words. In his old age, however, he suddenly longs for his hometown and, disregarding all advice, resolutely embarks on a journey home.
But as the journey progressed further, the memories became tinged with an increasingly intense sadness, and nostalgia ultimately turned into loneliness. He was disheartened in familiar places, as if he had actually left another hometown and fled to another forgotten corner of the world. In his bewilderment, the wise man wrote letters to the young people in the town, advising them with these words. Later, those young people heeded his advice and left their hometown one after another, except for the most stubborn one who chose to stay.
After that, Ovira couldn't remember what their stories were like. Just as she had said before, she had no impression of the book. After all, it was just a page that had been turned by chance in the long years. How could a princess possibly remember every book she had read? At that time, she was also confused by the wise man's advice. Because she was trapped in the castle, she could not understand how heavy the past and memories were. Spring was just a vague impression, and as for so-called love, it was as light and airy as a lark and willow catkins, as if it were nothing.
Years later, the young girl, now a mysterious monarch, recalls that ignorant moment when facing death. She absentmindedly opens a seemingly ordinary novel, which she originally intended to pass the time in her monotonous life, but inadvertently glimpses the truth of the world.
Back then, mortals weren't so easily led astray. Having faith was a rational expression, and astrologers could occasionally glean glimpses of inspiration from the movement of stars. It was as if living beings hadn't yet lost their right to be generously treated by worldly wisdom; they could still achieve what their predecessors couldn't through their own efforts and painstaking exploration. But when exactly did this situation quietly change? Ignorance and unenlightenment became the mainstream, and fanaticism and ambition gradually took over pure souls. People seemed to have returned to a primitive era, barbaric and foolish.
Perhaps it's because they're all never satisfied. Suddenly, Ovira remembered the young man who chose to stay in the town. The book mentioned his ending, saying he was the only truly happy being in the world, and no one was happier than him.
Others are merely sinners imprisoned by ego, reason, loneliness, and impulse.
In the midst of memories and confessions, her gaze traverses time and space, reaching far more distant places—countries she cannot name, lands she has never set foot on, corners she can never touch. There, some are writing, some are calculating, some are experimenting, some are failing, and some are rising from their failures. In everyone's eyes burn the same flame, a flame that once illuminated dark and turbulent times in the hands of saints, that Merlin ignited the seed of magic, and that has been inherited by this generation, burning brightly amidst endless new things and ever-evolving world expositions.
Scholars experience moments of sudden enlightenment, inventors have flashes of inspiration, novelists and poets find their inspiration flowing freely, doctors dedicated to combating plagues record unprecedented new phenomena in their research laboratories, and even the story traces back to an ordinary child in the mountains who, gazing at the stars, is astonished to find himself pondering seemingly fantastical questions about the movement of stars and the unwavering aurora borealis. History focuses on these moments because they are the sudden bursts of sparks of knowledge, the simultaneous awakening of all inspiration, and the gifts of mysterious royal power helping them to understand the world, seize all knowledge that can be used by mortals, and comprehend, transcend, and transform it.
But sometimes, however, they are led astray. Scholars who propose advanced theories are seen as heretics and cruelly persecuted; inventors who are passionate about creating new things never gain recognition and live in poverty; words written on blank paper, like their owner's poetic sentiments, are mercilessly burned by the flames of worldly life; healers who vaguely glimpse the source of disaster are powerless to cure the prejudices in people's hearts; as for the child gazing at the stars, when he understands all the knowledge bestowed upon him, he also understands the differences that exist in this world: Why is his hometown so barren? Why are people so poor? Why can some people sit in spacious, bright auditoriums to learn, while others are born to be buried in the dust? He will begin to search, to explore, to walk further and further along the path of knowledge, but what lies at the end of the road, even Ovira cannot see. Because it is the knowledge of the future, the possibility that has not yet occurred, a realm she can no longer reach.
Some die without ever looking up at the stars; some spend their entire lives trapped at the bottom of a well, unaware of the world beyond; some receive the flame of knowledge but bury it deep underground, seeking only to monopolize the light. She saw the flame extinguished, tampered with, and used as a tool of power in its transmission; she saw seekers exhaust themselves in the long darkness, collapsing just a step away from the light; she saw souls that should have ignited a flame, yet bound by worldly shackles, unable to burn until death. And these are all part of the gift, naturally also the consequences of choices, the weight that others or oneself must bear.
O'Viola had read the book countless times, deduced it countless times in theory, and pondered it countless times in her mother's wise words, but when she finally saw it for herself, she realized that all the words, theories, and thoughts paled in comparison to even a fraction of what she witnessed firsthand. The wisdom that living beings should possess, or rather, are allowed to possess, is never a dichotomy of good and evil, but rather the struggle and despair of every soul as it wades through an ocean of ignorance. That's why some say knowledge is a curse, and all of humanity's sins stem from the moment they become aware of their own humanity.
Superficial, blind, hateful, ugly, sad, shameful.
From the perspective of the omniscient, Ovira observes everything, the changes in the world caused by her, and is so clearly aware that her decision will change the entire universe. Just like the great creator goddess, when she created billions of lives and infinite matter from nothing, did she feel the same way? Exhausted and lonely, lost and sad.
Ovira suddenly felt tired. The inevitable result of being trapped in a repetitive cycle for a long time is that one can no longer bear the weight of one's own guilt, almost to the point of being unable to breathe, and only at some point can one let go a little and gain the right to rest.
Yes, for the young princesses, there is no death in the world, only temporary respite. The princesses of Destiny, the princesses of Darkness, and the princesses of Plague not long ago—every girl's reaction to death was identical, as if they were carved from the same mold, possessing the same calm and indifference. But does this mean that the world is merely an easy playground for them, requiring little emotional investment, so they leave without deep regret?
But perhaps it's quite the opposite; the world has been too cruel to them, making every day of their journey feel like a struggle for survival. Their arduous pursuit of ideals proves futile, like fleeting illusions. Conflicting beliefs ultimately lead only to mutual destruction and slaughter. Love and dreams turn to ashes, emotions and hearts vanish into thin air. Imagine someone walking on the earth as if treading on blades, every word they utter wounding them, every action contradicting their own nature. The things they desperately seek are destined to be unattainable, and even their closest companions will one day leave them. Looking up, they see no sunlight; bowing their heads in deep thought, they are overcome with self-pity…
For people like these, can't we say that living is like dying, or that living might not even be better than dying? How many great figures or heroes in the world have faced death with equanimity, determined to embark on another journey after death, thus burying themselves peacefully as if saying goodbye rather than passing away? But none of them may have understood the true meaning of death more profoundly than these young girls. Their calmness might have contained an expectation, a hope that beneath death lies a new world, where they could still achieve great things, blurring the lines between life and death. But for these young girls, they have neither the right nor the desire for an afterlife. When they have experienced the hardships and wanderings of this world, unable to find their way home, death becomes synonymous with only one word: rest.
Like a dreamlike slumber, carefree and without thought, one can simply drift silently in that sea, feeling the right to enjoy love and tranquility bestowed upon them since the beginning of creation. Who would want to achieve great things in a dream? Because that is utterly meaningless.
It's over now, can we take a short break?
Ovira asked herself the question. But the moment she uttered it, she knew the answer was inevitably no.
Despite the deep wounds to her soul and spirit, the loss of feeling for her own body, the hands that once wielded the fairy sword, the butterfly wings that once sheltered countless lives, the consciousness that once encompassed the entire universe—all were dissolving, fading, gradually dissipating into specks of light drifting into the distance. Yet, Ovira remained acutely aware that it was not time to rest. What would be death for ordinary people was, for the young queen, merely the world of tranquil repose, awaiting her on this path. But now, she could not reach the end.
On one hand, the Mystic Kingship must persist until the laws of knowledge have fully spread and all living beings in the universe can enjoy this gift. If any soul is overlooked, even if it is an ant among the grass, a butterfly under a withered tree, or a venomous snake destined never to awaken from its long hibernation, it still represents her dereliction of duty, her failure to fulfill the promise, and her inability to save all living beings. On the other hand, this is also the will of Ovira herself, because... she still needs to say goodbye.
Saying goodbye to the most important, irreplaceable companions who have accompanied them all the way. However, the scene would surely be unbearably sorrowful; they would be filled with doubt, fear, and pain, questioning themselves, "Why must we do this?" These were the same questions they had asked Perec, and perhaps the same questions the Lord of Fate had once asked the Lord of Darkness. But could the girl give the exact same answer as Perec or even Caraboss? Everyone's circumstances are different; blindly applying others' experiences is ultimately foolish. If it were her, Ovira thought, she would probably answer the same way.
"If we don't do this, the story can't continue."
She is the creator, the first reader of the story, and the person who most wants the story to continue. Given this, it seems understandable that she would use all sorts of means, even at the cost of violating the royal authority's mission, making the same choice as the enemy, and embarking on a path of no return... just to continue this plot and give it a beginning and an end.
If you can understand that... that would be great.
Even though she couldn't understand, Ovira couldn't force the issue. She could only smile gently and say, "There's really nothing I can do."
Because understanding is never a given. Like the letter written by the wise man, did those young people who left truly understand his advice? Did the young man who stayed in the town understand his own destiny, and why he was called the happiest creature in the world? Perhaps it will be a long time later, when those she left behind have also reached a point of weariness, when they too begin to ponder this question, that they will truly understand her choice at that moment.
But by then, she had already sunk into that tranquil sea, and could no longer hear their voices. (End of Chapter)