Pillar of Yita

The man-made corridor came to an abrupt halt, and the smooth natural rock layers stretched forward, descending into the dark depths. When Fang Hong saw the rock walls reveal a terracotta red smooth edge under the faint glow of the Crystal, he subconsciously fell silent.

Nature sometimes presents a breathtaking spectacle, just like the gradually advancing layers of color in the cave now, intermixed with pale yellow, tea red, and a vortex-like streak of white, following the path once traveled by the underground river, into the bottomless Abyss.

Even to this day, it seemed as though echoes from the past could still be heard.

But the girl was oblivious to it all, feeling her way down, only whispering, ”Be careful, Lord Holy Chooser, the path ahead is treacherous.”

Fang Hong saw she was struggling, and reached out to support her. But the girl, sensing his goodwill, merely shook her head with a smile, ”No need, I’m used to it.”

The underground rivercourse cut across, interrupting the man-made tunnel, the water etching out the terrain thereafter, twisting and turning in a complex network, yet the cave itself was still broad and flat.

Fang Hong listened to the rustling sound in the dark.

It was as if an invisible monster lay lurking in the shadows, devouring their footsteps. But when he occasionally glanced back, the light and shadow cut by the Crystal swayed, showing nothing.

”Can you hear those sounds too, Lord Holy Chooser?” the girl suddenly spoke, her voice light and gentle, yet very clear in the uniquely expansive darkness.

Fang Hong looked at her, somewhat surprised. In fact, all he heard were their footsteps.

”What sounds?”

”Sounds of dispute.”

”Dispute?”

The girl gently nodded, her long eyelashes quivering slightly, almost frail, reflecting an unusual snowy color under the glow of the Crystal. ”Sometimes I wonder why people always dispute...?”

Fang Hong heard her take a soft breath.

But he didn’t hear any dispute, only the unchanged, silent cave under the faint glow of the Crystal.

As for why people always dispute—the causes are many: dissatisfaction, prejudice, fear, anger, and even discrimination can all be the beginnings of a dispute. But deep in his eyes, a line of faintly glowing text appeared in his chat window:

’Dispute is merely a means for people to grasp the power of speech. The key doesn’t lie in the ’fight,’ but in the ’strive,’ and as long as people’s differing opinions remain unresolved, disputes will always arise. And humans will never truly possess empathy, so disputes will never cease...’

’But teacher,’ Fang Hong typed word by word: ’I don’t quite understand what you’re telling me.’

’Was this meant for you?’

Fang Hong glanced at the girl beside him.

’Is this also part of the task line?’ Fang Hong asked, ’Or is this another one of teacher’s ’chicken soup for the soul?’’

’No,’ R sent a sigh emoji: ’Just speaking from the heart.’

At this moment, the girl snapped back to reality, offering an apologetic smile: ”Sorry, it’s just that every time I come to this place and hear those sounds, I can’t help but think of some things. Please excuse me, Lord Holy Chooser.”

”Just call me Ade, the title sounds too awkward; I’m just an ordinary person,” Fang Hong replied. But he was still intrigued by her words: ”Can you hear those sounds in this place? What do they sound like?”

The girl continued forward, answering as she walked: ”Many voices, voices of men or women, voices of old or young, so many, so noisy, I can’t even make out what they’re saying.”

”...But I should know what they’re saying, I remember,” she suddenly paused, ”I remember hearing these voices before, maybe in one place, but I’ve forgotten so many things.”

The girl muttered to herself, lowering her head in a bit of distraction, gently clasping her right hand with her left, as if there should be something there.

Then she turned back: ”Lord Holy Chooser cannot hear them either?”

”It’s Ade,” Fang Hong corrected.

”Sorry, Mr. Ade.”

Fang Hong habitually shook his head, but said nothing.

The girl closed her eyes, not waiting for his response, a trace of wistfulness crossing her face, softly saying: ”I see.” Fang Hong, seeing her expression, asked: ”So, others can’t hear them either?”

The girl gently nodded.

As she turned away again, Fang Hong couldn’t help but ask: ”Eve, what do you think those sounds are?”

”I don’t know, maybe they’re just memories in my heart, Mr. Ade,” the girl replied in a soft voice, ”I’ve stayed here too long, Yoshude never returns, among so many voices, his is the one I can’t hear—”

Fang Hong watched the girl’s lonely figure, suddenly feeling a bit sympathetic.

For some reason, it reminded him of Hilveld, and also of Miss Miya. He recalled the last moment he saw her in the ruins, the silver-haired wolf girl turning away, her figure carrying a similar solitude.

The Ship’s Officer Miss, almost isolated, could easily evoke such a connection in him. But he was a little puzzled, as to why Miya, as the Witch of the Sea, had such a similar aura?

Was it because she was going to the Second World alone, seeking justice for her comrades?