Sandean awoke in the Spirit Country.
He found himself lying on a luminous sailboat, gliding across a river that resembled flowing oil paint. In the distance lood an imnse, colorful bubble, its size beyond description.
The ferryman was a shadowy figure, his features indistinct, silent as he steered.
As Sandean lay on the boat, they passed through the giant bubble. Suddenly, his vision cleared.
Before him unfolded a world of exquisite beauty, and Sandean’s pupils dilated in awe.
This realm within the bubble was a tapestry of vibrant hues, utterly unlike the barren, desolate world of the Trilobite n.
Rivers flowed like iridescent oil. In the distance, a snowy landscape dotted with ice-covered cottages. Towering tree-like structures reached into the clouds, and enormous cocoons woven from silk hung suspended.
In the sky, spirits soared, pulled along by balloons.
On the river, spirits raced in elegant boats, while on land, they chased each other on unicycles.
Suddenly, from the cabin of the sailboat behind him, several small heads popped out. They were little spirits clad in golden robes, giggling as they observed Sandean.
“Hee hee hee!”
“Look at how dumbfounded he is.”
“He fell asleep clutching that broken bone tablet, treating trash like treasure.”
“Just like that poet from before.”
Sandean didn’t imdiately realize which poet they were referring to. He just asked, bewildered:
“Where am I?”
The spirits loved when mortals asked them questions. They could chatter endlessly for an entire day, curious about any new thing that ca their way.
“This is the spirit country, of course.”
“That’s right, it’s our spirit realm.”
“The new ho God gave us.”
“I still prefer the Sun Cup Flower Sea.”
“The Sun Cup Flower Sea isn’t far, just go back if you like it so much.”
Sandean was utterly dazed, believing he was still dreaming.
It was then that he suddenly realized this might not be a dream, and these peculiar beings before him were clearly the legendary dream spirits. Still, he couldn’t comprehend where this spirit country was located.
Even in the records of the Tito family, there had never been ntion of a spirit country.
“Spirit country? Where is it?”
The spirits clamored to answer, their little heads squeezing together as they spoke over one another.
“In the world of dreams.”
“God said this is the world of the spiritual.”
“Lady Hila says it’s the world of mories.”
“Of course.”
“You mortals usually call it God’s realm.”
A shiver ran through Sandean from head to toe, instantly jolting him awake.
He finally understood.
He had arrived in the realm of God.
In a daze, he followed the spirits as they disembarked. He watched as the shadowy ferryman pushed off, vanishing into the starry expanse beyond the bubble.
Surrounded by an ever-growing throng of spirits, he was led towards a distant structure.
The spirits inford him that soone important was waiting for him.
He beheld a building constructed entirely of an unfamiliar transparent material. It resembled a palace, yet it was far too strange and radiant.
“What is this?”
“Are these gems? So many gems?”
He exclaid in wonder. To build a palace with such pure gems – truly befitting God’s realm, he thought.
These spirits were indeed extravagant and wealthy beyond asure.
The spirits told him: “This is glass.”
“This is the Hall of Joy, where we store our most precious dreams.”
“Inside, the dreams won’t fly away, and we can see them through the glass from outside.”
Sandean peered carefully through the glass and saw joyful mories of laughter and play. The re sight filled him with happiness.
He also noticed oil lamps.
He had initially thought they contained light stones, but now he realized the flickering inside was fla.
Pointing at the lamps in panic, he cried, “Fire!”
“Fire!”
“You’ve managed to extract the power of volcanoes and celestial fire, trapping it in such tiny vessels?”
The spirits erupted in laughter at Sandean’s overreaction.
“Of course oil can produce fire.”
Sandean then saw a massive bridge constructed entirely of tal, leaving him utterly astonished.
He had only read about such material in the Tito family records. It was made from the shed carapaces and horns of giant beasts, typically used to forge precious swords.
They were known as Ruhe swords.
“The material for Ruhe swords, you use it to build bridges, and such enormous ones at that.”
In the world of the Trilobite n, this material was invaluably precious, possessed only by royalty and the highest nobility. Yet the spirits treated it as utterly commonplace.
“It’s just tal, isn’t it? As long as there’s ore, we can produce it at will.”
Sandean felt his eyes had truly been opened. He began to understand the feelings of the great poet. If the Trilobite n possessed such things, wouldn’t their future be entirely different?
Finally, he arrived at the heart of the spirit country.
It was the enormous tree-like structure.
The ancient yet vibrant doors swung open, revealing a vast library. The interior was completely hollow from top to bottom.
Lining the walls were countless shelves, stretching from the ground all the way up to the celestial do.
The shelves held roll upon roll of scrolls, made of fabric.
Several weaver spirits were busy collecting knowledge from the starry sea of dreams, storing useful portions here.
The spirits were building a grand library to record all knowledge.
Waiting for Sandean was the legendary King of Spirits who stood at God’s left hand, the divine ssenger who had received both the great poet and Stan Tito, the two generations of saints.
As soon as Sandean saw her, he realized this spirit was clearly different. Her robe was embroidered with the legendary dream of God.
Sacred and noble.
It was as if all the beauty in the world had converged upon her.
Sandean imdiately felt unworthy. He dared not even look directly at this legendary divine ssenger.
“Are you the King of Spirits?”
“I am Sandean, a slave.”
The dream spirit told Sandean: “Spirits are not like Trilobite n.”
“We have no king; we are all companions.”
“Spirits also have no slaves; everyone is equal.”
Sandean, hunching his back in humility, asked, “Great ssenger of God! Why have I been brought here?”
The spirit told Sandean: “Because Stan Tito chose you. He made you the inheritor of his will and dreams.”
“He left you the blessing bestowed by God, for he believed you would bring hope and light to the world.”
“He wanted you to beco — the preacher.”
It was only at this mont that Sandean truly understood the aning behind the na Stan Tito had given him.
At the sa ti, he felt the weight of responsibility descend upon his shoulders, so heavy it left him struggling to breathe.
But if it was Stan Tito’s will, he would surely do his best to fulfill and complete it.
“I understand.”
He knelt and bowed his head, paying homage not only to the ssenger of God but also to his departed teacher.
Reviews
All reviews (0)