The temperature in the Graveyard of Cloths gradually rose under the starlike glimmers, and Mu no longer felt cold—rather, he even felt a bit warm.
But they all knew that these glimmers were not actual starlight. Instead, they were the remnants of Cosmos left on the Cloths by generations of fallen Saints. Against their enemies, they wielded indomitable fists of steel, but toward their comrades and successors, they left only trust and hope.
Amidst the welcoming Cosmos, the group arrived at the heart of the Graveyard of Cloths—a small stone pedestal. Upon it lay a gray book, seemingly lifeless yet untouched by dust.
"Why is it like this? Wasn't it sealed?" Maelin frowned as he questioned Molcaba.
"No, Lord Maelin. The war against Ares was too brutal back then, so Lady Athena left the Book of Revival behind. You know this—Aries Saints symbolize life, and the Aries sacred artifact, the Book of Revival, possesses one of the greatest healing abilities in existence.
For our sake, Lady Athena did not seal the Book of Revival but instead entrusted it to me for healing the Saints' injuries. Later, during another great battle, I was ambushed by the two generals Flame and Fire. The Book of Revival saved my life, but as a result, it was damaged. In the end, Lady Athena instructed me to take the Book of Revival away and repair it as best I could.
But to this day, despite all my efforts, I have been unable to awaken it."
As he spoke, Molcaba began to weep. Though the Book of Revival was not his personal artifact, it had fought alongside him for many years. To him, it was like family.
In that battle, had it not protected him, Molcaba would not have survived. But no matter what he did, even offering his own lifeblood, he could only restore its physical form—he could not awaken its soul.
"Because it… is already dead," Maelin said.
"Dead… it's dead?! Lord Maelin, how is that possible? This is an artifact you personally created! It survived even the most brutal Holy Wars intact—how could it possibly be…?" Molcaba's eyes were filled with disbelief.
"Sigh… you should know the truth. Artifacts possess souls because when I forge them, I embed a fragment of my divine soul within them, allowing them to grow.
But the Book of Revival… the fragment of my soul within it has already dissipated."
"This… this…" Molcaba collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "It's my fault… Lord Maelin, please punish me. I am responsible for the destruction of your artifact—I am guilty…"
"Rise, Molcaba. Don't blame yourself too much. Artifacts are like comrades to Saints, they are battle companions. And like any other Saint, I believe that when it died, it did so with a smile." Maelin helped Molcaba to his feet, offering comfort.
"But… but…"
"Enough, Molcaba. Since the Book of Revival sacrificed itself to save you, you must live on and carry its legacy with you."
"Yes… my lord…"
"As for the Book of Revival, leave it to me."
Maelin stepped forward, standing before the lifeless Book of Revival. Without hesitation, he slit his own wrist, allowing his blood to bathe the book. At the same time, he separated another fragment of his divine soul, embedding it into the artifact.
"Humm… Hummm… Hummmmm…"
The Book of Revival began to change color. As it absorbed Maelin's blood and divine soul, it gradually turned a vibrant green, the color of life. The sapphire at its center started to flicker weakly at first, but then more brightly, more rapidly.
"Aah… Aah…" Molcaba trembled with excitement as he watched his old friend gradually come back to life.
Suddenly, the blue gem erupted with dazzling light. The Book of Revival levitated and fully awakened.
Molcaba reached out, eager to touch his old companion once more—but regrettably, the Book of Revival avoided his hands. Instead, it circled around Mu once before finally returning to Maelin's grasp.
"Why? Does it still resent me?" Molcaba was heartbroken.
"You misunderstand, Molcaba. The old Book of Revival is truly dead. The one before us now is an entirely new Book of Revival, like a newborn child. It does not remember you. Instead, it feels drawn to Mu, as his Cosmos is highly compatible with inheriting the Aries Gold Cloth," Maelin explained.
"I see… so it does not blame me after all." Molcaba was momentarily stunned, then sighed in relief. Turning to Mu with a solemn expression, he declared, "Mu, listen well. If you one day inherit the Aries Gold Cloth and earn the recognition of the Book of Revival, then even at the cost of your own life, you must protect it. Never let it die again."
"Yes, Grand Elder. I will become the Aries Gold Saint and protect it with my life," Mu vowed with determination.
Molcaba, as the Grand Elder of Jamir, was the pillar of his people—their very founder. His orders were absolute. Moreover, Mu had been learning under him since childhood, treating him like his own grandfather.
"Good, good. That puts my heart at ease," Molcaba said, patting Mu's shoulder.
"Alright, let's return. You all need to prepare to head back to Sanctuary," Maelin said.
"Yes, Lord Maelin."
After staying on the Pamir Plateau for ten days, Maelin, Ashura, and Shaka set out once again.
Though the Jamir people lived in seclusion, their numbers were still considerable—several thousand at least. But Maelin had no concerns about how they would return to Sanctuary. Every member of the Jamir tribe, regardless of age, was a master of telekinesis and instantaneous movement. Returning to Sanctuary would be effortless; they only needed to inform Shion in advance.
The trio traveled deep into the Eastern lands. The closer they got to its core, the more Maelin and Ashura felt the omnipresent, watchful Cosmos bearing down on them.
"Tch, no doubt about it—this is a forbidden zone for gods. I get the feeling that if I so much as step out of line, this Cosmos will tear me to shreds," Ashura muttered uneasily.
"It seems the lost gods of old were all slain by this power," Maelin observed.
"Heh, they were too greedy. But these Eastern deities are terrifyingly strong. They disappeared long before I was born—at least 700,000 or 800,000 years ago. Yet even now, their lingering power alone is enough to threaten me," Ashura said in awe.
"Not just you—even I feel it," Maelin admitted, slightly annoyed.
Returning to one's homeland should be a moment of joy and nostalgia. But despite having been reborn, he had once belonged to this land. He had no malicious intent, yet he was being surveilled so closely—it was frustrating.
"Let's finish our task quickly and leave. This place gives me the creeps," Ashura grumbled.
"Yes. We're almost there. Once we inspect the seal, we'll depart," Maelin nodded, silently vowing that until he had the power to uncover this land's secrets, he would never return.
They followed a mountain path, stepping into the depths of the range. Mist swirled through the valley, a waterfall roaring like a hanging river of silver. Sunlight refracted through the mist, painting vibrant rainbows across the mysterious scene.
"'The torrent plunges three thousand feet; I wonder if the Milky Way has fallen from the heavens,'" Maelin recited involuntarily.
"Huh? How do you know that poem? Weren't you in slumber?" Ashura asked in surprise.
"I'm not like you. I enjoy reading," Maelin replied calmly.
"Tch, acting like some artsy scholar at your age," Ashura muttered, annoyed but unable to argue. Unlike reading books, he preferred solving matters with his fists.
As they climbed the stone steps, they found an elderly, hunched man meditating on a narrow bridge.
"Lord Maelin," the old man greeted as he turned, sensing their presence.
"You must be Dohko. You've endured much over the past two centuries."