Chapter 614: And Then?

It is not the kind of battle‑flattened ruins of Dongmu City—those collapsed buildings still retain the shape of a building; the rebar is still rebar, the concrete is still concrete, and even when shattered into debris you can tell which wall it fell from.

But the ruins here are different.

In front of her stands a half‑length vermilion column, its shaft etched with twisted patterns that look like some script or some totem; it is broken at about one‑third of its height, the break exposing gray‑white wooden fibers inside, half rotted, which crumble to powder at the lightest touch of a fingertip.

Next to the column lies a carved window lattice; the lacquer on its frame is flaking in patches, revealing blackened wood beneath, and the paper pasted on the lattice has long since rotted away, leaving only a few yellowed fibers fluttering in the wind.

Further away, a massive stone tablet lies horizontally; its inscription has been so battered that the characters are unrecognizable, only vague strokes remain, crookedly jammed together as if hastily carved in the final moment before the tablet was shattered.

There are also scattered tiles everywhere, bluish‑gray, stacked like fish scales, their edges smoothed, and stepping on them produces a crisp crack, like treading on autumn leaves.

Ilya stands amid the rubble, clutching a ruby in her hand, and slowly turns around once.

Her boots make tiny clattering on the broken tiles, the sound echoing back and forth through the open ruins, as if something is following her.

All around are such things—vermilion columns, carved window lattices, bluish‑gray tiles, stone statues covered in moss—all shattered beyond recognition, piled together as if someone had smashed an ancient palace and carelessly dumped the fragments here.

The statues lie amid a heap of broken bricks, missing heads and arms, some reduced to half a torso; the patterns on their robes are still faintly discernible, the wind‑ruffled folds of the sleeves etched, but their faces are gone—whether shattered or eroded—leaving only smooth cut surfaces that glimmer faintly in the dim light.

The broken columns jut out from the ruins at an angle, like the fingers of a drowning person reaching from water toward an empty sky.

She lifts her head but sees no ceiling.

All around the ruins are stacked and compressed, extending in every direction, reaching all the way to the hazy mist at the edge of her sight.

The broken walls and ruins in the mist retain only vague outlines, like an ancient city sunk beneath water, pressed into this shape by time and oblivion.

Ilya lowers her head and looks at the ruby in her hand.

The Magic Staff is bent into an unbelievable angle; its shaft is no longer the straight, sturdy form it usually has, but hangs limp like a towel twisted by hand, the tip nearly touching the base, and the most sharply curved middle section shows fine cracks, as if a little more bend would snap it.

The iridescent glow on the staff has vanished entirely, leaving only a dim, almost invisible sheen that drifts slowly within the shaft, like a candle on the verge of going out, fighting its last breath.

Ilya's lips move, and a dry sound comes from her throat.

Her fingers clutch the limp shaft, knuckles whitening, and the Magic Staff bends even more in her palm, its tip drooping toward the ground, almost touching it.

"Ruby...?"

The voice is very soft, so light that it is carried away by the wandering wind among the ruins the moment it leaves her mouth.

There is no response.

The Magic Staff, now twisted into a noodle‑like shape, hangs silently in her palm, motionless, and the faint glow on its shaft dims further, almost invisible.

Ilya crouches, places the ruby on her knees, and cradles it with both hands as gently as one would a wounded bird.

Her fingers glide lightly over the staff, the feel no longer the usual smooth, hard texture but warm, soft, slightly springy, as if something inside is still alive, merely sleeping deeply.

The fine cracks on the shaft ripple subtly under her fingertips, like breathing, like a heartbeat.

"Ruby, wake up..."

Her voice begins to tremble, her eyes hot, something churning inside, "You speak..."

The faint glow on the shaft flickers once.

Very faint, so faint it is almost imperceptible, like someone turning over in a very deep dream.

Ilya holds her breath, daring not to move, not even letting her fingers touch the limp shaft again, crouching on the broken tiles, cradling the noodle‑shaped Magic Staff, waiting for a long time.

"Ilya..."

The voice is choppy, like static from a radio tuned to the wrong frequency, each syllable dragging a long tail, interspersed with rustling noise.

The faint glow on the shaft flickers in time with that voice, like a candle about to burn out, fighting its final struggle.

"Ruby!"

Ilya's voice suddenly brightens, tears stream from her eyes, striking the shaft; the drop slides down the curve of the staff and seeps into the fine cracks.

"What happened to you? How did you become like this? What exactly occurred? Where is Zhigengniao Jiejie? She—"

"Slow... slow the questions..."

The ruby's voice grows weaker again, and the faint glow on the shaft dims, as if those words have exhausted all its strength, "One by one... now... I can't endure any more..."

Ilya quickly closes her mouth, nods vigorously, tears spill out in several drops, landing on her knees and spreading a small dark wet stain.

The ruby remains silent for a moment, and the faint glow on the shaft steadies, still dim but no longer flickering.

"Miss Robin... has awakened."

The voice is choppy, like someone speaking from far away, the sound passing through many walls before reaching here, "Your Command Spell... restored her... do you remember?"

Ilya nods vigorously.

"Then you... passed out."

The ruby pauses, as if gathering strength, "Miss Robin put you on a bed... let me look after you... she... she went to find that purple‑haired woman..."

Ilya's fingers tighten briefly, the staff bends a little in her palm, then springs back.

"And then?"

Her voice is very soft.

"Then... a little girl with green hair..."

The ruby's voice grows ever weaker, and the faint glow on the shaft dims to near invisibility, "Very short... green hair... eyes also green... she appeared suddenly... then... then she ate me..."

Ilya is stunned.

"Ate?"

"Ate."

"A single bite... just one bite... I didn't even have time to react... and that's where it ended..."