“It lives…” Yvette’s delicate brows furrowed slightly as she fell into deep thought.

From the previous maintenance records, she had learned that the main control brain of the Abyssal Base was called the “Firefly Core.”

Thus, the implication was clear: the core of the Abyssal Base had awakened, turning into a sentient life form.

However, even so, there were still two possibilities.

One possibility was the kind of “life” based on the intelligence crisis, a common theme in many science fiction narratives.

The other, more aligned with a post-apocalyptic scenario, was a state of semi-mechanical aberration.

Yet, compared to the former, Yvette believed the latter possibility to be somewhat greater.

This perspective stemmed from explanations she’d read in a certain book. She wasn’t entirely certain of the validity of such literature, but it was quite persuasive.

The explanations posited that self-awareness was constituted by the trifecta of “body,” “spirit,” and “memory,” where the absence of any one element would prevent the birth or maintenance of a universal sense of self-awareness.

Among those, the most crucial “spirit” part was essentially a high-density aggregation of numerous soul runes. From the perspective of rune science, there was no distinction between soul and matter or elements.

In the origin civilization’s understanding of the world, there was currently only one way to acquire “soul runes”—through the unique transformational abilities of the biological organ known as the “brain.”

But this didn’t mean that only brain-equipped organisms possessed a spirit. After all, when a person dies, their soul runes do not vanish; they disperse into the natural world.

Conversely, plant life and microorganisms, which lack brains, may not produce soul runes themselves, but their bodies have the capacity to attract some soul runes from the natural world, allowing them to absorb and store these runes within themselves.

This situation led to the so-called “spirituality,” forming the basis of the belief that “all things have spirit.”

Therefore, supported by such theories, various governments would impose special requirements on high-end AI chips like the “Mind Core,” prompting supercorporations like “Heavenscape Technology” to install an “exorcism” module during production, which automatically purged soul runes. This was to prevent excessive accumulation of these runes within the Mind Core, leading to a faint spark of spirituality.

However, to be fair, this was merely a measure to quell public anxiety. Through extensive research and testing, various materials utilized in constructing the Mind Core exhibited minimal capacity to carry soul runes, practically functioning as insulators.

With that in mind, if an insulator like the Mind Core could indeed come to “life,” then the grandeur of the origin civilization’s runic architecture would surely be overshadowed by a looming storm.

…

Due to the extensive decay of the log, Yvette found no further useful information aside from this bizarre entry implying the main control brain had gained self-awareness.

Reflecting on the nearly twenty years that passed in the Abyssal Base, the ongoing progress of the Everlasting Project might indicate that the awakening of the Firefly Core didn’t lead to particularly dire consequences and had presumably been stabilized.

Afterward, Yvette placed the log back and wandered around the twelfth level with Rosalyn. Since they found no new information, they continued down to the thirteenth level, which appeared to be the final layer of the Abyssal Base.

Upon reaching this layer, a clear sign caught Yvette’s attention: “Beneath the Divine Erosion.”

This was the place said to hold the “Divine Transcendence”!

Since there weren’t even any magelight vines in this layer, Yvette pushed open the slightly ajar door, and through her illumination spell, the vast metal room lay open before them.

Here, just like the previous room, things were scarce. In the center stood an exhibit-like pedestal, covered by glass.

However, contrary to what Acelin’s will had conveyed, the current state of this glass cover was shattered, and the pedestal was empty—the so-called “Divine Transcendence” had long since vanished.

Both Yvette and Rosalyn felt a pang of disappointment at this discovery, though it wasn’t unexpected.

After so many years, any survivors hiding behind the door had likely transformed; even if something had existed here originally, it probably no longer did—who could say it hadn’t ended up in the belly of some aberration?

But…

Unwilling to give up just yet, Yvette and Rosalyn circled the perimeter of the chamber beneath the Divine Erosion, searching for any new findings.

And it was during this careful examination that Yvette truly discovered something—a concealed small door.

It blended perfectly with the surrounding metallic walls, making it almost impossible to spot without close inspection.

Passing through the small door, they found themselves in a tiny metallic room, completely devoid of furnishings. In the center lay something that appeared to be a manhole cover.

However, it certainly wasn’t an escape passage; otherwise, it was hard to imagine Acelin, of all people, being unaware of it.

After a moment, Rosalyn used mechanical leverage to twist the valve, revealing the scene below.

—Indeed, it was an escape route. But the end led to the smooth rock face outside the mountain, at the edge of a towering abyss; unless they possessed flying gear, there was little they could do besides enjoy the wind. Notably, the walls here were all hewn from granite, presumably touching the lakebed of the volcanic lake. Read complete version only at novel·fire.net

Thus, the two were left to return empty-handed.

However, as they were leaving, Yvette noticed a line etched on the back of the small door, which read:

“Well of Eternal Night.”

Although she couldn’t discern the profound implications behind this inscription, she imagined that she probably wouldn’t return here ever again.

…

Following the conclusion of their second exploration of the Abyssal Base, the subsequent days found Yvette feeling as if a knot in her heart had suddenly unraveled. She felt much lighter, no longer troubled by certain matters.

Of course, the truth behind the apocalypse, the mystery of the Divine Transcendence, and many answers buried within the sands of history awaited exploration, but that was something one could only know through opportunity. She could simply wait quietly without forcing herself to act.

Rosalyn, meanwhile, was thoroughly immersed in the joy of exploration, having a splendid time.

Additionally, enchanted by the beauty of the magelight vines, she had brought back quite a bit from the Abyssal Base. This convenient plant required no care and could grow naturally, providing illumination in dark spaces—ideal for a little nightlight in the evenings.

Thus…

With no particular goals or pressures weighing upon them, life at the manor returned to tranquility once more.

Yvette continued to hold regular rune classes for Rosalyn, enhancing her understanding and application of rune knowledge.

In turn, Rosalyn guided her teacher in sword techniques and the use of melee weapons. Although these techniques couldn’t be directly applied in the context of using her tentacles for attacks and required some adaptations, they built a solid foundational skill set.

Moreover, Rosalyn progressively discovered a delightful fact: her teacher’s rate of improvement in hand-to-hand combat was rather slow, reflecting a certain lack of athleticism, even a bit clumsy.

But this wasn’t born of malice or mockery.

On one hand, Rosalyn found her teacher’s clumsiness utterly adorable. On the other, she mused that if her teacher became less adept, it would extend the time she had to teach her, granting her more moments to cherish her teacher’s cool yet earnest demeanor, along with her awkward yet charming antics—wasn’t that wonderful?

Of course!

This little rebellion of thought was something she would never say aloud.