This time, the mural depicted a scene far more grim and chilling.
Three figures stood in the center of the mural. The faceless man, the bronze-skinned woman with shadow-like hair and the other woman stood in a semi-circle, their hands raised, casting a spell that glowed with icy blue energy.
Chains of frost spiraled outward from their hands, binding a massive figure kneeling before them.
The sight of the bound figure made both Vastarael and Narisva freeze in place.
"That's... impossible..."
The chains of frost clung tightly to the figure's body, encasing him in a web of shimmering ice. His shoulders were hunched, his head bowed and his body exuded a mixture of pain and defeat. Though the mural lacked motion, Vastarael could almost feel the oppressive aura radiating from the kneeling man. He looked utterly broken, on the brink of death, his once godly form reduced to a shadow of its former glory.
"It's him," Narisva said, her voice tight with disbelief. "That's the Frozen God."
Vastarael nodded slowly. "The same Frozen God who almost killed Adelasta and me. The same one I was forced to stop with a Protection Rune. I thought that Spheraphase was the one who trapped him..."
"But look at him. He's... nothing like what we saw back then. He looks half-dead. They defeated him easily."
The mural shifted, showing the three beings standing over the Frozen God. Their faces—or lack thereof—were calm and composed, devoid of any signs of struggle or injury. They were pristine, as if the battle had cost them nothing. The Frozen God was reduced to a pitiful shell, barely able to kneel under the weight of the frost chains binding him.
The scene changed again and this time, it showed the three beings dragging the Frozen God through a harsh, icy landscape using his chains. His body left deep grooves in the frozen ground. They came to the edge of a massive volcano. But instead of molten lava, the volcano was filled with shimmering, crackling ice.
The three figures stood at the volcano's edge, their hands raised. The frozen chains tightened around the Frozen God, lifting him into the air before plunging him into the heart of the icy volcano. The ice surged upward, encasing him in a crystalline prison. The Frozen God's figure became smaller and smaller as the mural showed an aerial view of the volcano, which quickly became recognizable to both of them.
"The Submerged Island," Vastarael said, his voice filled with realization. "This is it. This is where they trapped him."
"They didn't just trap him," Narisva said, stepping closer to the mural. Her finger traced the outline of the volcano. "They imprisoned him in the heart of the island. And they left him there to die. So he is not on the Fallen Bridge?"
"But he didn't die. Somehow, he escaped this island."
The mural showed the trio turning away from the volcano as they walked into the distance, leaving the Frozen God buried beneath layers of unbreakable ice. The final image of the mural lingered on the volcano, its icy surface glinting ominously under the sun.
"Maybe that's why he never interrupted us when we killed the Winter Labors..."
Narisva began, her voice barely above a whisper, her usual cockiness replaced by a haunting unease. Then her face twisted, dawning horror washing over her features.
"Oh crap."
"What? What are you—"
Her trembling finger pointed at the mural. "Look... the mural isn't done yet."
The two turned their attention back to the wall as the mural shifted again, the ethereal light weaving new details into its surface.
The frozen volcano they had just seen began to change. The three beings stood at the edge of the crater once more, their forms radiating a serene but deadly calm. Yet this time, they weren't simply leaving the Frozen God to his icy imprisonment. They were creating something.
From their outstretched hands, the scene showed shapes emerging, shimmering into existence with divine precision. The first item was sharp, pulsating with a dark and malevolent energy. It was a black crystal shard. It hung above the volcano before being dropped into the icy depths.
The second was elongated, a weapon of cruel beauty: a frost spike, carved from frozen perfection. It too was cast down, disappearing into the frozen abyss.
Next came an obsidian crystal, as smooth and black as the void, humming with a faint, otherworldly resonance. The three beings released it without hesitation.
Finally, the most curious of all, they formed a simple snowball, packed with delicate precision. It fell last, disappearing into the heart of the volcano alongside the other three objects.
The mural stilled and Vastarael's breath caught in his throat. His mind raced as he recognized those items, the memories of obtaining them flooding back with the force of a tidal wave. He took a step back from the mural.
"No... no way," Vastarael muttered, his voice strained as his thoughts clicked into place. "That's... that's Peccavi's Shard. The black crystal shard."
"What? Seriously?"
"Yes," Vastarael confirmed. "Peccavi was a Winter Labor. I got it after I saved her on the Frozen Ruins. And that frost spike... that's from Permafrost's Grasp. I killed him on the 46th floor of the Spire."
"The obsidian crystal..." Narisva gestured to the third object in the mural. "That might be for another Winter Labor because the snowball... I got it when I killed Avalanche's Might on the Lake of Miracles Island. I thought it was just some stupid, useless trinket. A... a snowball. But now..."
"Wait what?"
Narisva shrugged. "I killed another Winter Labor a year after you left to the Fallen Bridge. It took a black hole to end him. Wait you didn't know?"
Vastarael sighed as he skipped the subject,
"It's not just a trinket. They're all keys. The four items... Peccavi's Shard, Permafrost's Spike, the Obsidian Crystal and your snowball... They're the keys to the Frozen God's prison."
Narisva's eyes widened as the weight of his words sank in.
"The keys... we had them the whole time. By killing the Winter Labors and taking their artifacts, we... we broke the seal. We freed him."
The enormity of their actions hit them like a thunderclap and silence fell between them. Vastarael felt the icy grip of guilt clawing at his chest.
"That's why the Frozen God never tried to stop us. Because we were doing his work for him. Killing the Winter Labors wasn't just a step toward completing the Epoch Cycle. It was a step toward unleashing him."
Narisva turned back to the mural, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"So... that's why the main quest of the First Epoch Cycle was to kill the Winter Labors first and then the Frozen God. It wasn't just about stopping him. It was about setting him free so he could be killed for good. This entire cycle was designed to make us unseal him. To finish what those three couldn't."
"But why couldn't they?" Vastarael asked, his frustration boiling over. "Why didn't they just kill him when they had the chance? They beat him. They trapped him. They created the keys to hold him forever. So why not just end it there?"
Narisva frowned, her gaze fixed on the mural as if willing it to provide answers.
"Maybe... maybe they couldn't kill him. Or maybe they chose not to."
"That doesn't make sense," Vastarael argued. "If they had the power to trap him like this, they could've destroyed him outright."
"Could they, though?" Narisva countered. "We don't know what kind of power he had back then. Maybe he had something that made him... unkillable. Or maybe killing him would've caused even more destruction. We're talking about a god, Vastarael. A being of unimaginable power."
Vastarael's jaw tightened and he forced himself to take a steadying breath. His eyes flicked back to the mural, lingering on the serene expressions of the three beings. They looked so certain, so confident in their decision to imprison the Frozen God rather than destroy him.
"This was never about saving Spheraphase," he said finally, his voice cold and detached. "Not the way we thought it was. This Epoch Cycle isn't just about fixing the world's past or preparing for its future. It's about finishing their mission. The mission they couldn't complete on purpose."
"But why us?" Narisva asked. "Why now? Why set us up to do their dirty work after all this time?"
"Because they knew the seal wouldn't last forever. The Winter Labors were nothing more than pawns, temporary vessels for the keys. And when the seal weakened, someone had to be there to pick up where they left off."
The two of them stood in silence, the weight of the revelation settling over them. The air felt colder and heavier, as if the ruins themselves mourned the truth they had uncovered. Finally, Vastarael broke the silence.
"We need to keep moving, If the Epoch Cycle is about killing the Frozen God, then we need to find out why they couldn't do it. And we need to figure out how we can."
"Agreed. No more guessing games. It's time to get answers."
They turned away from the mural and walked to the next. And this one... was peaceful once again.
This time, they were painting.
The faceless man, the faceless woman with the staff and Erna were all inside what appeared to be an empty building. The woman with the staff seemed to take the lead, her hand gliding effortlessly along the surface of a massive wall, a brush in her grip. The other two assisted, mixing colors, holding up tools or painting alongside her.
"They're... painting?" he murmured.
"This doesn't make sense," she said. "What are they even painting? Why would this be here of all things?"
Then, the realization began to dawn on Vastarael. His sapphire gaze sharpened as he leaned closer to the mural, taking in every stroke of the paint, every detail of the scene. His breath hitched in his throat as recognition slammed into him like a tidal wave.
"Narisva..." he began, his voice trembling. "Look closely at the walls they're painting."
She turned to him confused, before stepping forward to inspect the mural more closely. Her sharp intake of breath said it all.
"No. No, no, no. That can't be right."
But it was.
The walls the three beings were painting were the very same walls that Vastarael and Narisva were standing in front of. The mural was depicting the three beings painting themselves into existence, onto the very walls they now faced.
"This is impossible," Vastarael muttered, stepping back. "They... they painted all of this. Everything we've seen. They knew we'd come here. They recorded everything for us to see."
As if on cue, the scene in the mural shifted.
The three beings stopped their work, lowering their brushes and tools in unison. Slowly, they turned toward them.
Their faceless forms seemed to lock onto Vastarael and Narisva, as if they could see them, as if they had always been watching.
The figures in the mural stared—or rather, the absence of their faces stared—directly at them, through them, as though the boundaries between the painted world and reality were beginning to blur.
For a moment, the world around Vastarael seemed to tilt, his vision swimming as an inexplicable wave of dread coursed through him. He tightened his grip on Calimostria, his knuckles white against the sapphire glaive, but even the weapon felt insubstantial in his hands, like it couldn't possibly protect him from whatever was happening.
And then, the most horrifying part of all, they moved. The three beings in the mural lifted their hands, pointing directly at Vastarael and Narisva. Not in anger, not in malice, but in acknowledgment.
"They know," Vastarael whispered, his voice shaking. "They've always known."
And then, the faces of the masked man and woman were revealed. Both of them could not believe their eyes.
"Vastarael... tell me that I'm dreaming. Tell me that isn't you in the painting."
Vastarael could only say one thing before everything turned dark.
"Greshina?"