Chapter 31: 31.Whispers from the Past

The hologram stood motionless in the chamber, its sleek, metallic robes glinting under the faint light of the box-like device. The man's voice rolled on, deep and solemn, filling the air with words neither Arthev nor Shukaku could grasp. "Zha'keth vadis, ul'thera kwe vadis. Syl'varen thok, dren'zul ek'thar…" It flowed relentlessly, a cascade of alien sounds—sharp consonants melting into liquid vowels, woven with an eerie rhythm. Minutes dragged into an eternity, the figure gesturing with measured precision, as if unburdening a tale too heavy to hold.

Arthev stood frozen, Three Tomoe Shinragan spinning idly, his mind swimming in a fog of confusion. Shukaku's voice sliced through, a telepathic groan.

"Kid, my head's spinning worse than after a sandstorm bender. What's this guy yammering about? I'm ready to claw my ears off—if I had any in here!"

"Beats me," Arthev muttered, rubbing his temples. "It's like a waterfall of gravel. No patterns I can catch."

The hologram looped, restarting its speech, and Arthev's curiosity flared. He stepped closer, peering at the device projecting it—a sleek, cylindrical marvel, its surface alive with glowing circuits, tiny panels shifting like liquid metal. Advanced. Too advanced.

"Hold on. This isn't live—he's not here. It's a recording."

"A recording?" Shukaku perked up, tail flicking in his subconscious. "Like… what, a fancy echo? Guy's dead and gone?"

"Dead or not, he's from the past,"Arthev said, crouching beside the device. "This tech—micro-lights, fluid metal, no soul power trace—it's beyond anything I've seen. My old world had holograms, but this? It's another level."

His fingers brushed a panel, and it hummed faintly. "There's a replay function here—I can feel it."

"Good luck, Stunned Face," Shukaku snorted. "Looks like a shiny puzzle box to me. Don't break it—you'll probably summon another scale-face."

Arthev's lips twitched into a faint smirk, Shinragan narrowing as he scanned the device. A triangular glyph pulsed brighter under his touch.

"Got it."

He pressed it, and the hologram flickered, restarting. "Zha'keth vadis…" The same torrent of words flooded over him, still incomprehensible. He leaned back, brow creasing.

"Still gibberish. I need to break this language."

"Break it?" Shukaku laughed. "Kid, you're not gonna learn rock-gargle in five minutes. Give it up—let's find something to smash instead."

"No," Arthev said, voice firm. "There's something here—something big. I can feel it." He replayed it again, leaning in, letting the sounds sink in. His head throbbed, a dull ache building behind his eyes, but he pressed on, replay after replay. The words blurred—until they didn't. A spark ignited in his mind, faint, then blazing.

"Wait… 'vadis.' That's… 'path'? No, 'way.' And 'syl'varen'—'light'?"

"You're losing it, kid," Shukaku said, skeptical. "Now you're just making stuff up. What's next, 'thok' means 'sandwich'?"

Arthev ignored him, restarting the hologram. The language clicked—slowly, then all at once, like a vault unlocking. His Shinragan spun faster, as if decoding it through sheer force.

"I've got it," he breathed, voice tight with awe. "I understand it."

"No way," Shukaku said, stunned. "You're serious? Spill it—what's he saying?"

Arthev pressed the glyph again, and the hologram spoke anew, words now carrying weight. "I am Kael'thyr, Keeper of the Ethereal Vaults," the figure began, his tone thick with sorrow.

"If you hear this, our time has faded. We were the Syltharim—a people of boundless ambition, forging knowledge into steel and light. Our technology soared so high we glimpsed a force woven into the world—a presence vast and untamed, everywhere yet beyond our reach. Our machines, mighty as they were, could not grasp it, could not hold it, though our technology rivaled the stars."

Arthev's breath hitched. "A force… everywhere?"

Kael'thyr's voice deepened, his hands clenching. "This discovery consumed us. Many grew obsessed—blinded by the dream of bending nature to their will . They built machines to seize this force, to wield it as their own. For a time, they succeeded—rivers bent to their command, winds stilled at their word. But nature does not bow. It struck back, fiercer than we could have foreseen. Mountains split with fire, vomiting ash that choked the skies. Seas rose in towering walls, swallowing cities whole. Storms of ice and lightning ravaged the land, and the world itself trembled, cracking open to devour what we had built. Our pride crumbled to dust ."

"Whoa," Shukaku muttered. "Sounds like they pissed off the wrong thing. What'd they do, kick a volcano?"

"Worse," Arthev whispered, eyes wide.

" More like they punched the planet, they triggered extinction-level disasters—volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, ice storms, earthquakes, asteroid impact. All at once."

His mind flashed to their prior chats—cataclysms that could bury a civilization.

"They overstepped, and it buried them."

The hologram's gaze grew distant, resolute. "In our final days, we sought atonement. Seven artifacts—born of our greatest works, stained by our arrogance—threatened all that remained. We sealed them, scattered them across the world, locked behind security no hand could breach. Machines of unyielding craft guard them still, bound to a key—a pendant, forged from our last light. It alone can guide the worthy to these sanctums. If you stand here, you hold it—or fate has woven a thread we did not foresee."

Arthev's hand drifted to his pocket, brushing the mud-crusted object—the key that brought him here. "This… it's the pendant," he murmured, pulse quickening.

"That's how I got in. But…" He trailed off, glancing at the rubble where the beast had fallen.

"That thing I fought—it doesn't fit."

Kael'thyr's voice turned stern. "We built these sanctums to endure, to shield the world from our folly. Seven keys, seven vaults—the truth lies fragmented, waiting. Seek them, if you dare." The hologram flickered, then steadied, looping back to the start.

"Pendant?" Shukaku piped up, puzzled.

"What's he mean, kid? You got some fancy trinket I didn't see?"

"This," Arthev said, pulling it out, its grime hiding its shape. "It teleported me here. But that beast…"

He frowned, staring at Kael'thyr's modern figure—sleek robes, sharp features, a look of pure science.

"This civilization was tech—pure tech. His words, his tone—no hint of soul power, no spirits, nothing like that. So where'd that beast come from?"

"Beats me," Shukaku rumbled. "Scale-face didn't look like a machine. Felt alive—mean as hell, too."

"Yeah," Arthev said, voice tight with unease. "Half of this matches—tech, machines, a force they couldn't control. But the beast? It's… off."

He paced, Shinragan scanning the chamber's ruins. "When did they exist? Before the soul master era? This force he's talking about… could it be soul power? Maybe they tried to harness it, failed, and nature hit back. Then, after the world recovered—after time passed—soul power emerged fully?"

"You're guessing now, Stunned Face," Shukaku said, skeptical.

"Sounds like a stretch. What's that got to do with scale-face?"

"I don't know," Arthev admitted, stopping cold. "That's what's bugging me. Kael'thyr's story—it's science, ambition, collapse. No beasts, no soul rings. But that thing I fought… it had power like a soul beast. It doesn't line up."

He stared at the hologram, its solemn face replaying endlessly, and the chamber's hum grew heavier, as if mocking his questions.Seven artifacts, a lost civilization, a force unbound—and a beast that didn't belong. The pieces hovered just out of reach.