"But the elves are living creatures forged by the authority of the World Tree, how could it be so? Or could it be that they’ve seen the form their souls had before the power took them from the Spirit Realm? This makes ponder, if the souls in the Spirit Realm alone possess the trait of consciousness, then what exactly is the essence of consciousness?"
Gabriel’s records stop here, while Michael holds that book, lost in silence.
His rank is extrely high, reaching the Nineteenth Rank. He has a complete understanding of the invisible rules set by the gods around him. Except for those few transferees from beyond the world, most are bound within these rules, acting according to them, instinctively resisting chaos without order...
Michael and many angels have tried to forge creations with clear intelligence, but it’s not a simple task. They can’t replicate the consciousness of souls, lacking the power of life. They can’t even replicate the carriers of souls to make vessels that hold consciousness...
Everything seems impossible, yet that book...
In this extrely quiet contemplation, Michael’s train of thought cos to a halt. He grows increasingly curious about the forging technique Fisher spoke of, as if countless cat hairs gently sweep across his heart, like toys sliding over his body at full speed, leaving him in uncontrollable itchiness.
"Rustle, rustle..."
At this mont, a subtle sound from the bookshelf behind interrupts Michael’s thoughts.
With terrifying pressure, he looks back, only to see a peaceful shelf and books, as if the ethers from outside had blown into the library, lifting a corner of the curtain.
The Gabriel Angel has almost completely lost his mind, certainly wouldn’t do such a thing, plus, it seems he hasn’t seen the consciousness items kept by Gabriel...
Michael gestures, and the ether imdiately wraps terrifying heat as it rushes to the bookshelf ahead. Gabriel’s books have her golden protection, so they’re unhard, and perhaps that consciousness item won’t be hard either...if he can withstand the burning heat.
"Ah, ah, ah, so hot, so hot, so hot..."
In less than a second, Emhardt jumps up, unable to endure anymore, from where he pretended to be just another book sandwiched between books. The book’s cover flips up to the last page, and the mouth on it pouts, continuously blowing there, without organs, how he achieves this is unknown.
Expressionless, Michael opens his fingers, and Emhardt spins like a top right into his hand, frightened as he screams in a duck’s voice,
"Let go of ! Let go of ! Help! Fisher!! Murdering books!!"
Michael looks at Emhardt, struggling but unable to escape his grip, feeling the fear akin to living creatures from the book, as he fails to comprehend how this small book without a soul carries consciousness.
Several seconds pass before Michael stops his examination, comnting,
"Ugly exterior, hollow interior, how exactly did your consciousness arise?"
"Your mom!"
Emhardt retorts while being held, but Michael remains unfazed, calmly saying,
"Still getting angry, interesting... Answer a few questions truthfully, and I’ll release you, how about it?"
"Pfft, I won’t say anything."
"Oh? Seems you have a good relationship with that human man, nad... Fisher? How is he now, would you like to know?"
Emhardt pauses, turning his head in mid-air to look at Michael, wary as he hesitates,
"...What do you want to ask ?"
"Do you have a na?"
"Sir Emhardt, or Great Emhardt."
"Do you rember how long you’ve lived?"
"Thousands of years...or longer?"
"Do you rember past events?"
"Of course! I’m not stupid; I rember everything!"
Michael raises a brow, continuing to ask,
"Do you know where you are? Can you see and recognize things?"
"Of course, can you stop asking obvious questions, I..."
Michael quickly realizes, the item before him has the ability to clearly sense the world, think independently, and respond, abilities lacking in the consciousness Holy Objects they’ve tried to forge before.
The teardrop of the World Tree is indeed magical, able to break soul limitations, granting him the ability to think?
"Are you done asking, can you tell about Fisher now?"
Michael’s contemplation is interrupted, he lowers his head, speaking,
"There’s one last thing I need your help with."
"Wha...mmph!"
Emhardt’s speech halts abruptly as Michael’s fingers slowly sink into his book cover. That mysterious force distorts tangible laws, the surrounding rules twist, revealing their most rigid forms, likewise, everything surrounding Emhardt becos clearer.
In Emhardt’s painful screams, faint golden cracks erge on his book cover. Through those cracks, Michael sees countless imaginary threads intertwined, a golden ocean spanning beyond space and ti. He is about to discern the essence of Emhardt’s consciousness...
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