Chapter 111: The Spark, the First Flame, and the Priest II

“And what about you?”

To Amy Ulysses, the notions of the Firstborn Flame and the one who awakens the spark were utterly foreign concepts. Yet at this moment, he neither concerned himself with the Firstborn Flame, clearly of great consequence, nor sought to uncover the truth behind the matter. Instead, his attention was drawn to the noble figure before him, whose face bore a gentle, unwavering smile.

“After I become the new bearer of the Firstborn Flame, how will you comport yourself?”

“Worried about me?” The High Priest of the Hephaestus Temple smiled with ease. “There’s no need for that. I’m not foolish enough to wait until the spark dies out before I leave.”

“Are you planning to throw your life away?” Amy’s tone was cold, exposing his thoughts.

“No, even I occasionally crave the impudence of teasing a little girl,” Edgar Gorsworthy said, reaching out to ruffle the hair of the boy, who was several centimeters shorter than him. “So, no need for admonitions—let me indulge once in a while.”

“So, you’ll just stand by and watch as the little girl bullies you?”

“Don’t speak such blunt truths—just don’t open your eyes, and better yet, keep your distance.” His voice suddenly deepened, weighted with gravity. “I can’t hold Pandora off for long. Soon, she will come for you. With Duke’s fate unknown, once the spark is extinguished, the Illuminated will descend into chaos. In Hemtica, perhaps the only force capable of slowing her down is the Order’s Supreme Tower. So, don’t look back—seek the sanctuary of the Order.”

“Is there no other choice?” The boy raised an eyebrow.

“You must learn to wait.” The High Priest of Hermtica shook his head. “Ambition may be admirable in youth, but bearing the Ulysses name and the Firstborn Flame of Hermtica means you must learn to conceal your brilliance, restrain your impulses, endure hardship, and value your survival above all else—for your sake, for Hermtica, and even for the entire realm of the Order, you must learn selfishness.”

“I cannot.”

After a brief silence, the young Illuminated gave his answer.

“You must, for you have no other option.” Edgar looked at him, his dark eyes revealing a complex, inscrutable emotion. Finally, he let out a low sigh. “Listen, Amy, before you leave the place of legacy, I will strip the Firstborn Flame from my body and give it to you. You will become Hermtica’s last hope. When the situation stabilizes and light dispels the darkness, the Order will offer sacrifices, invoking the noble blood of our ancestors to reignite the extinguished spark—if you perish before then, Hermtica’s dawn will never come again. You bear not only responsibility but also hope...”

“I... understand.” The boy pressed his lips tightly.

“Then I am at ease.” Satisfied with the answer from the Illuminated’s equally deep black eyes, the High Priest nodded. “I know you have many questions, but don’t rush. There is still time. I will answer your doubts one by one.”

He paused briefly.

“First, let me tell you about the origin of the High Priesthood—the High Priests are the priests of the spark, serving as vessels for the Firstborn Flame. The Firstborn Flame is the very first, purest, untainted flame ignited by the spark. It is the manifestation of order and light in this world, more of a pure concept than a tangible reality.”

“It is intimately linked to the spark. To put it in terms humans might understand, it’s like a person’s shadow—inseparable yet not entirely so. It is not merely an accompanying shadow but half of the spark itself. Should the spark be extinguished by accident, the Firstborn Flame can be sacrificed to awaken it through their connection. The High Priest’s duty is precisely this: we are the guardians of human civilization, protectors of the spark, and keepers of the world’s secrets.”

“The truth of the world?”

Amy interrupted, the words reminding him involuntarily of Ignatius—who had also spoken of the world’s truth, albeit preceded by the harsh modifier “cruel.”

“Curious to know?” The venerable High Priest blinked. “But I won’t tell you—not because I’m withholding, nor because I lack time to pass it on, but because... I’m unsure if you could bear it. The High Priesthood’s legacy follows a strict progression—from assistant priest to apprentice, then to full priest—with ample time to select worthy successors and gradually reveal a sliver of the world’s reality. Unfortunately, they all perished.”

“All I can do is entrust the flame of hope to you and pray you survive.”

“Nothing more.”

“Understood...” Amy Ulysses paused for about five breaths before continuing. “If the truth you refer to is akin to the maxims inscribed in the Hammurabi Divine Code—like the world losing its light in the third millennium—I think I can accept that.”

The High Priest in white robes’ pupils constricted slightly, and he relaxed after a moment of tension. “That would be Ignatius. He is the only one in Hermtica likely to know the world’s true nature.”

The young Illuminated remained silent, merely nodding.

“Indeed, that is a fragment of the world’s truth.” Edgar paused, not yielding further. “But it is only a fragment. Believe me, were it possible, you would never want to know the world’s truth, for once you do, the simple yet fulfilling happiness you once had will vanish forever.”

“Even so, I would not regret it.”

Amy’s gaze was as serene as still water. He would not regret it, for since consciousness first stirred within him, he had harbored a near-obsessive yearning for the truths unspoken by language, unrecorded by writing, and lost to the depths of history.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, both were speechless.

“If this is your resolve, I understand,” the High Priest in white squinted. “But for Hermtica’s hope and future, allow me to refuse.”

The boy was momentarily speechless.

Indeed, not long ago, he had promised to live at all costs; there was now no reason to go back on his word. Besides, even if he did, the initiative remained firmly in the hands of Hermtica’s most revered figure.

After a brief pause, he changed the subject. “Since the Firstborn Flame is so important, how should I safeguard it? And how do I use it to awaken an extinguished spark?”

“Your survival is the best safeguard. As for how to awaken a spark, I have no experience.” Edgar paused slightly, then, as if passing through an invisible curtain, his right hand reached through his left chest cavity and withdrew a cluster of orange-red flames from where his heart should be, without a single drop of blood spilling. “But the flames themselves will guide you.”

The fire flickered—warm, bright, yet simple and unadorned.

Yet Amy truly felt the pulse of his bloodline, the yearning deep within his soul.

This was the Firstborn Flame, the spark’s backup.

Without knowing why, he understood this.

“The High Priest’s power is intertwined with the spark. The Firstborn Flame is both the bridge that links us to the spark and the source of our own strength.” Edgar’s gaze lingered on the gently burning flame in his hand, emotions complex and unfathomable reflected in his eyes. At last, only a long, ambiguous sigh remained. “At the same time, it is the responsibility we must bear.”

Speaking thus, the High Priest of Hermtica stepped slowly toward the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. “My path ends here. Now it is your turn.”

“Mine?” The young Illuminated hesitated but did not resist, only raising an eyebrow. “What must I do?”

“Relax. It’s nothing life-threatening.” The High Priest’s expression softened, a smile touching his lips. “Although it is called a legacy, the passing on of the Firstborn Flame is not complicated. It’s simply that... the ritual is inconvenient to be witnessed, so don’t resist—just stand still.”

“Of course—” Noticing the boy’s furrowed brow, he winked, his black eyes sparkling. “I’m joking.”

But the moment the words fell, Edgar’s right hand, still holding the flame, suddenly thrust into Amy’s chest, while the other hand on his shoulder pressed down like a mountain. Then... the once-handsome face of the High Priest instantly became wrinkled, the muscles on his arm visibly shrinking. Within a few breaths, his appearance aged rapidly—from youth to old age, his figure stooped and withered, stripped of all former nobility and grace. His broad white robes hung loosely about him, offering no elegance but instead resembling a shroud hiding his decay.

He was dying.

Just witnessing this scene, Amy’s heart grasped the truth.

At the same time, as the Firstborn Flame burned through his veins, he instantaneously absorbed the fragmented memories of dozens, feeling the blazing emotions they contained. The meaning of the High Priest’s existence struck his soul like a collapsing sky.

It was not merely responsibility but sacrifice.

There is no love without cause, nor hatred without reason. The High Priest of the Hephaestus Temple wields undeniable power and commands the respect of Hermtica’s aristocracy, yet the price paid is too great to measure—bound to the temple for life? Such extraordinary power is far from cheap. The bearer of the Firstborn Flame must surrender not only freedom but life itself.

They sustain the Firstborn Flame with their lives, nurturing the spark in return.

This is why the spark has burned through the ages, protecting humanity for nearly a millennium from the encroaching darkness.

And this... is yet another fragment of the world’s truth, a small and humble fragment.