Cloud Thinking

When Helia finally lifted her heavy eyelids with difficulty, the world was shrouded in a hazy halo.

It is no longer a stagnant battlefield, but a "living" space.

The sound returned.

The subtle crisp sound of ice crystals falling to the ground, the crackling of burning flames, the low hum of the breeze blowing through the wreckage...

Incredibly clear.

The frozen snowflakes had long since disappeared, leaving only a few new, crystal snowflakes slowly falling and silently melting on the scorching ground.

The surrounding flames were no longer cold blue, but were once again dancing with warm golden and orange, and the flickering light and shadows danced on the broken walls.

And in front of her, the Oceanoto sarcoma, which was once as huge and invincible as a hill, was now shrinking and withering at an alarming speed.

The skin on the surface became cracked and charred like dry bark, peeling off in large chunks, hitting the ground and turning into pools of smelly black mucus, which quickly evaporated into foul-smelling smoke.

The wreckage of countless broken clocks was like ugly scabs, exposed to the air, quickly losing its luster and turning into ordinary ashes.

The despairing power of the rules of time is dissipating.

Helia subconsciously raised her trembling hand and carefully stroked her left arm with her fingertips.

A strange tingling sensation and a faint warmth came from her fingertips. She looked down and saw in disbelief -

The deepest, earliest, and almost bone-piercing scar that seemed to have accompanied her entire nightmare... was healing.

Just like the surface of water returning to calm after a stone is thrown into it, fresh, tender flesh is growing out from the depths of the scar at a speed visible to the naked eye, covering the hideous crack.

The new skin covers the old marks, as if announcing the complete end of a stage.

"Ugh..." A suppressed, broken groan sounded not far away.

Helia looked up suddenly and looked in the direction of the voice.

Tarod lay in a pool of sticky, cold blood, like a piece of broken porcelain that was barely pieced together.

Some force had pierced a terrible hole in his chest, with irregularly torn edges that revealed the outlines of broken bones and internal organs underneath.

Dirty blood was slowly seeping out from the edge of the wound, soaking the already solidified blood mud under him.

His face was the gray of a dead man, his lips were cyanotic, and every weak breath was accompanied by blood foam overflowing from the corners of his mouth, making a heart-pounding "ho ho" sound.

However, the corner of his mouth, stained with blood, curved upwards.

It was not the always polite and insincere smile that was engraved in her memory. It was a completely different smile.

Those smile lines were filled with cramps of excruciating pain, near-death exhaustion, and... an indescribable, complete relief.

His cloudy, bloodshot eyes were trying hard to focus as he looked at Helia, who was stumbling towards him. What was in them was not fear or attachment to the passing of life, but a kind of...peace?

No, more accurately, it's a sense of finality, of "it's finally done," and a hint of... curiosity?

It was like the first time he had seriously tasted the wine of "death", which he had mocked for many years, and wanted to know what it tasted like.

Helia fell into a pool of blood, the cold, sticky mud staining her robes.

She held Tarod's cheeks with her trembling hands, which were cold to the touch.

The light in those eyes was fading rapidly, like a candle that was about to go out.

"Tar...Rod..." Her voice was hoarse, "You..."

A vague sound came from Tarod's throat, and it was unclear whether it was a response or a painful groan.

He seemed to want to move his lips, but in the end, the arc of his relieved smile only deepened a little. His gaze briefly lingered on Helia's old scar, which was healing rapidly, and then completely relaxed.

That body that carried countless identities and lingered on the edge of life and death for countless years, that soul container that always carried a hint of world-weariness and ridicule, finally completely relaxed all the taut threads and drooped down heavily.

Helia's fingertips felt the warmth from his cheek fade instantly.

Almost instinctively, she reached out her hand and gently stroked his eyelids with her blood-stained fingertips, drawing the eternal curtain for the last time on those eyes filled with fatigue and relief.

The world fell silent, with only the sound of dripping blood and the roar of fire in the distance.

She knelt in the cold blood, feeling the faint warmth brought by the healing wound on her left arm and the itchiness of the new tissue.

This time, the lingering, dusty fog of oblivion deep in my consciousness completely dissipated.

The concept of "seven" is extremely clear.

The gentle warmth of Euros's fingertips touching hers; Dean Philip's hoarse but firm admonitions; Eric's upright figure always standing in front of her; Tarod's madness, coldness, and final selfless despair in countless cycles of despair...

All the stripped and plundered fragments of memory, like rivers returning to the sea, rushed back into the sea of her consciousness with the weight of being lost and regained and with extremely clear details.

An unprecedented heaviness and emptiness gripped her simultaneously.

The sense of victory was so thin that it was almost instantly overwhelmed by the huge loss and eternal fatigue.

She looked down at her healed wounds, then looked at the figure in the pool of blood who had finally gotten the ultimate "rest". She felt like a piece of porcelain that had been broken into pieces and then barely glued together. The slightest touch would cause it to fall apart again.

She slowly raised her head again, and her ice-blue pupils reflected the snow curtain frozen in mid-air not far away.

The snowflakes hovered strangely in the air, as if blocked by an invisible barrier - that was the barrier maintained by Euros.

She looked down at Tarod's body, closed her eyes and observed silence for thirty seconds, then raised her hand and summoned flames, cremating it to ashes.

She opened her eyes again and stared at her palms. Tarod's ashes shone like pearls in the glass bottle.

This is a container that once held deadly poison, but now holds precious remains.

The moment the flame went out in her palm, a biting cold wind blew up the gray embers, outlining a brief human outline on the snow, which then disappeared in an instant.

Osinotto's decaying body resembled a melting black iceberg, its decaying flesh hissing in the snow.

Helia trudged through the sticky swamp of flesh and blood, each step bringing a sickening tugging sound.

When she finally climbed onto the head inlaid with a bronze clock, she found that the numbers on the dial were rusting at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The pointer vibrated violently in her palm, making a dying hum.

With a crisp "click", the bent pointer was broken, and dark golden mucus oozed out of the broken end, corroding her hand and emitting wisps of green smoke.

That was her trophy.

Outside the snow curtain, the blizzard is gathering its last strength.

Helia squinted her eyes and caught sight of the crumbling figure in the falling snow. Euros's black robe had long been covered with frost, and from a distance it looked like a weathering ice sculpture.

She started to run, but her frostbitten knees suddenly lost feeling and she fell heavily into the snow.

"Damn..." She spat out the ice in her mouth and started crawling forward.

The accumulated snow poured into her collar, and the melted ice water flowed down her back, taking away the little body temperature she had left.

When her fingertips finally touched the frozen corner of Euros's clothes, she found that her nails had turned purple.

Euros's condition was worse than she had imagined.

His raised arms were covered in a thick layer of ice, his skin an abnormal bluish-gray. Blood oozed from the ruptured blood vessels in the corners of his eyes, forming scarlet ridges of ice on his jaw.

The most shocking thing was his hair - his originally raven-feather-like black hair was now mostly white, as if the vitality had been instantly drained away by some force.

"Euros..." Helia wrapped her shaking arms around his icy body, and the chill in her chest made her shiver.

She began to circulate the remaining magic power in her body, and a faint golden light appeared on the surface of her skin.

This was an act close to suicide—forcibly casting a spell when her magic power was exhausted would drain not her magic power, but her life force.

But the warmth is indeed being passed on bit by bit.

Euros's frosted eyelashes trembled slightly, and his pupils, covered with blood mist, struggled to focus.

When he saw who it was, he pulled a weak smile from his cracked lips: "Sister...Sister..."

"We won." Helia rested her chin on his shoulder, her voice hoarse. "The avalanche is coming. You should rest."

These words were like a knife that cut the string.

Yuros's tense body suddenly relaxed, and the snow curtain that had been hovering for a long time collapsed in an instant.

Helia shielded him at the last moment, and the overwhelming snow waves engulfed them like a white tsunami.

The world fell into a silent pure white.

The mountain is roaring.

The avalanche that had been accumulating for a long time finally tore a hole in the sky. Tens of millions of tons of snow poured down with the force of thunder, like an angry white beast, roaring and devouring everything.

In the distant camp, Dean Philip stood in the wind and snow, his old fingers tightly gripping the magic wand, directing the students to strengthen the protective barrier.

Fortunately, all the people who evacuated in advance have been evacuated safely and no casualties were reported.

However, the old man's wrinkled face was still full of worry. He stared blankly at the towering snow-capped mountains, his eyes penetrating the flying snow, as if looking for something in the pure white.

Where is Helia? Is she still alive? Has the false god been slain?

Questions one after another were like cold snowflakes, flying by and absorbing his body temperature in an instant.

After giving his students instructions, Anget rubbed his sore eyes and came back to report the situation.

He followed Philip's gaze, but saw that the dean's face was completely devoid of joy, his brows were furrowed, as if he was thinking about something extremely heavy.

"Dean, why do you look so sad?" Angert couldn't help but ask, looking in the direction of the snow-capped mountains.

Philip did not answer, but looked around and asked in a low voice: "Where is Glinton?"

"It will be here in a while." Angert scratched his head, but doubts arose in his heart.

The dean didn't want to say much, and he didn't dare to ask too many questions, but this avalanche was too strange and was definitely not an ordinary natural disaster.

He yawned loudly. He had sneaked out last night to take on a private job and was busy until almost dawn. As soon as he returned to the college, he was caught by Philip and dragged into working overtime. He didn't know whether he would be paid overtime.

Glinton came quickly. Seeing that the dean and Anget were staring at him, he was a little confused: "What's wrong?"

Philip quickly lowered a sound barrier, his expression solemn. "When the avalanche subsides a bit, the two of you go up the mountain and make sure to find Her Highness Helia."

Angert and Glinton looked at each other, with shock and understanding in their eyes.

Sure enough, this avalanche was not that simple.

"When did Princess Helia come here? What was she doing on the mountain? Did she cause this avalanche?" Angert asked three questions in a row.

Philip didn't answer directly, but instead gave them a deep look. These two were considered the few neutral factions in the academy, with no power behind them and unwilling to get involved in the factional struggles within the academy. They were practical people, so he was confident in letting them handle this matter.

After confirming that the two men were trustworthy, Philip briefly recounted Helia's story.

"Oh my god..." Anget's eyes widened, and his voice changed. "Her Highness Helia is really... If she doesn't make a sound, she will make a big splash!"

Although they had joined Philip in the siege of Golesa—the new god who ascended to deity through the power of Warcraft—how many high-ranking magicians participated? Even Philip, the most powerful wizard in the magical world, nearly died there! Helia was just a young girl who had just graduated from magic academy. How could she possibly defeat a god?

"Is she sure she's still alive?" Greenton prepared for the worst, but it was understandable. After all, how could a young girl who had just graduated from a magic academy possibly defeat a god?

This level of unbelievability is comparable to an ant trying to kill an elephant.

Philip shook his head, indicating that he didn't know the specific situation. "I didn't feel any violent fluctuations in magic power. The battle should be over."

"Dead or alive, bring her back."

Angert and Glinton were good at flying magic. They were the ones who went to search for Helia after she fought the fire dragon. Now they were doing something similar, and they couldn't help but feel emotional.

"How should I put it, this little princess is really capable." Angert sighed, his opinion of Helia had already changed.

I used to think she was just a troublemaker, but now——

He had to admit that Helia was a very brave and responsible person.

How many self-proclaimed top magicians backed down when facing Golesa? Just the thought alone would have defeated countless others, let alone possessing the courage to look a god in the face.

"Perhaps she will become a star in the wizarding world like her mother," Glinton continued.

"I think she can surpass her mother, surpass us, and surpass most people." Anget said firmly, "She will become someone that people look up to."

Glinton looked at him in surprise. He didn't expect that the other party would think so highly of Helia.

"maybe."

"I'm just curious why Her Highness Helia chose to resolve the issue privately. She could clearly use the power of the academy."

Anget nudged him with his elbow and lowered his voice: "Let's not even mention that the little princess is no longer a student at the academy. Just looking at the complicated factions within the academy, how many people do you think would be willing to help her?"

"And maybe this incident was caused by her. Otherwise, why would she do this for no reason?"

"Also, haven't you heard? The little princess has instigated conflict between the common people and the noble landlords. Now things are in chaos. For the sake of overall stability, she doesn't dare to make a big deal out of this."

"If she were still alive, with such achievements, the people would not be dissatisfied with her."

"She will go even higher, and when she does, no one will be able to stop her."