Without locking in on a location, without previewing it beforehand, once he was prepared, Laine simply took a step, leaving everything to the unknown.
So, when he emerged from the Spirit Realm into the dwelling place of humans, what laid before him was a door.
This seemed to be the interior of some human structure, with the bronze door dividing it into inside and outside sections. It was clear that there should have been guards here, but now the place was completely empty.
"History... Since everything here originally stemmed from me, is that why I've come here?"
Though his action was random, in the Mythic World, there was no true randomness. Being able to come here meant that this place had some faint connection to Laine.
After surveying his surroundings, he reached out to push the door open. The portal, heavy enough to require the combined strength of several men to open, swung apart with ease, revealing the steps behind it.
It appeared to be a very tall building, which wasn't common among modern humans.
Strolling in, under the light of the lamps on either side of the staircase, Laine headed towards the top of the building.
The sound of a bronze blade scraping against stone echoed in the high space, where an old man with a face full of wrinkles continued his work.
He was very old, one of the oldest among the first humans created by Prometheus, and his life was nearing its end.
Judging by the arrangement on this floor, there should have been many people here in the past, tasked with guarding and preserving these items, and he was the overseer. But now, only he remained.
However, sitting in his chair, the old man seemed oblivious to the changes around him, quietly carving away at the object in his hands.
In his palms, the smooth stone tablet gradually filled with patterns and text. Looking closely, these patterns formed a tall pillar of fire.
A man with an indistinct face was bound to the pillar, surrounded by onlookers. In mid-air, a goddess with a scale in her left hand and a sword in her right watched over everything.
Outside, footsteps gradually approached from afar. The old man didn't react. On the table beside him, numerous parchment scrolls were arrayed, inscribed with tiny script.
These were once considered one of Bronze Humanity's greatest treasures, but now, they were nothing more than useless decorations.
Finally, the footsteps halted behind the old man. The shadow cast on the table in front of him reminded the elderly guardian of the newcomer's presence, yet he showed no response to this unexpected visitor.
"If you have business, please wait a moment, cough cough." The man's hands kept moving as he said slowly:
"Whether you allow me to record these things or not, please wait until I'm finished, then you can take it away as a small ornament. If you could grant me this humble request, I will be grateful for your kindness in the last moments of my life."
The old man was dying, Laine could see that; he had contracted the plague. With the current medical knowledge of Bronze Humanity, his death was certain, even without the plague, given his age, he wouldn't have lived much longer anyway.
It was like an ancient saying buried in the depths of memory, "The people are not afraid of death; how can death be used to frighten them?" The old man was like that now. If it weren't for the few things he still wanted to do, Laine even thought the man might not care about his arrival.
But observing the stone engraving steadily nearing completion, intrigued, Laine still asked with interest:
"You all? What do you think I am?"
After climbing over a hundred steps and reaching the top floor of the building, Laine also understood the purpose of this place.
In the spacious room were hundreds of wooden racks, on which creations containing written records were stored. This was where humans collected knowledge. They recorded the technologies of humans from the previous era, passed down by the creator, and stored them here.
As for the old man in front of him, he seemed to be the one in charge of organizing them.
"You must be a god, as the young people said, the gods are going to destroy humanity. They wanted me to leave with them. But where could I go? I won't live much longer anyway, so I simply stayed here."
"If Bronze Humanity can continue, they will eventually return one day, and perhaps they will see something I have left behind. If Bronze Humanity is to be extinguished, then it doesn't matter where I stay."
Having finished the illustration, the old man started to carve letters into the stone tablet. Watching this scene, Laine felt a sense of déjà vu.
"Young people? Although the ages of Bronze Humanity do differ at creation, the actual time you all have existed is quite similar. Some were born middle-aged, while others were children."
Moving beside the old man, Laine looked at the stone tablet.
"The length of life is not the standard for measuring youth or old age, Your Grace. It is the mindset, knowledge, and view of the world that make me say they are young."
After coughing twice, seemingly interested in having a conversation with a god at the end of his life, the old man's enthusiasm for the conversation seemed very strong.
Nodding, Laine felt the old man made sense. Like himself, despite living for tens of thousands of years, he seemed younger than the old man before him.