For the next several minutes, the abandoned, collapsed hall was silent. Three pairs of eyes rested on the metal plate made of some wondrous material, until the writing on it gradually vanished, and even the plate itself slowly dissolved into the air—it turned into specks of light dust and slipped from Heragol's hand, leaving not the slightest trace behind.
Barrogel finally could not bear the silence any longer. "What does the third story mean?"
"...When Gawain Cecil visited Tarlonnd, 'He' told him two stories, two stories about gods and mortals," Heragol said, rubbing his fingers as though he could still feel the solid touch of the metal plate. "'He' said there was a third story, but that story had not happened yet..."
Barrogel looked into Heragol's eyes. "So do you understand what 'He' meant?"
"I don't." Heragol shook his head. "And even now, I still don't... I spent more than a million years trying to decipher every metaphor 'He' spoke, and in the end, I could only understand part of them. Some things... are simply not meant for us to understand."
"Then what are your thoughts on the earlier messages?" Barrogel asked again. "Are these things... really what 'He' left behind? Why would 'He' leave them?"
Heragol did not answer. He merely remained silent, thinking for a long time before finally murmuring as if to himself, "Perhaps... this is knowledge 'He' could only tell us after the shackles had been severed."
"Clearly, 'He' also wanted to tell that human named Gawain Cecil," Andar said, breaking the silence at last. The aged dragon turned to glance at the dragon egg in the center of the hall, glowing faintly with golden light, and spoke in a complicated tone. "Heragol, you decide what should be done."
"...We'll do as instructed," Heragol said after