The Shaman smiled, a sigh filled with endless regret:
"Maybe not in our generation, maybe not in yours.
But this longing will be passed down through our bloodline until someone truly steps onto the starry path."
The torrent of time continued to surge, and Ron witnessed the establishment of the first library.
In the heart of a bustling city, a scholar dressed in a simple robe was directing workers to transport scrolls.
Those scrolls recorded various knowledge—astronomical observation, herbal formulas, craft techniques, philosophical reflection.
"Knowledge must be preserved," the scholar said to his assistant beside him, his voice carrying a sense of mission:
"Our generation may not answer all the questions, but at least we can leave a starting point for exploration to future generations."
He scanned the contents recorded in those scrolls:
A distant mountain range described by an explorer:
