Chapter XIV begins with a tranquil moment of companionship as the protagonist, weary from his travels, accepts the hospitality of a Martian woodman whose simple generosity offers a welcome reprieve. The setting, a modest cabin near a quiet lagoon, is both alien and familiar, evoking the charm of a backwoods retreat with its fragrant tannin-rich air and rustic calm. As they sit down to a shared meal of toasted fruit and fish-seasoned bread, followed by pungent local ale, a bond is forged through conversation and shared humanity, even across the stars. Laughter echoes within the wooden walls, easing the burdens of an otherwise hazardous journey. These brief comforts, though alien in texture and taste, remind him of Earthly kinship found in simple rituals. The woodman’s easy manner belies a cautionary tone, however, as he recounts eerie tales of cursed lands, his weathered voice dropping when he warns against wandering paths tied to ancient sorrow.

Morning finds the protagonist determined yet distracted, a resolve dulled by curiosity and perhaps pride. Though he was urged to avoid a certain direction, the shimmer of a distant trail tempts him into ignoring those warnings. Drawn by instinct more than logic, he turns toward it, convinced that it might offer a faster route to Ar-hap’s domain. As he walks, the woods grow denser and the air heavier, with each step muting the cheerful clarity of the previous night. Strange symbols carved into tree bark begin to appear, and the usual birdsong is replaced by a low, ambient hum that seems to follow his movement. Time distorts in the gloom; what felt like minutes stretches into hours, and soon landmarks repeat in disorienting patterns. By the time he notices the fog creeping through the undergrowth, his path has fully vanished behind him, leaving only silence and a lingering chill.

Eventually, he stumbles upon a small clearing where a lone figure, a stone craftsman, sits among a scattering of primitive tools and finely shaped weapon fragments. The man, wary yet civil, entertains the visitor’s questions but keeps a suspicious eye fixed on him throughout their exchange. Their dialogue reveals that Mars, like Earth, has grown its knowledge from the seeds of survival—each blade shaped not for art, but to protect or dominate. Fascinated by this craftsman’s silent mastery, the protagonist lingers too long, and tension rises. A casual comment is misinterpreted, and a quarrel nearly erupts, halted only by a gesture of peace and retreat. The encounter leaves a sharp impression—on Mars, even the calmest surface can hide volatile emotion just beneath.

As he presses onward, the environment shifts again—less organic, more foreboding. The trees thin, and an unnatural mist hangs low over cracked stone paths leading to what appears to be ruins cloaked in gloom. A distant sound—soft, sorrowful, like children sobbing—floats across the stillness, growing louder as he walks. He recalls the woodman’s stories with a stab of regret, realizing too late that he has arrived at the haunted city ruled by the ghost of Queen Yang. Columns loom like petrified sentinels, and crumbled facades echo the weight of forgotten tragedy. Though nothing moves, the protagonist feels watched, as though unseen eyes track his every breath. He debates turning back, but something deeper—perhaps human arrogance, or irresistible wonder—pulls him forward.

The city reveals no signs of life, only symbols etched in walls, shattered statues, and whispers that rise from nowhere. Yet there is beauty here too—faded mosaics of stars and moons, fractured stories of a kingdom long consumed by its own power. His heart pounds, not with fear alone but with the thrill of proximity to something ancient, something Mars itself wishes to hide. As dusk dims the sky, he finally sees it: a mural depicting a radiant queen with eyes of fire and hands that hold both life and death. The silence feels heavier now, as if waiting for a voice to awaken the city once more. But none comes. He backs away carefully, unsure if what he’s trespassed will let him leave as easily as he entered.

This chapter reflects more than a physical journey—it underscores the peril of disregarding cultural knowledge, the fragility of trust in unfamiliar lands, and the allure of the forbidden. In his quest to reach Heru, the protagonist continues to chase progress at the cost of wisdom, plunging deeper into Martian truths not found in maps or guides. Through this, readers are reminded that adventure is not always glory-bound—it often walks hand in hand with humility and consequences.