Chapter 144: First Monument Down!

The whispers that the Bridge echoed constantly had grown faint by the time they reached the midpoint. What began as a chorus of regret and accusation had thinned into a background murmur, like the remnants of a storm retreating over the horizon.

However, despite the voices dimming to a murmur, the contents of those whispers were still brutal. They cut deep in the emotional core of everyone who heard them, exposing their deepest regrets and thoughts and bombarding them with it.

Still, the group trudged on. This was, after all, a team of the most talented students of each of the races, so it was only natural for them to have high mental strength.

The air was cold and still, and every breath came out in pale wisps that quickly vanished into the mist as the group walked.

Elara walked a few paces behind Albedo, her eyes half-focused on the glowing runes beneath their feet. The bridge thrummed quietly, responding to each step, the crystalline veins along its edge pulsing with faint silver light.

When she finally caught up to him, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You know,” she said softly, voice carrying oddly well through the gloom, “for something called the Bridge of Whispers, it’s surprisingly polite when it’s not screaming at you.”

Albedo glanced sideways at her, “Polite? That’s certainly one way to describe this place I guess,” he said with an eyebrow raised.

Elara smiled, a little sheepishly, “I mean, it’s not saying much anymore. I think it got bored of me halfway through. I’m someone who lives with my heart on my sleeve, I try not to leave any regrets,” she explained.

He gave a faint exhale that might’ve been a laugh. “Then you handled it better than most.”

“Not at first,” she admitted, rubbing her arms as if to shake off lingering chills. “It, it said some things I didn’t want to hear.” Her voice lowered. “About my father. About… the day he died. It knew things it shouldn’t have.”

Albedo was silent for a moment, eyes drifting to the faint glow beneath his boots. The hum of mana in the bridge’s veins matched the quiet rhythm of their footsteps.

“The Bridge doesn’t know anything,” he said finally. “It only echoes what’s already in your mind. The parts you hide from yourself, and you handed it pretty well,:

Elara frowned as she responded, “That’s comforting.”

He glanced at her again. “It’s meant to be. It means what you heard was yours, not someone else’s truth forced on you.”

For a while, neither spoke. The wind tugged gently at Elara’s auburn hair, and the mist curled around them like ribbons of smoke.

Ahead, the rest of the students were crossing, silhouettes blurred in the fog. Even Arannis, walking some distance ahead, was little more than a shadow framed by blue light in their eyes.

When Elara finally spoke again, her voice was quieter, gentler. “It said I could’ve done more for him. That if I hadn’t been afraid to fail, I might’ve saved him.” She gave a small laugh, brittle but honest. “I know that’s not fair. I was twelve. What could I have done? But it… it still hurt.”

Albedo said nothing at first, and she thought maybe he wouldn’t. Then his voice came, steady and low, “You wanted to believe you could’ve changed something. That’s not weakness, Elara. That’s compassion. The Bridge doesn’t show truth or lies, it shows regrets. And the people who have none are either dead or lying.”

Elara blinked at him, surprised by the quiet certainty in his tone, “You sound like you’ve crossed a few bridges like this before.”

He gave her a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Maybe.”

They walked in silence again, but this time it was a comfortable one. The faint hum beneath their feet, the whisper of wind through spectral stone—it all seemed to fade into the background.

Then Elara’s expression softened. “You know… despite all that, I actually kind of liked it.”

Albedo raised an eyebrow, “You liked being emotionally assaulted by a haunted bridge?”

She laughed—really laughed, light and bright, cutting through the gloom like sunlight through fog. “Not that part. I mean this whole thing. The Exchange. The Demon Monuments. The history, the energy, it’s all so… alive. Dangerous, yes, but beautiful too. Back home, everything feels safe and perfect and controlled. Here, it’s like the world’s reminding us we’re small.”

He nodded slowly. “You’re not wrong. Most people forget that.”

“Do you forget that?” she asked.

Albedo thought for a moment. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But the world has a way of reminding me.”

A long pause followed, filled only by the bridge’s faint, rhythmic pulse. Elara watched him, studying his expression, the way his gaze always seemed to drift ahead, calculating, distant.

She had known Albedo long enough to recognize that look, the one that said his mind was already three steps ahead of the present.

“You heard something too, didn’t you?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer immediately. The mist around them thickened, and a faint vibration shivered through the bridge like a sigh. Then, finally, he said, “Yes.”

“Do you want to tell me what it said?”

“No.”

Elara nodded once. “Fair.” She smiled faintly. “For what it’s worth, you look like you handled it better than most.”

Albedo’s lips quirked upward, though the smile didn’t last. “Looks can lie.”

They continued walking, step after steady step, until the black expanse behind them had shrunk into haze. The end of the bridge was finally in sight—a wide stone platform carved with sigils that glowed like dying embers.

Ahead, some of the students had already reached the other side. A few sat on the ground, catching their breath. Others stared wordlessly back into the mist, eyes haunted by whatever the whispers had shown them.

Arannis stood near the edge, speaking quietly with Raphaeline, his expression unreadable. When he turned and saw Albedo and Elara approaching, his smile returned. “Good,” he said, voice warm but measured. “You made it without incident. That’s more than I can say for some of your peers.”

Elara looked back at the bridge, where faint echoes still drifted through the air—like distant sighs carried on the wind, “Does it ever stop?” she asked.

“Eventually,” Arannis replied. “Though, some say they still hear the whispers in their dreams for a few days. Or weeks.”

Elara grimaced, “That’s comforting.”

Arannis chuckled lightly, “Growth rarely is, my dear.”

Albedo’s gaze lingered on the misty span behind them. The runes along the bridge pulsed once more, faintly, as if acknowledging their passage. The whispers were softer now, almost tender.

Elara turned to Albedo, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “So,” she said, her usual brightness returning, “that’s one monument down, six to go.”

He nodded, watching her smile despite the fatigue in her eyes. “You sound eager for the next one.”

“I am,” she said simply. “If they’re all this strange, maybe I’ll actually understand why the Demons are the way they are. There’s something… honest about this place, even when it’s cruel.”

Albedo looked at her for a moment, then allowed himself a small, real smile. “You might be the only person who’s ever said that.”

“Then I’ll take it as a compliment.”

She stretched her arms over her head, releasing a soft sigh. The mist curled around her, fading as the wind swept through the gorge. “Come on, Albedo. Let’s go before the bridge decides to start talking again.”

He glanced back one last time, eyes narrowing as he focused on the far end where Veyron Bloodveil had disappeared moments before. No corruption. No trace. But something about that noble still didn’t sit right with him.

“Yeah,” he murmured, turning to follow Elara as they stepped off the bridge and onto solid ground. “Let’s go.”

Behind them, the Bridge of Whispers fell silent once more as they waited for a while, and after a bit, the last of the footsteps echoed faintly over the bridge as the final group of students emerged from the mist.

Their faces were pale and drawn, eyes unfocused, each still half-lost in whatever regrets the Bridge of Whispers had forced them to confront. The spectral glow beneath their boots dimmed as they reached solid ground, and a deep silence fell over the gorge.

Professor Arannis stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his silver hair catching the strange twilight that clung to the air. The elf’s expression was calm but kind, his keen eyes gliding across each face as if counting not their number but their spirit.

“Excellent,” he said at last, his voice cutting through the stillness like warm sunlight breaking cloud. “All accounted for. I must say, you’ve done quite well.”

A low murmur of relief rippled through the group. A few demons exhaled shakily, some humans exchanged uneasy glances, and even the elves—usually composed—looked quietly shaken. Arannis’s smile softened at that.

“Do not mistake exhaustion for weakness,” he continued, stepping forward so the folds of his deep green robe swayed gently. “The Bridge does not test strength of body, but the weight of your own hearts. That all of you made it across without breaking is proof that you are stronger than the ghosts that haunt you.”

His gaze turned briefly toward the Bridge itself. The massive structure loomed behind them—silent now, the mist curling over it like a burial shroud. The faint, crystalline veins of silver and violet light flickered once, as though in farewell, then went dark.

A quiet shiver passed through the gathered students. Even now, some swore they could still hear the faint whispering—like memories refusing to die.

Arannis turned back, clapping his hands lightly, the sound ringing with mana. “Now then. The Bridge of Whispers is a fine start to your journey, but it is only the first of many lessons the Demon Kingdom holds. The next will not dig through your mind, but test your heart and will in a different way.”

He paused, his eyes gleaming faintly as he smiled in that ageless, knowing way of elves. “Our next destination, one of my personal favorites, is The Garden of Perpetual Blooming Agony.“

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