Chapter 148: Arrival!

The voice thrummed through Albedo’s consciousness suddenly, like a low chord that struck the strings of existence.

It wasn’t loud, nor did the voice echo in his head, it just was, as if it was always there.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

His breath stilled. The faint hum of the carriage’s runes faded beneath the rush of blood in his ears. For a heartbeat, everything, Miranda’s calm breathing, Zeus’s fidgeting, the rhythmic tapping of Elara’s finger, disappeared beneath that voice.

Then his gaze slid toward her.

Saphira sat in the same seat, poised and regal, her eyes half-lidded as though lost in thought. Yet he could feel it, the thread of consciousness stretching from her to him, unseen but unbreakable.

’…You’re speaking to me?’

He didn’t dare move his lips. The words formed soundlessly in his mind, cast like a cautious whisper into the void and he immediately noticed Saphira’s gaze flickering towards him, the corners of her mouth curving upward slightly, a spark of amusement in her molten eyes.

“What should you be feeling, little Echo?” she purred within his thoughts, her tone like rolling thunder beneath silk, “The answer to that depends on how honest you wish to be, with me, and with yourself.”

Her words carried no threat. But they held a kind of truth that made his chest tighten. Albedo leaned slightly back, outwardly composed but inwardly coiled, ’Then tell me. What am I feeling?’

A hum of satisfaction pulsed through the link, warm as sunlight spilling through storm clouds.

“The changes of the world, Pandora’s heart beating slower as the Abyss crawls closer to destroying everything.” Saphira said.

“The reason you feel it,” she continued, “is because you carry the heart of a Dragon. Not merely its power, its perception.”

Her eyes opened slightly, the molten gold within them gleaming with ancient dept, “Dragons are not bound by mortal sense like Humans or Demons. Our perception of the world falls deep into the ebbs and pulses of creation itself. What you call instinct, we call awareness.”

Albedo’s throat felt dry, “Cosmic awareness…” he murmured under his breath, too softly for anyone else to hear.

Saphira’s lips curved faintly, as if she’d heard him anyway. “Precisely. It is the consciousness that touches all that exists, the breath of stars, the death of worlds, the heartbeat of gods. You, little one, have brushed against it through your Flame Dragon Heart. But…”

Her tone dipped, becoming quieter, almost wistful, “you are far too small to hold its truth. Like a child staring into an endless ocean and mistaking the foam for the deep.”

Albedo’s fingers twitched. The air around him felt heavier now, charged with something ancient. “Then… what I felt back there—”

“Was the world whispering,” she interrupted softly, “A storm in the distance. A fracture forming. The Dragon in you simply heard it before the rest.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, eyes bright with something unreadable, not pity, not amusement, but recognition.

“Grow stronger,” Saphira’s voice softened, turning into a fading echo at the edge of his mind. “Only then will you learn what the cosmos truly sounds like.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and though her expression remained outwardly serene, he felt her focus sharpen to a blade’s edge.

“Alongside the Flame Dragon Heart, that body of yours… that physique.” she said calmly.

“Crimson Moon Primordial Physique,” she said slowly, tasting the words like old wine, “I recognize that resonance from my inheritance of memories. I recognize the last bearer of such a body walked beside gods and defied the stars themselves. Aevarion.”

Albedo was shocked as he heard that. After all, he’d met a remnant of Aevarion through the Book he received from the System, and that being had existed far, far before Saphira’s great great great grandparents were even conceived.

It was his first time understanding just how deep and detailed the Draconic Memory Inheritance went.

Saphira smiled faintly, reading the realization through the subtle ripples of his aura.

“Ah, so you’ve seen his record then. You carry his echo, his book, woven into your being. Its presence bleeds through your mana like a faint heartbeat. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Her voice grew softer now, more melodic, like a storm whispering to itself.

“Even my inherited memories of him and beings from that era are small. I’ve asked the Dragon Goddess for more, but that entire era, it’s basically forbidden to learn more. You have a chance to learn what I can’t, how curious,” Saphira explained.

“Do you know much about his personality or feats?” Albedo questioned.

“All I know is how he fell,” Saphira began, “Reaching too close to the Final Eclipse. Judging from your lack of reaction, I’m sure you’ve heard the term Final Eclipse before, probably from that book of his,”

“That singular point beyond divine comprehension, where all paths converge, life, death, order, chaos. A place beyond Gods. He sought to touch it, to understand what lay beyond the end. The last time he appears in my memories, he was standing beneath a bleeding sky,”

Her eyes turned back to him, molten gold glinting with quiet amusement.

“And now, his shadow flickers inside you. History has a strange sense of humor.”

’Why are you telling me this?’ he asked at last.

Her lips parted in a faint smile—not mocking, but almost tender.

“Because time is not eternal,” she said simply, “Fate is changing, no-one knows why but fate and destiny are scrambled. Great battles are coming earlier than expected. The world stirs, the Abyss breathes, and the cycle quickens. If you wish to survive what’s coming… you must grow. Quickly.”

The golden glow in her eyes flared for a brief instant, and Albedo felt something, like a warmth blooming behind his ribs, sinking deep into his chest. The Dragon Heart pulsed once, resonating with the world outside.

“You carry a host of useful abilties,” she whispered, her voice softer than air. “If you master them, perhaps you’ll reach where Aevarion failed.”

’The… Final Eclipse?’

Her smile deepened, a faint flash of lightning tracing the edge of her cheekbone.

“Yes. The end of all beginnings. The bridge between gods and those who consume them.”

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the pressure faded. The thread snapped. Her gaze turned back to the others as though nothing had happened.

Saphira stretched languidly, rolling her shoulders in graceful indifference. “Ah,” she said aloud, as if breaking some private reverie. “How nostalgic. The Garden looks as radiant as ever.”

Lucian leaned forward slightly, frowning. “You’ve been here before?”

Saphira’s smile turned enigmatic. “Once. Long ago. But that’s a story for another day.”

As they finished talking, the carriage began to descend through the thinning clouds, the storm finally breaking apart into pale, glimmering mist.

The air shifted, heavy with perfume and mana. an intoxicating mixture that made the senses swim. Below them, the Garden of Perpetual Blooming Agony sprawled out in impossible splendor.

Even from above, it was breathtaking. Vast plains of color stretched endlessly, like spilled light across a dreamscape.

Flowers pulsed faintly with demonic essence, blues too deep to be mortal, violets glowing with internal veins of molten gold, petals the color of bruised flesh curling open and shut like breathing creatures.

When they landed, a wave of warm, fragrant air rolled through the open doors.

The students stepped out hesitantly. The earth beneath their boots shimmered faintly, soft and pliant, like stepping on living velvet.

Strange vines slithered lazily around their ankles, brushing their skin before retreating. Every flower seemed alive, not in the natural sense, but in a way that felt aware, watchful.

Miranda inhaled deeply, her divine aura humming faintly. “It’s beautiful…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “but wrong.”

Zeus let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, no kidding. Beautiful like poison.”

Elara’s eyes darted from one glowing bloom to the next, her spectral senses flickering like unstable flame. “The mana density here… it’s absurd,” she murmured, “Every root, every petal, it’s laced with energy.”

Saphira stepped lightly onto the soil, her bare feet leaving faint trails of molten gold that the ground greedily absorbed. The vines coiled toward her like reverent worshippers before melting back into the dirt. “They remember me,” she said softly, her tone faintly amused.

Arannis adjusted his long coat and turned to face the group. His smile was calm, easy, soothing in a way only an Elf’s could be.

“Be careful where you tread,” he said. “Everything here responds to emotion. Fear, curiosity, even admiration, it feeds on all of it. The stronger the feeling, the stronger the bloom.”

Lucian raised an eyebrow. “So we’re walking through a forest that eats feelings?”

Arannis chuckled. “In a sense, yes. The Garden cultivates the essence of what’s given to it. The Demon Kingdom has maintained it for centuries, it is both artwork and alchemy.”

As they began to walk, the soft light of the Garden deepened around them. Flowers unfurled when Miranda passed, turning their faces to her like supplicants basking in sunlight.

When Zeus brushed against a cluster of vines, they coiled around his wrist briefly, releasing a faint electric hum before slithering back.

Further in, the air grew cooler. The plants changed.

Thorns gleamed like polished obsidian. Petals shivered as if sighing, their veins pulsing faintly with liquid color. Some of the vines reached gently toward the students, touching their clothes with strange, tender curiosity.

Raphaeline’s wings twitched, “Don’t let them linger,” she warned. “Those vines inject euphoric essence—too much, and you’ll lose the will to move.”

Morgana’s eyes widened slightly, her hand instinctively brushing against her wand. “It’s like the whole place wants to… play with us.”

“’Play’ is an optimistic word,” Arannis said mildly, stepping between two great crimson stalks that exhaled mist as he passed. “The flora here feeds on emotional resonance. It finds beauty in what it consumes.”

Saphira walked behind them, serene as ever, eyes distant as though lost in another time. When her gaze swept over the strange flora, her expression softened with a faint melancholy that no one else seemed to notice.

Albedo followed at the rear, silent. The echo of Saphira’s voice still hummed faintly in his mind, her words, her warnings, the strange, divine certainty of her tone. You must grow. Quickly.

“If you see a red and green flower, avoid it, that is the Siren’s Kiss, a flower which sings a lullaby to lure creatures to sleep forever in its soil. Millions have unknowingly died to that,”

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