Chapter 149: Exploring the Garden!

The group looked around the Garden, their boots sinking softly into the living soil. Every step the group took seemed to awaken something beneath the ground.

All of them could notice faint pulses of light traveling through the roots that glowed dimly under their feet, illuminating the fog in threads of luminescent green and violet.

The Professors and Heads of the Academies were walking ahead, and finally, Arannis turned to the group of students, his long silver hair shifting with the gentle winds that carried a thousand strange fragrances.

All of the students focused on him, and his voice carried easily through the perfumed air, calm, melodic, and reassuring, “All right, students,” he said with a small smile, pausing beside a patch of flowers shaped like chalices dripping with faint crimson dew.

“You may explore, but keep your senses sharp. Every plant here has intent, and some… rather unfriendly habits of course,”

Zeus lifted an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Intent? You mean they actually think?”

Arannis gave a small laugh, “Not quite thought, instinct. Hunger. Desire. The same things that guide beasts, just… tuned to emotion and magic.”

His expression grew more serious as he gestured ahead. “The Weeping Monarch is at the heart of the Garden, toward the north. You’ll recognize it by the shimmer of tears in the air, and by the silence. All sound dies around it, save the wind and your own heartbeat, and these sounds are amplified,”

A few of the students shivered at that.

Arannis continued, “Also, remember to watch out for the Siren’s Kiss. If you hear humming, don’t follow it. No matter how beautiful it sounds.”

“Has anyone actually survived touching one?” Elara asked quietly, her eyes darting between two trees whose bark looked like shifting flesh.

Arannis’s tone darkened, “I only know a handful. Fewer who remember doing so.”

The warning hung heavy in the air. Then, with his usual warmth, he added, “But don’t be afraid. Fear excites the flora. Curiosity does too, but at least that’s easier to manage.”

That earned a few weak smiles.

As the group began to disperse slightly, forming small clusters of curiosity, Albedo lingered at the back, silent, his gaze shifting between the others and Saphira, who walked with unhurried grace at the edge of the group.

The Dragon in human form seemed utterly unbothered by the atmosphere. The flowers bent toward her, not in hunger, but reverence, their petals unfolding in her wake, releasing faint sighs of glittering mist. Even the vines parted for her as if recognizing her as their sovereign.

Raphaeline caught his glance and tilted her head, as if to warn him not to get too close, knowing how Saphira was from her personal experience.

However, Albedo pretended to not notice her and was already moving.

He didn’t rush, didn’t draw attention to himself. He simply adjusted his pace, falling behind the others, letting the conversation fade as he followed Saphira’s quiet path through the phosphorescent fog.

She didn’t acknowledge him at first. Her eyes were distant, fixed somewhere beyond the living canopy that pulsed above them.

They walked in silence for a while, her, with the serene patience of something eternal; him, trying to calm the quiet storm that had begun to stir inside.

Every flower he passed seemed to lean toward her, as if listening, and when he brushed against one accidentally, it recoiled as though ashamed to have touched someone in her presence.

Finally, Saphira spoke without looking back. Her voice was soft, audible only to him, “So you’ve decided to follow the dragon into her den.”

Albedo kept his tone low, cautious. “Curiosity, I suppose.”

A small smile curved her lips. “Curiosity is the first step to wisdom… and the first step to ruin. Both are fine destinations, if you have the courage to arrive.”

He didn’t respond. The flowers rustled faintly as they passed, as though whispering in voices too small to hear.

Ahead, the fog began to thin. A faint golden shimmer laced the air, like sunlight refracted through tears.

Albedo blinked, “Is that,?”

“The Monarch’s domain,” Saphira said softly, her voice carrying a note of distant nostalgia. “You’ll see it soon.”

The path narrowed into a corridor of pale trees whose bark wept translucent sap that glowed faintly blue. The air smelled sweet, almost intoxicating, yet underneath it lay something sharp, metallic.

When they finally emerged from between the trees, the Garden opened into a clearing so vast it seemed to stretch into another world.

And there, at the center, stood the Weeping Monarch.

It was unlike any tree Albedo had ever seen , vast enough that its roots formed ridges taller than men, its trunk shimmering like polished marble that breathed faintly with mana.

Its bark was pale silver streaked with crimson veins that pulsed softly, and from its branches hung thousands of translucent leaves that sparkled like glass.

Every few seconds, a droplet formed at their tips, glimmering with inner light before falling silently into the small pools below.

The droplets rippled like molten stars before dissolving, leaving behind faint motes that drifted into the air.

Various other students had also appeared, such as the Elven Princess, and some of Albedo’s classmates.

“They’re… crying,” Elara murmured somewhere behind him, awe softening her voice.

Saphira stepped forward until she stood beneath the boughs of the Monarch, her golden hair catching the faint glow of its tears, “The Weeping Monarch doesn’t cry for sorrow,” she said quietly, “It cries because it remembers. Every drop is a memory of the world it’s absorbed.”

“Those tears,” Arannis added as he rejoined them, “are collected by alchemists and chefs alike. The taste is said to change depending on who eats it, sorrow to some, sweetness to others. Its essence reacts to emotion.”

“People use this… for food?” Zeus asked incredulously.

Arannis smiled faintly, “In the Demon Kingdom, beauty and pain are close companions. Emotions influence Demonic Energy greatly,”

The students spread out cautiously, careful not to touch anything. Miranda crouched beside one of the pools, her reflection warping in its shimmering surface. “It’s… beautiful,” she whispered again, softer this time. “But it feels like it’s watching me.”

“It is,” Arannis replied easily. “The Monarch feels everything in its garden. It knows every heartbeat, every thought that passes too close. Respect it, and it will respect you.”

However, as Arannis was speaking, Albedo began to feel his senses strangely prickling him, as if warning about an upcoming occurrence.

~RUMBLE~

A low tremor rippled through the soil not long after he felt that.

Then the light pulsing through the roots flared, their glow deepening from violet to crimson.

The Weeping Monarch stilled. Its glasslike leaves shivered in unison, and for a heartbeat, every sound, wind, footsteps, breath, simply vanished. Then came the scream.

It wasn’t human. It wasn’t even animal. It was the sound of something vast and ancient rousing from a forced slumber, the cry of the Garden itself.

All around them, flowers began to twist. Chalice-shaped blooms curled inward before snapping open with sharp, wet cracks, spilling streams of viscous, glowing nectar that hissed when it hit the ground.

Vines thickened, splitting the soil as they lashed into the air like serpents. The once-delicate petals of the Siren’s Kiss darkened from emerald to black, their sweet perfume turning acrid, intoxicating.

Arannis’s head snapped up. His usual calm broke for the first time, his voice ringing sharply across the clearing, “Everyone, back! Now!”

The students stumbled away from the pools, from the Monarch, from the writhing flora. The earth bucked underfoot.

Zeus drew his blade with a hiss of steel, sparks of lightning flickering across the edge. “The hell’s going on?!”

“The Garden,” Elara gasped, her mana flaring instinctively as spectral wards snapped into place around her hands. “It’s, reacting to something. But this isn’t natural,”

“No,” Raphaeline said suddenly, her tone steady but her expression grim. Her crimson eyes burned, her wings half-spread. “It’s a Cycle.”

Her words froze the air. Even Arannis faltered for a heartbeat before he turned toward her sharply. “A Cycle? Impossible. The Garden only blooms once every….”

“This one isn’t natural,” Raphaeline cut in. Her voice dropped, heavy with realization. “It’s been forced.”

The ground cracked open with a sound like splitting glass. Thick roots erupted, coiling upward to form grotesque shapes , mockeries of beasts, humanoid silhouettes, malformed flowers blooming from their backs.

From every direction came the rustle and groan of the Garden remaking itself.

The Weeping Monarch’s tears fell faster, shimmering droplets crashing into the pools below and sending ripples of silver light through the mist. But the light was no longer gentle — it pulsed with violent rhythm, like a heartbeat in panic.

Arannis moved quickly, his hands weaving graceful sigils that shimmered like silver leaves. Roots recoiled from the wards he raised, hissing as if in pain.

“Everyone, form up! Stay near the Weeping Monarch, its aura still resists corruption! This Cycle may take a while,”

As Arannis said that, he slammed the ground, a gigantic green magic circle appearing, sprouting plants of its own that sought to protect all the students,

All the while this was happening, Albedo’s senses kept prickling him, warning him, and he finally activated Source Code.

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