Chapter 157: Continued Journey!

The Garden of Perpetual Blooming Agony had already begun to mend itself. A mysterious energy swept across the entire Garden, breathing new life into the shattered environment, and things quickly began to change.

Fractured earth pulsed faintly with new life, silver-green veins of mana threading through the shattered stones like glowing roots beneath glass. The scent of ash still lingered all across the Garden, but above, the sky was once again whole.

The rift that had split existence now sealed, its black scar faded into distant memory.

Ysvara stepped toward them, her expression softer than before. “You have all endured more than was expected. The Abyss does not forget, but neither does it rush. It has tasted defeat here, it will recoil, watch, and wait.”

“So…” Fade asked, the nature aura around her had greatly wavered due to her exhaustion, “We’re safe for now?”

Ysvara inclined her head. “For a time.” Her gaze shifted to Kael, who nodded once in affirmation.

“The Abyss will not strike again so soon,” Kael said. “Its will must recover, re-form. It may be months before another attempt.”

He turned then, eyes sweeping across the weary group, students, heroes, and heirs from every nation. “That window, however brief, must be used wisely.”

Lilian tilted her head, “You mean we continue?”

“Indeed,” Ysvara said. “There are still five Divine Demonic Monuments left unvisited. I wouldn’t want you all to miss out on the most important part of the exchange unnecessarily,”

Arannis, resting against a broken pillar, stirred at that. His body still shook from exhaustion, but his spirit had not dimmed. “I had hoped… to guide you through all seven.”

Ysvara’s gaze softened, “You’ve done more than enough, old friend. Rest now. Your wounds will be mended with time,”

Arannis’ eyes fluttered closed, her magic already weaving through him like silver threads of light. Within moments, his breathing steadied.

“Kael will return to the Capital alongside Arannis and all of the students & Professors who are too injured to continue.” Ysvara said, looking at everyone before continuing.

“He’ll also handle the aftermath here in the Garden, in case you were worried about that. I will accompany you to the remaining Monuments in his stead.”

That announcement sent a ripple through the group.

“You’ll be coming with us?” Lilian asked, disbelief mingled with awe.

Ysvara nodded. “I will guide and protect, but not interfere. These monuments are after all incredibly important part of this exchange,”

Kael stepped forward, the wind coiling faintly around him, “I will meet you again at the Seventh Monument, The Onyx Citadel.”

At the name, several of the students glanced at each other. They’d all heard of it, the Demon Palace that served as the heart of the capital, carved from obsidian and sealed with the first King’s blood.

Everyone began whispering about The Onyx Citadel as the Garden’s healing light waned across the environment.

The wind that passed through the fractured trees carried the scent of rain and embers, the strange, beautiful scent of life being reborn from ruin.

The mana veins that spread through the ground pulsed in rhythm with the heartbeat of the world itself, a steady reminder that even after devastation, the world endured.

And so did they.

Arannis stood at the center of the Garden, robes now repaired by Ysvara’s magic, though the weight of exhaustion still lingered in his silver eyes.

The once-proud staff he’d carried through countless ages had been reforged by Kael’s power, darker now, inlaid with new runes that shimmered faintly.

One by one, the students gathered before him.

“Guess this is goodbye for now,” Lilian said, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, “Try not to die of overwork, Professor.”

Arannis chuckled softly, the sound weak but genuine. “You speak as though I haven’t been overworked since before your great-grandparents were born.”

Laughter rippled faintly among the group, tired but heartfelt. Even Fade managed a smile, though her mana aura flickered dimly around her shoulders.

Kayle, standing tall despite the faint crack in her armor, bowed deeply, “You’ve done more for us than any of us could repay in that battle, Professor. The light bless you and your rest.”

Arannis’ expression softened. “Your light burns brighter than you think, young Belair. Never doubt it.”

His eyes, weary but bright, met Ysvara’s. “Take care of the students, my Queen. They’re stronger than they think, and more fragile than they’ll admit.”

Ysvara’s lips curved in faint amusement. “You always did know how to see through people, Arannis. Rest.”

The Elf nodded, finally allowing his shoulders to sag. The moment he did, the Garden responded, petals from the blooming mana-flowers drifted down, forming a bed of silver blossoms around him.

Kael gave a small nod of approval.

And then, with one final look toward Ysvara, his form began to fade. The wind rose, shadows coiling around him like the arms of night itself. The Demon King’s body dissolved into streams of light and flame until only the faint echo of his voice remained.

“Until the Onyx Citadel.”

And he was gone.

Saphira was the next to step forward. Her cloak fluttered faintly as she turned toward Albedo, her eyes still carrying that familiar sharpness, a blend of respect and rivalry.

“Well,” she said, brushing a strand of dark hair from her cheek, “it looks like you’ll be playing tourist again, Neverwinter.”

Albedo arched a brow. “Tourist? In a land that keeps trying to kill us?”

She smirked. “Call it field research, then. You have a habit of surviving where others don’t. I’ll assume that continues.”

Her tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something gentler, sincerity hidden beneath the bravado.

“You’re leaving too?” Raphaeline asked softly.

Saphira nodded. “I have matters to tend to in the back with my people. I also have to report what happened to make sure a group of young idiots don’t stumble into an Abyssal nest and meet their untimely end.”

She turned back to Albedo, her expression softening for just a moment. “Try not to get yourself killed, alright? The world’s already short on people who can actually do things, and I’m not fond of recovering dead bodies,”

Albedo’s lips twitched into a faint smile, “No promises.”

She snorted, shaking her head, “Figures. When you’re on break from your Academy stuff, come visit me sometime. Raphaeline will tell you the way, I hope by then you’ll be much more useful,”

The Dragoness said, and then, with a brilliant shimmer of her blue mana, she vanished, leaving behind only the faint scent of frost and lightning, and the faintest draconic roars that echoed in the minds of anyone who heard it.

The group waited for a new pair of carriages, as the old ones had been destroyed during the battle, and soon after, the new carriages arrived.

Dark, rune-etched vehicles drawn by spectral beasts that gleamed faintly under the twin moons of Ghenna. The drivers, silent figures cloaked in ceremonial garb, bowed deeply as Ysvara approached.

She gestured for the group to enter, “Come. The Obsidian Throne awaits.”

As they boarded, the ground rumbled faintly beneath them, not from instability, but from anticipation. The very world seemed to sense where they were going next.

The Obsidian Throne of the First Betrayer.

The name alone was enough to make even a-lot of the Humans and Elves who’d never seen it before shiver.

It was said that Malkorath, the Thirty-First Demon King, had been the first to kneel to the Abyss, and from that single act of surrender, the Great Schism of the Demon Realms was born.

The throne he had once sat upon still existed, deep beneath the Umbral Spire in southern Ghenna, a relic of both power and ruin.

Albedo leaned back in his seat, watching the faint shimmer of the Garden fade into the distance through the carriage window. “The First Betrayer, huh…”

Morgana glanced at him. “Sounds like your kind of place.”

He smirked faintly, “Let’s hope not.”

Lilian crossed one leg over the other, eyes fixed on the darkening horizon. “If half the stories are true, that throne was carved from a shard of the void itself. The last time someone tried to touch it, their soul burned away.”

Lucian groaned, “Fantastic. Can’t wait.”

Ysvara’s voice carried from the front carriage, calm yet resonant. “Fear not, little flames. The path to power is never free of shadow, but shadow only holds sway when you forget your light.”

Her words lingered long after she fell silent.

Outside, the Garden of Perpetual Blooming Agony disappeared behind them, its glowing trees fading into the mist. Ahead lay a road that wound through the scarred lands of the Demon South, where black spires pierced the clouds and the air hummed with ancient magic.

And far beyond all that, in the heart of the Umbral Spire, the Obsidian Throne waited.

An ancient monument of betrayal and ambition, and perhaps, a glimpse into the future of every soul who dared to seek its truth.

The carriages rolled on into the night, their runes flaring with pale crimson light.

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