Chapter 164: To the Next Monument!

The spectral calm of the Veiled Lantern Inn wrapped around the trio calmly, as the laughter and noise of the various transactions from the market seemed to dim in their ears.

All they heard was a ghostly echo of the occasional chime and whispers that quickly faded as the door shut behind them, cutting them off from the outside.

The mist beyond the window thinned, folding back into the moonlit gloom as the Market slowly vanished for the night. It was such a beautiful and mystifying sight that allured Elara, who quickly took out her notebook and took some more notes.

Inside the Inn, everything was quiet. All of the students seemed to of headed to their individual rooms and were sleeping, leaving only the trio awake, who were exploring the Inn for the first time.

The inn was built from pale blackwood and inlaid with veins of moon-crystal that pulsed with faint warmth. The walls seemed to breathe with soft mana-light, and each step on the velvet carpets produced no sound.

The staff, if they could be called that, were shades, gentle silhouettes carrying trays of glowing fruit and faintly steaming tea.

Elara had already half-collapsed onto one of the couches, the silver scarf she’d bought still glowing faintly around her shoulders. Lilian poured herself a glass of the local crimson wine, which shimmered faintly with mana, walking around calmly as she’d already visited this place many times in the past.

Then Lilian threw herself into a chair beside Elara, drinking herself and looking at Albedo, who was standing near the window looking beyond the glass as he noticed the enrapturing phenomena of the Market dissolving, the lights winking out one by one as if they were dying stars.

For a fleeting moment, he saw those two green eyes again that signified Vex, faint, and unblinking, just watching him intently.

Then the eyes were gone once again, and Albedo just exhaled slowly, turning away and looking back at Lilian and Elara who were chatting, “We should rest. Tomorrow we’re leaving this place right.”

Lilian stretched languidly, setting her glass aside “Agreed. You’re no fun, you know that? You could at least hang out with us here for a couple hours,”

Albedo gave her a dry look. “I’d rather enjoy not dying because I’m sleeping when we’re attacked during the trip,”

Elara stifled a tired laug, “That’s… fair.”

Lilian chuckled softly and rose to her feet, brushing invisible dust from her coat. “Fine, fine. Sleep then, Captain Boring. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

She turned, her crimson eyes glinting with amusement as she made her way up the spiral staircase. The light of her aura lingered faintly, painting the walls with soft red before fading.

Elara followed soon after, waving gently to Albedo, “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

When they were gone, Albedo remained by the window for a few more minutes. He looked out over the mist-covered valley, where the faint shimmer of the Shadow Isles rippled in the far distance.

The world here felt like it existed on the edge of reality, a dream pressed too tightly against waking.

He closed his eyes and left the window, heading upstairs towards his room.

The room they’d given him was simple, yet elegant. A single bed carved from black oak, silver drapes that shimmered faintly, and a small crystal lantern floating near the ceiling, casting slow, rhythmic pulses of light.

He set his gear beside the bed, stripping off his coat and taking a deep breath. Ember’s presence brushed faintly against his mind as he finally laid down.

The bed felt strange, soft but almost alive, as though it shifted with his heartbeat. The mana in the room pulsed faintly in rhythm with his own. The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was the ghost-light dimming.

Then, silence.

***

Albedo had an enjoyable night of sleep, not waking up until late the next morning not long before the group were slated to leave the Inn and continue on their journey to the next monument.

Morning in the Shadow Isles wasn’t truly morning. The light that filtered through the curtains was still silver, still cold. But it carried a faint warmth, a sign that the Isles had tilted toward dawn.

The group reconvened downstairs, everyone looking much more refreshed compared to the night prior.

Elara had her scarf draped neatly around her neck, glowing faintly with every movement as she showed it off to all of the classmates, who all were intrigued by the accessory, especially Miranda, who wanted one for herself.

As for Lilian, she looked effortlessly composed, her long coat trailing behind her, the ruby choker at her neck pulsing with every beat of her heart.

Albedo, as usual, wore his calm like armor. His pistol rested holstered at his hip, his presence quiet but grounding.

They ate breakfast quickly, a spread of pale fruit that glowed softly and tea brewed from shadow petals. The taste was strange, half-sweet, half-bitterness that clung to the tongue, but it woke them.

Then, the sound of hooves as they left the inn, spotting the various carriages lined up in the courtyard of the Veiled Lantern Inn, their ghostly frames glimmering faintly beneath the silver-tinted morning mist.

The spectral horses snorted softly, their bodies translucent and veins glowing like molten rivers beneath glassy hide as they ate strange ghastly orbs fed to them by workers at the Inn.

The air was cold and heavy, but when the darkened mist parted, she appeared.

Queen Ysvara descended from the upper terrace like a fragment of night given form, her gown a river of starlight and void-silk, her long silver hair flowing as if underwater. Each of her steps left traces of faint luminescence that faded into the cobblestones.

The chattering of students died at once.

“Good morning, my dear guests,” Ysvara said, her voice smooth and unhurried, carrying through the courtyard as though the world itself leaned closer to hear. “I trust the night treated you kindly?”

A few nervous laughs rippled through the crowd. Elara straightened, clutching her notebook tighter, while Lilian merely raised a brow, amused as ever. Albedo inclined his head respectfully, his blue eyes meeting the Queen’s briefly.

Ysvara’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “I am pleased to hear your silence, it means you slept well enough not to complain.” The faintest trace of humor laced her tone before it softened, “Now, your journey continues. Please, board the carriages. The next Monument awaits and time is ticking.”

The shadows around her swirled faintly, parting to reveal the open road ahead, a path of shimmering gray mist that wound into the horizon.

Students began climbing into the carriages, the faint creak of enchanted metal and whispering of wards filling the air. Albedo followed behind Lilian and Elara, helping the latter up before settling opposite them.

The spectral reins snapped, and the first carriage began to move. Then another. Soon, all of them were rolling forward in eerie unison, wheels making no sound as they passed from stone into fog.

Finally, the carriages arrived outside of the fog, and exited the environment of the Shadow Isles, returning to a more foresty environment as the carriages swiftly moved.

Ysvara’s voice reached them again, this time a soft echo from the lead carriage, projected through threads of mana that danced faintly across the interior glass.

“Our destination,” she began, “is The Heartforge, the beating anvil of creation and ruin. It lies at the center of the Iron Crags, deep within the furnace veins of the world.”

Elara leaned forward, eyes wide, “The Heartforge… isn’t that where?”

“Where every relic that shaped our history was born,” Ysvara answered, as though reading her mind. “The Soul-Reaver blades of the Archdukes, the Shields of the Fallen, even the Obsidian Walls that once held back the Abyss, all were forged there. The Infernus Smiths, guard that place still. They are the oldest remaining Demon Tribe, as they’ve been forgers before written Demonic History,”

Her tone deepened, and for a fleeting moment, the carriages shuddered as though in reverence.

“The Heartforge is alive. A colossal forge of living brass and pulsating volcanic flesh, fed by rivers of magma that flow from the world’s heart. The smoke that rises from it is the planet’s breath itself.”

Elara shivered, half in awe, half in dread.

“How far?” Lilian asked, swirling the wine she’d carried into the carriage like it was morning tea.

“Two days,” Ysvara replied. “Two days through the Crimson Pass. Stay alert, I don’t want to intervene in any battles. These trips are training in of themself as well,”

Silence followed her words.

Albedo stared out the window. The Shadow Isles slowly receded behind them, swallowed by mist until they were nothing but memory. Ahead, the faint glow of red horizons hinted at the molten world waiting beyond.

Two days.

Two days until the Heartforge, the cradle of weapons, and perhaps, the place where he’d spot some of the greatest forgers in the world.

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