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{Chapter: 86: Academy Flower Danger}
While following the leader in front of him, Charles couldn't help but lean toward Saya and whisper softly, his eyes still lingering on the memory of what they'd just passed. "The flowers just now were so beautiful, weren't they? Like something from a dream."
Saya, who was walking beside him, nodded with a slight smile. The faint scent of the air still clung to her senses. "Indeed," she replied with a tone of wonder. "I've never seen flowers like those in my entire life. They shimmered like jewels in the morning light... like they weren't even real. They almost seemed to call to me." Her voice turned wistful. "I really wanted to pick a few. Just two would've been enough."
Despite remembering their instructor's warning about not wandering off, their curiosity hadn't been dulled. In fact, for most of the first-year students walking behind the guide, the allure of the flower field remained fresh and vivid in their minds.
Conversations like theirs weren't rare. Dozens of similar hushed exchanges passed between students like ripples in a pond. Humans were naturally drawn to beauty, and the sea of vibrant blossoms they had just seen seemed crafted specifically to captivate. Petals the color of crimson-red danced gently in the breeze, with scent so intoxicating they seemed to bypass reason and speak directly to emotion.
The instructor leading the group, a middle-aged wizard clad in black robes faded by time, heard the whispers trailing behind him. With a subtle curl of his lip, he scoffed under his breath and continued walking without turning back.
"Fools," he muttered. "If they weren't protected by the Academy's seals, they'd be corpses fertilizing those flowers by now."
He had lived and served at the Academy for more than four decades, yet in all that time, he had never dared step beyond the protective enchantments when passing by the infamous flower field. And for good reason.
No one knew the true origin of the Death Bloom Meadow—as it had come to be called—but all agreed it was one of the most dangerous phenomena inside the Academy grounds. Even otherworldly beasts avoided it. Even the boldest of magi gave it a wide berth.
The instructor had only seen the guardian of the flowers one time, but legends abounded. Some said it was a primordial spirit older than the mountains, sealed by the Founder of the Academy himself. Others claimed the flowers were the guardian—each one a shard of a greater consciousness watching, waiting, luring.
Only one thing was known for certain: the sea of blossoms was no ordinary field of flora.
Years ago, the Dean himself—a Fifth Circle Archmage and one of the strongest spellcasters on the continent—had issued a strict command. No wizard below the Third Circle was to approach within twenty meters of the inner bloom. The flowers exhaled a strange vapor that could cause irreversible effects on even the most resilient mages. Illnesses of the mind, mutations of the flesh, and subtle spiritual corrosion had all been reported by the few reckless enough to test the warnings.
The instructor still remembered the last time someone had tried. A student, confident in their resistance spells, had attempted to pluck one of the central blossoms. They returned three days later, eyes hollow, fingers covered in bark, and speaking a language no one understood. The student now resided in the Silent Tower—a place reserved for the incurably mad.
Since then, the field had been designated off-limits, and protective runes had been etched into the stones along the path to suppress its alluring aura.
Still, beauty had a way of reaching through caution.
Saya, blissfully unaware of the instructor's thoughts, looked up at the towering structures that surrounded them. Great spires pierced the sky like the bones of ancient gods. Stained glass windows shimmered with enchantments, and arcane patterns etched into every wall hummed with invisible power. A faint warmth radiated from the stone beneath their feet, pulsing in time with the heartbeat of the Academy itself.
To Saya, it was like entering a dream long yearned for. This place, this sanctuary of mysticism and might, would be her home for years to come.
He turned to Charles and said, "Can you believe we'll be studying here? I feel like I'm trespassing in the temple of some forgotten god."
Charles chuckled lightly but shared the sentiment. "Even the air feels different here. It's heavier, like it's filled with secrets."
As they walked further, their instructor continued ahead without looking back, but his thoughts wandered. He remembered his own days as an apprentice. The sleepless nights, the failed rituals, the times his limbs went numb from failed spellcasting experiments.
In those days, he had nearly died more times than he cared to remember. And every time, he learned a hard lesson: the world of magic was not a gentle one. There was no kindness here, only ambition and consequence.
Knowledge was power. But it was also poison.
Instructors, mentors, and senior Wizards rarely gave anything away freely. Wisdom was doled out like scraps, and every lesson came with a cost. Apprentices were little more than tools—expendable, plentiful, and useful only so long as they showed potential. The moment they stagnated or failed, they were left behind like broken wands.
He glanced back briefly at the group of wide-eyed freshmen and sighed. Most of them wouldn't survive the trials of the next decade.
And even those who did would never be the same again.
Saya, meanwhile, remained unaware of the dark thoughts swirling in her teacher's mind. He ran a hand along a nearby pillar, marveling at the intricate carvings. The designs depicted grand duels, divine beings locked in combat, and forgotten monsters sealed by magic so ancient it was no longer taught.
He stopped walking for a moment and whispered, "This place... it's alive."
Charles looked back at her. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know," he replied, glancing around slowly. "It feels like... the Academy is watching us. Like it's judging whether we're worthy."
He gave a nervous laugh. "Well, let's hope we pass."
As he walked along the cobbled path steeped in the scent of age and magic, Saya couldn't help but feel a quiet reverence settle over him. The buildings that rose on either side of the road were not merely constructed from stone and mortar, but from generations of wisdom, power, and mystery. Moss clung to the edges of the archways like aging lace, and the walls bore carvings so fine and intricate that they seemed to whisper forgotten spells with every passing breeze. Each glyph etched into the stone shimmered faintly under the glow of the enchanted lanterns swaying from iron posts.
This place, this ancient academy of magic, was not just a temporary stop for him; it was to become his world.
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