CHAPTER 85: VEL’RHAMEIR

Adrian helped both of them settle into a comfortable room. Two of course. Lucien was too innocent to live in a room with a lady and Gaya was too full of herself to share a room with anybody.

Regardless of her character flaw, Lucien still considered her a good person nonetheless.

After they settled in Lucien confirmed with PinkLashes once more about their meeting and also fed her the meeting place.

While they were coming back to the city, he had explained his condition to her over a voice call and even asked her to confirm on his behalf what was going on and she had promised that she would.

Because doing so would serve as a confirmation that he wasn’t trying to get smart with her. And perhaps he could really trust her to help him.

He did not like the idea that he had to trust someone at this point. He felt like it was a good time for any smart and cunning person to use him.

Still, he wasn’t left with much choice. Halo’s situation was very terrible. He’d rather be scammed than inconvenience a friend once more.

After spending two days, Lucien finally was ready to meet PinkLashes. It took two days because she had to travel from a distant desert as she had claimed.

He did not need an extravagant dress, his chinese-themed outfit was more than enough and made him a fine young man that ladies would fall head over heels for, if there wasn’t a large ugly scar above his eyes.

Lucien exhaled one more time as he looked at the mirror. He looked quite neat but also looked scary. It was satisfying.

Afterwards, he proceeded to step out of the room, which he met Gaya right at the door front with a tooth brush in her mouth.

She was as casually dress as a comfortable human could be. With a light shirt and a short that barely reached the middle of her thighs, displaying the freshness of her beautiful pale skin.

Lucien looked at her with a strange expression.

’What is she doing standing in front of my room with a toothbrush in her mouth...’

He raised a brow at her.

"What are you doing?"

Gaya’s response sounded muffled because of what was in her mouth.

"Brushing my teeth, what are you doing?"

Lucien looked at her blankly for a few seconds then he sighed and waved.

"I’m heading out."

Gaya frowned.

"Heading out? Heading out to where?"

Lucien waved her off and continued his walk.

He went through the broad passage hall of the Inn they were both staying, came down the stairs and eventually stepped into the light and into the pulse of the capital.

Vel’Rhameir was alive—its streets humming with the same meticulous rhythm as a symphony, but every note was a voice, a bell, a bootstep, a cartwheel, a merchant’s pitch.

The air carried warmth not just from the sun overhead, but from the constant swell of life moving through marble-tiled walkways and between canal-crossed alleys.

The scent of spiced shrimp and glazed lotus rice drifted through the open air. Children darted between legs, holding kites enchanted to hover inches off the ground, their laughter sharp against the background murmur. Couriers sprinted past in enchanted footwear, shouting polite warnings as they ricocheted off walls with perfect footing.

"Buy one, get two prayer fans! Cursed breeze resistant!"

"Only twenty lumens for a Skypearl bracelet! Cleaned by monks, kissed by the Spire!"

A robed man with glowing scrolls floating around his body was reciting fortune threads under a blue silk tent. His voice was melodic, paced like an incantation.

"Your fate is quiet now, but your shadow sings. Let me show you the verse."

Lucien walked past slowly, soaking it all in—the hawkers, the tourists, the clinking of Spirit Coins in pouches, the rhythmic boom of a ceremonial drum in the distance. A canal to his left glowed faintly beneath its surface; a ferry glided by, its hull shaped like a leaf, a woman lounging atop it under a parasol, sipping blue liquid from a crystal cup.

The capital city of Rhamira federation was a living, breathing organism—a carefully controlled chaos, gilded with wealth, tradition, and hidden teeth.

Lucien adjusted the high collar of his outfit and moved with the crowd. He didn’t know what PinkLashes looked like in person—she hadn’t sent a photo.

But at least he knew that she was the only person he was going to meet at the plaza near the Fifth Circle Courtyard, where performers and fortune-walkers gathered during midday.

He turned left at a crossing, passing beneath an archway carved with silver runes that shimmered as he passed. It was said these gateways measured one’s intent—not with judgment, but with remembrance.

Vel’Rhameir didn’t forget.

A pair of Wardens stood at attention near the steps to a bridge, their halberds upright, visors polished to a blinding shine. Lucien glanced at them and they didn’t move, but he could feel their gaze trail him with a quiet calculation.

Everything in Rhamira was precise—even its silence.

A young boy nearby was juggling glass orbs filled with colored mist, and with every toss, the orbs briefly changed shape—first a wolf, then a crescent moon, then a face Lucien thought he recognized. People applauded as coins clinked into a wooden bowl beside him.

More stalls lined the edge of the next plaza, which opened into a wide square circled by low steps and ancient statues of scholars and warriors. The air was thick with smoke—not fire, but incense and food: grilled mushrooms dipped in pepper oil, steamed dumplings infused with mana-rich broth, and spiritfruit slices packed in glowing leaves.

Lucien narrowed his eyes as he walked through the crowds, glancing left and right. Anyone could be her.

A woman in a long coat was selling charms that hummed faintly with passive mana, claiming they could ward off bad luck and seal anxiety.

"Only seven Lumens! Blessed by the Shrine of the Still Waters! And they sparkle, look!"

Lucien’s gaze passed over her and moved on.

He spotted the meeting point ahead—an open fountain plaza shaped like a lotus, its petals built from polished stone. Water flowed slowly from its center, calm and unbothered by the commotion around it.

The people moved like currents around him. Conversation flowed like overlapping melodies. And above it all, at the highest point of the city, he could still glimpse the shimmering towers of the Azure Spire—watching over the city like a silent god.

Lucien sat at the edge of the lotus-shaped fountain, one leg folded over the other, arms resting loosely on his knees. His gaze drifted lazily across the crowds. A breeze rolled through the plaza, catching stray petals that had blown in from some distant terrace. The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, clashing softly with the sharper notes of sizzling meat and steamed spice from nearby vendors.

Despite the noise, there was peace.

He needed that.

Lucien pulled up his system interface, marked the meeting time again—just to be sure—and glanced around once more before standing up. He took a few unhurried steps to a small stall nested beneath a shade of amber parasails. The sign above was stitched in both Standard and Vellic script:

"Stillbrew Stall – Spirits for Every Soul"

Behind the stall was an elderly woman with eyes like slits of jade and hair braided with silver cords. She bowed shallowly when she saw him approach, her expression unreadable but respectful.

Her voice was like silk drawn across a blade.

"What will calm your mind, young traveler?"

Lucien looked over the glowing wooden display. Bottles pulsed faintly with enchantments—colors shifting inside like liquid moodstones. He pointed at a midnight-blue brew swirling in a curved glass.

"That one. The one that looks like the night is still thinking."

The woman gave a rare, small smile.

"Ah. The Silent Sky Brew. A good choice. Cold, crisp, and clears the head. First sip makes the world pause."

He passed her a few lumens, then watched as she carefully poured the drink into a small, etched cup. No bigger than his palm. She slid it across the counter like a ritual offering.

Lucien took the drink and walked back toward the fountain, this time choosing a seat with a better view of the plaza’s entrance. He held the cup close to his nose. It smelled faintly of mint, but with something else beneath it—like old paper or fresh ink.

He sipped.

The effect was instant. Not magic. Not explosive.

Just quiet.

Like the moment between breaths.

The plaza’s noise seemed to soften, its colors deepen. The fountain’s flowing water took on a rhythm that matched the slowing beat of his heart.

Lucien leaned back, eyes half-lidded, the scar over his eye twitching faintly as the wind brushed against it. The cup remained in his hand, still half full.

It was the first time he’d sat still in days.

And maybe the last time he’d feel still for a while.