CHAPTER 325: THE LAST SPIRE

Ethan glanced at her, not just with curiosity, but with the kind of look that came when words lingered between people who had already shared too much silence.

"Because of this morning?" he asked, his voice low—not defensive, just honest.

Everly exhaled softly, then tilted her head as if sorting through a dozen answers before settling on just one.

"No," she replied, slowly at first, then with a pause that let the moment breathe. "Well... maybe.

But mainly because of everything that’s already happened. The cult. The Forbidden Zone. You. Us. It’s like we skipped the part where we were just regular students."

Evelyn, who had been quiet, looked between them with a calm sort of attentiveness. She wasn’t trying to interrupt or shift the moment, just letting it settle before adding, "We’re not normal students. But maybe that’s exactly why we’re here."

The tram hummed beneath them, its motion fluid and soft, gliding along the track like it had all the time in the world.

Outside the transparent windows, the campus gave way to lower ridges and soft green rises. Nothing about the scenery felt urgent. And inside the tram, for once, neither did they.

There was no sprint left in them. No chase. No looming deadline. And for the first time since the exam trials ended, Ethan felt as though they weren’t being hunted—by the unknown, by their own pasts, by fate.

There was still tension, sure. The future wasn’t something they could predict or hide from, and danger had a way of showing up uninvited.

But right now, as they sat quietly together, moving through the hills of Astralis with nothing between them except quiet and warmth, Ethan didn’t feel that cold weight he used to carry in his chest.

The kind that reminded him he was alone. The kind that whispered he always would be.

And maybe that made all the difference.

The shuttle began to slow as it descended toward City Vale, the landscape opening up into layered tiers of campus sprawl.

From a distance, the district didn’t look like anything special—just a lower extension of the university nestled against the cliffs.

But as they passed the outer ridge and dipped beneath the shimmering boundary, everything changed.

Unlike the central university grounds, which were defined by pristine towers, geometric plazas, and polished white-stone columns, City Vale looked like something grown from the land rather than imposed upon it.

Wide glass domes rose like bubbles, their translucent surfaces veined with glowing vines that moved slowly through the structure, shifting color in rhythm with the sun.

Walkways curved and looped in layered spirals, suspended midair with transparent floors, allowing anyone walking above to see the soft gardens, ponds, and quiet study corners far below.

It was less a city and more a floating forest embedded with light, warmth, and a sense of quiet pride.

The architecture felt deliberate—not in its complexity but in its lack of attempt to impress.

The buildings here curved with the earth, adjusted to the terrain instead of flattening it.

Every wall shimmered faintly with light-reactive patterns, responding to shifts in temperature and emotional presence like living skin.

There were no massive gates or glowing signs demanding attention. Everything was integrated. Comfortable. Human.

When the shuttle doors opened with a soft chime, Ethan stepped out first, breathing in air that was no longer filtered and recycled like the dorms, but alive with the morning.

It carried the scent of real bread baking from a shop just down the slope, the soft sweetness of fruit steamed in one of the corner carts, and the deeper richness of roasted beans drifting from what he guessed was a café nearby.

The noise was different too—less chatter, more hum. Older students moved at their own pace, unhurried and dressed with effortless style. City Vale wasn’t made for impressing guests. It was made for living.

Evelyn took the lead without really meaning to; her pace relaxed as she adjusted the strap of her cross-body satchel and looked over her shoulder.

"There’s a place I saw last week," she said, not raising her voice but just enough to reach them both. "Courtyard café near one of the low fountains. It’s quiet. Not too busy."

Everly bumped her shoulder lightly, smirking. "You and your low fountains."

Evelyn didn’t even flinch. She just kept walking, expression serene.

Ethan followed, not out of obligation but because something about the way they walked—three people, not in sync but in harmony—felt right.

The pathway beneath their feet was made from a soft, transparent composite that flexed gently with each step.

Unlike the solid stone of the main walkways, this one gave the sensation of walking across a shallow stream.

Through the material, Ethan could see a small fishpond below, glowing faintly with reflected beams of sunlight.

The water didn’t ripple from wind, but from hidden motion beneath the surface. There was life here—structured but wild in small ways. And for once, no one tried to tame it.

They reached the café a few minutes later. It was tucked into a slope below the walkway, invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.

There were no flashing panels or welcoming slogans. Just a small tiered entrance and the sound of water flowing gently along the stone wall.

Inside, the space opened into a wide circular courtyard, partially covered by a woven canopy that filtered the sun into shifting patterns on the ground.

The tables were scattered in organic clusters. They were low, round, and made of a smooth crystalline material that pulsed gently with light when touched.

The waterfall curved along one side of the space, its wall translucent and ever-changing, casting glimmering reflections across every surface.

They sat down at one of the side tables, slightly apart from the others but still open to the main view. In the center of the table, a round disc was embedded into the surface.

There were no buttons, no screens.

Everly reached out first, pressing her palm gently onto the disc. The table responded with a soft light, cycling through images of drinks—each one paired with a subtle tone.

To choose, all one had to do was hold their focus on the tone and tap once again. There were no orders or menus—just intent.

Ethan chose a sea-salt chocolate brew—part curiosity, part memory. Lilith had once told him it was her favorite drink when she passed through Astralis for a performance. That alone made it worth trying.

Everly picked something vibrant and over-the-top: a sparkling hibiscus infusion with floating mana crystals that shimmered like stars.

She looked pleased with herself, as if the prettier the drink, the more justified her choice.

Evelyn, as expected, selected a jasmine blend laced with mana, which was simple and elegant, without bothering to explain it.

The drinks arrived on a silent tray that hovered beside their table and lowered itself just enough for them to reach.

There was no robotic voice, no mechanical clank, just quiet motion and a soft aroma.

Everly was the first to try hers. She took a small sip, smiled faintly, and gave Ethan a sideways look that said she was about to say something ridiculous.

"You’re way too boyfriend material, you know that?"

He raised an eyebrow, halfway to taking his first sip. "How does that even relate to your drink?"

She leaned in slightly, chin balanced in one palm. "It doesn’t. Just felt like saying it. You’re making this whole ’first-year romantic bonding’ arc a little too convenient."

Evelyn sipped from her cup without looking up, but her lips curved ever so slightly. "I don’t mind."

Ethan reached toward the edge of the tray and picked up one of the mooncakes—light, delicate pastries with translucent jam centers that gleamed softly under the morning light. He broke off a piece and, without a word, held it out toward Everly.

She raised a brow, clearly amused, but didn’t hesitate. She leaned in and bit the piece straight from his fingers without looking away.

"You’re really committing to the whole ’feed your women’ theme, huh?" she said, but her voice had lost its teasing edge. It was quieter now. More real.

Ethan turned to Evelyn and offered the next piece. She paused for a breath and then accepted it, brushing his fingers with her lips.

"Thank you," she said, the words gentle but full.

They stayed like that for a while. Just eating. Drinking. Not speaking unless it mattered.

Eventually, Evelyn reached out and picked up a folded piece of thin material that had been tucked along the edge of the table.

The surface pulsed softly with contact, displaying projected letters midair:

Astralis Theater Club Presents: The Last Spire – 3 PM in the Central Plaza.

She tilted her head, then looked at the others.

"It’s free. And it’s nearby."

Everly glanced at Ethan. "Wanna go?"

He shrugged, the kind of shrug that already meant yes.

"Sure. Why not?"

They didn’t rush to leave. Instead, they sat for a few more minutes, watching students move above and below—some walking hand-in-hand, others wandering alone.

Through the flow of light conversation and soft clinking cups, one voice caught Ethan’s attention.