The perma cra the sky was, amusingly, not that close to the atmosphere of the phere was still, in the grand scheme of things, a vast chasm between them.
But paring that chasm to the distao the moon? Please. The moon was a vacation home in the distant suburbs of space—way, way farther.
So, even with a mighty dragon, they still hree hours to reach their destination. A’s not overlook the delightful detour they had to take to dodge the ever-watchful outsiders.
“‘Tis hardly a challeo evade the refle of their vessels' radar signals,” Isaiah said, “yet I did traverse this very path at dawer to be cautious than tret,” he added halfway there.
Burn had seamlessly adapted to the vast embrace of space, verting his mana to satisfy his need for oxygen. All else, including the toll of their breakneck journey on his physique, had been effectively ralized by his swiftly evolving form.
Man, in stark trast, encased her body in a veritable fortress of spells, whispered every few minutes like a well-rehearsed intation.
“Thou art rarely oo encumber thyself with spells for proteiss Momo,” Isaiah remarked dryly. “Thou typically dost depend upon thine infinite soul to rebuild thy form or merely shroud thyself in a co of high-density mana to craft a fortable atmosphere.”
“Since Merlin, I have e to appreciate the art ality,” Man sneered, sending her sound transmission with magibsp;
Burn, however, khe truth beh her fa?ade. It was nality that had prompted her spells; it was because of the reserves of soul energy she would require to maintain the burden of the curse.
“Almost there,” Isaiah said, his voice barely masking the thrill of their dest as they he moon's gravity.
In mere moments, he had nded safely atop the sandy surface. Everything looked bleak and monotohe sky was a void of bck, unashamedly prog it was ‘daytime,’ while the su—if it could be called that—wouldn’t arrive for another week.
“The gravity… is amusing,” Burn mused after jumping down from Isaiah’s head, his toraying a mix of fasation and absurdity. “Floaty, but not really. A real treat for the senses.”
Man managed a smile, her spells nrammed to keep her safe until they returo the radiant blue orb of hermere.
She gazed at the p, speckled with wispy white clouds and patches of gree, most of it was a dreary shade of gray, an unfortunate reminder of the corruption.
Suddenly, an unwele wave of sadness swept over her. Ah yes, the stunning trast of celestial beauty versus bleak reality—a tale as old as time.
“It is not thy fault, fair Miss Momo,” Isaiah decred, his massive body rendered light and agile in this low-gravity enviro. “e, let us make our way to the chamber of treasures.”
Burn csped her hand, and now, in this strange gravity, her movements resembled a graceful dancer, flitting about like a white deer. Or was it a little white bunny?
“You are the bunny, Caliburn,” Maed. “Caliburn. Burn. Bunny.”
“Fine, you are Lady g’e, then," Burn ceded.
“I o longer indulge this folly. This is the moon, not your honeymoon,” Isaiah remarked wearily, adapting into making a pun of the situation.
“How did you usually visit this pce without him?” Burn asked.
Man shrugged her shoulders. “Fly here?”
Burhat he shouldn’t have asked.
“But I’d least ten days just to reach here,” Man answered.
With that, Burn uood why Man didn’t want to leave by herself. There was no sourana after they left the atmosphere, and she had to rely solely on her soul to produce mana.
Not to mention, her body was built like a regur human’s. Or worse. She wasn’t some dragon equipped to withstand a jaunt to the moon and ba a few hours.
But maybe the real reason she en days was that she wasn’t in a hurry. Why race when you could gracefully tank the brutal spaviro with just your soul?
Isaiah, oher hand, wasn’t as lucky. He preferred to sprint to their destination, desperate to escape the lovely embrace of radiation exposure.
Among the tless moon craters y a cave, modestly cealed uhe t grandeur of one of its mountains—not that anyone would be fooled by its humble appearanbsp;
Isaiah, ever the practical one, resumed his humanoid form before entering the small entrahough it was abundantly clear there was a backd enough for his dragoo waltz through.
But since he was burdened with Man and Burn, he graciously opted for the more intimate route. After all, nothing screams “team bonding” quite like squeezing into a tight space together.
What they entered could scarcely be called a chamber—it was more of a great hall, a grandiose reminder of nature’s fir for the dramatibsp;
Grand stairs cascaded down from the entrance, designed with all the artistry of a seasoned architect rather than whatever ic force had shaped this cave.
The tall pilrs, intricately carved with magic that almost appeared to have grown anically from the cave itself, beed admiration—even if they were just rocks showing off.
As for the stairs, calling them “designed for better mobility” was a charming uatement.
Ih's gravity, they’d have been appropriate fiants; here in low gravity, they were like a welat for humans, or at least, beings with simir proportions and the appropriate mass to avoid tripping and falling.
But it wasn’t yet their destination. No, no—further, deeper into the cave awaited another entrance. As if the st one wasn’t grand enough, now stood a majestic treasure chamber entrance, plete with giant, decorated stoe doors that seemed to impose on their approabsp;
Isaiah, the seven-foot-tall humanoid form of a dragon, shoved them open with one hand. Ah, the sweet, melodious sound of stone protesting like it hadn’t had its m coffee—what a symphony of deep, groaning echoes!
There wasly light illuminating the space, but rather… a subtle glow. Nothing too impressive. Obviously, they hadn’t bothered with lightbulbs in this a ir.
Burn widened his eyes at the sight of tless gemstones and ores—because who doesn’t need a little bling in their life? Magic artifacts and piles upon piles of gold, like the dragons had decided to hoard every shiny object sihe dawn of time.
But the true star of this show, the pièce de résistance, erched nontly at the top, floating as if it had better things to do than sit on a shelf.
It was an hss. An ouroboros coiled around its body, a snake quite pleased with its eternal loop, as if saying, “Time? What’s that?” But it trasted with what floated i: infinite golden sand.
Man reached forward.
“This is my catalyst, Mnemosyne’s Aeons.”
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