Chapter 201: Chapter 194: Preparation before the big day
[25 August: 16:44 Post ridiem]
[Galadriel: Capital City]
The Capital City of Galadriel Was Alive.
From the towering stone walls that stood tall against the alleyways bustling with rchants and festivalgoers, from the noble districts where banners of crimson and gold hung regally upon the wrought-iron balconies to the chaotic yet srizing market squares bursting with the intoxicating aroma of roasted ats and wines—every single inch of the grand capital pulsed with the heartbeat of festivity.
The Festival of Octavia had almost begun.
The entire city had erupted into a spectacle of color, music, and revelry, as if the air itself carried the essence of celebration. The sky stretched vast and endless above, its deep blue hue unmarred by a single cloud. The golden rays of the sun poured down in a warm drop, illuminating the grand stonework of the towering buildings and the wooden eaves of the half-timbered houses that lined the streets, each structure adorned with hanging lanterns, ribbons, and banners of deep red, royal blue, and silver—colors sacred to the Goddess.
At every turn, magnificent statues of Octavia stood as reminders of the deity’s many aspects, each a masterpiece crafted by the hands of devoted artisans. So depicted her as a mighty warrior, clad in resplendent plate armor, an ethereal blade clutched in her gauntleted grip. Others captured her as a sorceress, robes flowing as if caught in the wind, eyes alight with power as her hands were outstretched. So, in contrast, presented her as a guiding navigator, one hand clutching a map, the other grasping an intricately carved compass, her gaze locked onto the horizons.
And yet, no matter how varied the representations, one truth remained constant: Octavia was revered.
The streets, paved with polished cobblestones were nearly invisible beneath the sheer throngs of people—humans and demi-humans alike, all reveling in the unrestrained joy of the occasion. The magnitude of voices, laughter, and music lded together into a collection of life.
rchants stood atop wooden platforms, shouting over one another, their voices overlapping as they attempted to entice passersby with their wares.
"Fresh honeyed dates from the southern isles! A delicacy fit for the Gods themselves!"
"Behold the finest silks of the Eastern Kingdoms, woven with enchanted threads to shimr under the moonlight!"
"Try your hand at the dice! Fortune favors the bold on this blessed day!"
A cluster of Lepus children—rabbit-eared demi-humans—wove through the crowd, their small hands clutching strings of floating paper lanterns shaped like ships, the soft golden glow of the flas within making them resemble miniature vessels of light drifting upon a sea. These lanterns were a sacred tradition, each symbolizing the guidance of Octavia over travelers, sailors, and those lost upon the vast, untad waters of the world.
Near one of the festival’s grand stages, a towering lion-eared demi-human with a regal red mane stood with his arms crossed, a confident grin splitting his face as he engaged in a ferocious arm-wrestling contest against a broad-shouldered human warrior. Their table trembled under the force of their struggle, veins bulging, muscles straining—until finally, with a mighty roar, the lion-eared warrior slamd his opponent’s arm onto the surface with enough force to nearly crack the wood. The crowd erupted into cheers.
At the heart of a lavishly decorated fountain—one that had been temporarily repurposed as a wishing well dedicated to Octavia—a young girl with fox-like tails stood on her tiptoes, carefully dropping a gold coin into the rippling water. The mont the coin vanished beneath the surface, the carvings upon the fountain’s marble edges shimred with a faint, magical glow—a sign that the Goddess had received her wish.
Further along the avenue, a group of elaborately dressed bards had gathered beneath the shade of a great oak, their fingers dancing along the strings of wooden lutes as they played lodies so rich and vibrant that festivalgoers could not help but sway to the rhythm. Nearby, a troupe of armored dancers stomped in synchronized unison, reenacting the legendary battles waged by Octavia herself in ages long past.
The sound of clashing steel rang out from an open dueling ring, where knights, rcenaries, and even commoners could test their ttle in honorable combat, each match carried out under the sacred na of the Goddess. The crowd surged with each expertly parried strike, every duel a showing of skill and devotion alike.
At the city’s grand harbor, where the scent of brine and salt mingled with the festival’s aromas, sailors and shipwrights gathered to offer prayers to Octavia, their voices a chorus of gratitude. Dozens of ceremonial paper ships, enchanted to hover above the water, drifted lazily along the docks, their delicate sails alight with golden flas. One by one, they ascended into the sky, vanishing into the heavens—a tribute to the Goddess’s guidance over those who traversed the endless seas.
At the heart of Galadriel, the Grand Temple of Octavia stood in all its glory—a marvel of craftsmanship. Its towering pillars bore carvings of the Goddess’s countless deeds, each chiseled with such masterful precision that the figures seed to co alive. The temple’s vast dod ceiling was adorned with constellations.
At the temple’s central altar, a priestess clad in flowing white and red robes stood before a colossal statue of Octavia sculpted entirely from sapphire. The polished surface of the divine effigy radiated an otherworldly glow.
Hundreds knelt before the altar, whispering their prayers—so seeking victory in battle, others guidance in the unknown, and a few simply wishing for safe travels and protection. For this single day, there was no war, no conflict, no strife.
Only faith. Only celebration. Only unity.
And amidst this sea of joy, two figures moved through the lively marketplace—one draped in black, the other bathed in ethereal light.
Mikoto and Telluris.
The jubilant roar of the festival only grew louder as Mikoto and Telluris continued their stroll through the marketplace, the density of life pressing in on them from all sides. The sll of sizzling ats, honeyed pastries, and exotic spices intermingled with the scent of burning incense, offered in reverence to Octavia at small shrines dotting the streets. The vibrancy of it all was almost overwhelming.
The crowd parted unconsciously in his wake, eyes lingering on the ominous black armor that clung to his fra. He knew it wasn’t just the armor—they could feel sothing from him, the ’phase’ already gripped him, his animosity spiking. Yet despite the attention, no one dared approach him directly.
Telluris, on the other hand, was an entirely different force. Where Mikoto inspired unease, she inspired awe. Her very being radiated a kind of serenity, her golden-antlered silhouette resembling sothing out of a sacred painting. She exuded warmth, the kind that made strangers smile as they passed, their eyes reflecting admiration, curiosity, and even a touch of blissful love.
It was a sight so paradoxical that Mikoto almost found it amusing.
A particularly loud cheer from a nearby ring of spectators drew Mikoto’s attention. An impromptu wrestling match had reached its climax—a wolf-eared demi-human, a towering figure of raw muscle, had finally slamd his human opponent onto the makeshift wooden platform. A thunderous boom echoed as the planks nearly gave way beneath the impact. The crowd erupted in applause, so exchanging coins after losing their wagers, others clapping the victor on the back.
Mikoto snorted, shaking his head. "A festival for the Goddess of War, Magic, and Navigation, and people are spending their ti wrestling? That seems more in line with so God of brute force."
Telluris let out a chi-like giggle, the sound so light and pure that it almost seed to purify the air itself. "Ah, but war is not rely fought with weapons, is it not? Strength, endurance, and spirit—they all play a role in battle. Perhaps this is simply their way of honoring Octavia’s martial aspect."
Mikoto humd in response.
"Would you like to try?" she teased, her oceanic eyes glimring mischievously.
Mikoto shot her a flat look, his helt hiding his exasperation. "Yeah, no."
"Afraid of losing?"
He scoffed. "Afraid of wasting my ti."
Telluris smiled knowingly but didn’t push further. She could tell he had no interest in the spectacle. Instead, she redirected their path toward sothing else.
They found themselves near a small gathering of street perforrs—dancers moving in synchronized patterns, weaving between streams of colored smoke conjured by illusionists. The figures twisted and spun, their flowing garnts catching the light of the floating lanterns above. A lody, played by bards wielding silver-stringed lutes, filled the space between movent, casting an almost hypnotic spell over those who watched.
Mikoto and Telluris slowed their pace, montarily observing the performance.
Telluris exhaled softly. "How marvelous... The way they move, like flowing water. It reminds
of how the waves embrace the shores."
Mikoto crossed his arms, silently watching. "They’re not bad," he admitted, his tone neutral. "Good footwork. Wouldn’t trip in a fight."
Telluris turned to him with an amused look. "You need not always view everything through the lens of combat, you know."
He shrugged. "A new habit."
She humd thoughtfully before her gaze shifted to a different section of the street—a row of wooden booths, each one dedicated to various festival gas.
Her expression brightened. "Oh! Let us partake in so of these!"
Mikoto blinked. "What?"
Telluris was already gliding toward one of the stands, her robes flowing. For a being eons old she was almost childishly excited. The booth she approached was lined with neatly arranged wooden targets, each one painted with symbols. The ga was simple—hit the targets with small, weighted throwing knives.
The old vendor, a bearded man with kind eyes, grinned as Telluris approached. "Ah! A fine choice, my lady. Test your aim! Strike true, and you may win a prize."
Telluris clasped her hands together in delight. "How intriguing. Mikoto, would you care to join ?"
He stared at her for a long mont. "You do realize you could literally hit every target without even trying, right?"
She tilted her head innocently. "Is that not the point?"
Mikoto shook his head, knowing there was no getting out of this. "Fine."
The vendor handed them each three throwing knives. Telluris took hers delicately, as if holding sothing precious, while Mikoto handled his with ease, twirling one between his fingers.
Telluris stepped forward first, raising a knife with grace. The movent was effortless, her stance as elegant as flowing calligraphy. She flicked her wrist, and the blade glided through the air—silent, precise—before sinking dead center into the target.
The crowd around them gasped in admiration.
"Shocking." Mikoto quipped.
Telluris turned to him with an expectant look. "Your turn."
Mikoto stepped up, his movents utterly devoid of the grace Telluris had displayed. He simply lifted a knife and flicked his wrist with chanical movents. The blade shot forward and struck the target with pinpoint accuracy.
Another gasp from the spectators.
The vendor chuckled. "Quite the skilled pair, aren’t you?"
Telluris smiled warmly. "Mikoto is a rather talented individual."
Mikoto clicked his tongue. "It’s just basic hand-eye coordination."
Telluris leaned in slightly, her voice carrying an almost playful lilt. "Then I suppose I shall have to challenge you to sothing more engaging, yes?"
Before Mikoto could protest, she had already moved on to another booth.
After an hour of being dragged to various festival attractions—each one with its own flair, from enchanted puzzle gas to small dueling exhibitions—Mikoto found himself growing... not tired, exactly, but aware of how much ti had passed.
Eventually, Telluris slowed her steps, her gaze lingering on the shifting colors of the sky. "It is almost ti for the evening’s celebration," she mused.
Mikoto exhaled, running a hand over the alloy of his gauntlet. "Yeah. Guess I should start heading to the castle. Apparently the competitors of the other nations are coming too, we probably won’t see each other for awhile. And sorry for my attitude, seems this ’phase’ crap already has a hold on ."
Telluris turned to him, her expression softer now. "It has been a delightful day either way, Mikoto. I hope, even if only slightly, you were able to enjoy it."
Mikoto hesitated for the briefest of monts before responding, his voice quieter than usual. "...Yeah. It wasn’t bad."
Telluris bead at that, her ethereal beauty only magnified by the soft glow of the festival lights.
She then took a step closer, lowering her voice as she spoke, "Should you need guidance in what is to co, do not hesitate to seek ."
Mikoto stared at her for a long mont before looking away. "We’ll see."
Telluris let out a small chuckle before taking a graceful step back. "Then I shall bid you good luck, Mikoto. And please, should you encounter Naga again... do try to be gentle."
Mikoto huffed, crossing his arms. "No promises."
Telluris smiled, her figure frad against the lantern-lit backdrop of the festival, before turning and walking away, leaving Mikoto alone in the glow of the celebration.
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