{Chapter: 118: Hart}
He stood still, his boots sinking slightly into the mossy ground beneath him, his eyes fixed on the elaborate, time-worn sign swaying gently above the overgrown path. The polished wood had faded under years of sun, wind, and arcane energy, yet the carved letters still glowed faintly with a subtle crimson hue: Sea of Death Flowers.
Behind the sign, a breathtaking expanse of crimson and violet petals stretched toward the horizon, swaying like a living ocean in the late afternoon breeze. The air was thick with the overwhelming fragrance of thousands—perhaps millions—of blooming flowers. It was beautiful in a way that bordered on eerie, like a dream one might not be able to wake from. But beauty in the Heart of Silence Academy often carried a price.
Hart took a slow, steady breath, his fingers clenching the fabric of his cloak as he stood at the threshold. He didn't move, not right away. His body was rigid, like a statue carved in hesitation. A thousand doubts flared in his chest.
Should I really go in?
Will I come back out?
He'd heard the stories, of course. Every apprentice had. This wasn't just another part of the academy; it was one of its forbidden zones, whispered about in late-night dormitory conversations and cursed in secret by those who had dared to approach and barely returned alive. But for Hart, it wasn't curiosity that brought him here. It was despair. Desperation. And pride.
He clenched his jaw and exhaled shakily. "It's not like anyone would miss me if I vanished," he muttered.
In the world of wizards, your worth was defined the moment you awakened your magical potential. A system of rankings—ruthless in its simplicity—separated the chosen from the rest: Levels One through Five, with Level One being those born with astounding magical affinity and destiny etched into their very soul. Those were the prodigies, the heroes-in-the-making. Hart, tragically, was born with Level Five talent—the lowest rank possible. An afterthought. A background character. Filler.
In the Silent Heart Academy, such people were treated marginally better than the non-magical commoners who served the towers and scrubbed the floors. Not because they were respected, but because they could still generate sparks, still channel a trickle of power. But to Hart, who had grown up believing he was special—gifted, even—that treatment was unbearable.
He had entered the academy full of fire and ambition, convinced he would rise above the rest. That confidence had shattered quickly. Over the past year, ridicule had replaced respect, and pity had replaced admiration. He could still hear the sneers of the other apprentices echoing in his mind.
"Why even bother trying?"
"He'll never pass the first trial."
"He's just here to make the rest of us look good."
But none of that mattered now. Not when he stood at the edge of something ancient and dangerous. Something forbidden. Something that, if it didn't kill him, might change everything.
And so, despite the pounding of his heart, despite the chill crawling up his spine, Hart lifted one foot and stepped across the threshold into the Sea of Flowers.
Instantly, the world changed.
There was no flash of light. No rumble of earth. No trap waiting to consume him whole. Instead, everything became quiet. Unnaturally quiet. The kind of silence that pressed against the eardrums, making one hyper-aware of their heartbeat, their breath, the sound of their own thoughts.
The scent hit him next—thicker, stronger, and more intoxicating than before. Outside the barrier, it had been a subtle floral aroma. Inside, it was everything. Sweet, earthy, rich, and cloying. Like being submerged in a warm bath of nectar. It was overwhelming. Disorienting.
He felt lightheaded, as though the air itself was heavy with magic.
He paused and glanced around. The flowers brushed against his calves and knees, but they didn't part like grass or bend like wheat. They held their ground with unnatural stillness, undisturbed by his presence. Red mist clung to their petals like a second skin, pulsing faintly in sync with some invisible rhythm.
Hart reached out instinctively—drawn by an urge he couldn't explain—but stopped just before his fingers touched one of the blossoms. Something in his gut twisted. A primal warning. These flowers weren't for picking.
A memory surfaced in his mind, unbidden and vivid: an older student, trembling, wrapped in bandages, whispering feverishly in the infirmary, "I only brushed one with my sleeve... It felt like fire under my skin. It's still burning..."
He snatched his hand back and took another cautious step.
Then something strange happened.
A whisper—not a sound, but a feeling—curled in the back of his mind. A gentle nudge. A direction. As though someone—or something—had placed a map into his thoughts without words. He suddenly knew which way to walk, which turns to take, even though the sea of flowers looked identical in every direction.
Hart's heart skipped a beat. This had to be the guardian's doing.
According to rumor, the Sea of Death Flowers was not merely protected by wards or golems. It was ruled by a being of immense power—so ancient and powerful that even the academy's archmages did not dare provoke him. Some claimed he was a fifth-level wizard who had transcended mortality. Others believed he was something else entirely—a creature born of magic itself, a relic from an older age.
Hart had no idea which story was true. He only knew that stepping into this place meant submitting to that being's will.
He knew in his mind that this was the guardian's method, and at the same time he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the sign outside was not a trick, otherwise he would have already laid down.
Still, he pressed on, following the invisible guidance. His feet moved almost against his will, threading through the flowerbeds without ever breaking a petal. It was as though the sea of blossoms parted for him, subtly, almost imperceptibly, allowing him passage.
Minutes passed. Or was it hours?
Time was difficult to track here. The sky above remained unchanged, frozen in a twilight hue. There was no sun, no shadows, only the eternal sway of the scarlet and violet blossoms.
Eventually, the landscape shifted.
The flowers gave way to a clearing—circular, pristine, and utterly silent.
After what felt like an eternity walking through the sea of crimson blossoms, Hart finally saw something—anything—that broke the mesmerizing monotony of the endless scarlet landscape. At first glance, it was difficult to tell what he was looking at. The object ahead was not a structure, not a tree, not a creature—at least, not in any traditional sense. It was still a flower, just like all the others that blanketed this forbidden garden. But this one was impossibly large, as though the gods themselves had plucked a single blossom from the sea and enlarged it a thousandfold for their amusement.
It towered above the others like a blood-colored monolith, its thick, velvety petals slowly swaying as if breathing. Each petal was as wide as a carriage, unfurling lazily in the soft, uncanny breeze that swept across the Sea of Death Flowers. The air here was so saturated with fragrance that it became almost intoxicating—sickly sweet, like honey boiling on a fire.
Hart slowed his steps instinctively. Though the crushing silence of the flower field remained unchanged, something in his bones told him he was no longer just an intruder—he was being watched.
A prickling sensation crawled down his spine.
And then it happened.
The massive flower began to shift. Petals that had been still now twitched. The core of the flower, its pistil, began to pulsate softly, glowing with a faint golden sheen as though lit from within. Then, without warning, the petals peeled back one by one, like curtains being drawn open for a play that had long been rehearsed.
And there, cradled on the enormous central pistil like a king upon his throne, was a figure.
It—he—was slender, unnaturally so, yet his presence filled the entire flower and seemed to extend beyond it, like shadow and mist. His skin was an otherworldly shade of white, smooth like marble, but alive with something ancient and breathing. Long golden hair cascaded down his back like liquid sunlight, and his robe—no, not a robe, but a mass of woven petals and tendrils—coiled around his body, living and pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own.
But what stood out most were his eyes.
Gold.
Vertical.
Predatory.
They shone like twin suns trapped under crimson, and when they met Hart's gaze, it was as if time froze.
"What is your purpose?"
The words weren't shouted. They weren't even spoken loudly. But they echoed in Hart's mind as though the world had gone silent just to make room for them.
The moment their eyes locked, Hart's entire body froze. A crushing pressure squeezed his chest. His breath caught in his throat. His vision swam, then began to blur, the red flowers around him twisting into strange, haunting shapes. Sweat dripped down his temples, cold and clammy. It was like someone had reached into his ribcage and gripped his heart with icy fingers.
He felt like prey under the gaze of something so far beyond his comprehension that his very soul began to tremble.
Dex, the guardian of this forbidden place, merely smacked his lips.
"Tsk. Another one about to faint before he even opens his mouth," he muttered to himself, disappointed. "And I had hopes for this batch."
To say Dex had become disillusioned over the years was an understatement. He had watched generation after generation of apprentice wizards come to him—some curious, some desperate, others simply arrogant. Very few left any impression. This one was no different. Another weak soul hoping to defy fate. Another mouse pretending to be a lion.
Dex tilted his head slightly and rested his chin on a clawed hand, lazily observing the trembling boy below.
He had spent the last 25 years living as a so-called "garbage man" of the Silent Heart Academy, a title both mockingly ironic and frighteningly accurate. It was true he hadn't broken through to a higher class of wizardry in all that time—but that didn't mean he was stagnant.
*****
You can support me by joining my Patreon and get upto 60 chapters in advance.
patreon.com/Eden_Translation