TravelingDreamer
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B4—Chapter 55: The Journey in Photos and Prose
🕑 Added 2024-12-02 19:44:26 +0000 UTCIt took us the entire day to reach the mountains, and by the time the sun dipped low, streaking the sky with gold and pink, Mahya looked over at me and asked, “Can you find us a place to land?”
The foothills below weren’t exactly inviting. The forest stretched endlessly before me, a thick blanket of trees with their canopies forming a continuous sea of green. After fifteen minutes of flying in a zigzag pattern, I found the perfect landing spot—a flat patch of grass large enough for the balloon with no tree branches getting in the way.
Once we landed, I opened up the house, and we secured the balloon. The air here felt heavy with humidity, rich with the earthy smell of moss and wet wood. Somewhere in the distance, a lone bird made a haunting call that echoed through the stillness. It didn’t exactly scream “welcome,” but it wasn’t hostile either.
We checked the area to ensure we weren’t sharing the neighborhood with anything unpleasant—like flying snakes. Rue was the first to charge ahead, his massive form moving through the trees like they weren’t even there. I followed more cautiously, keeping my eyes open for anything suspicious. About two hundred meters in, the forest opened into a clearing, and that’s when we saw it—the first ruined structure.
It was massive. Even with vines wrapping themselves around every surface, trying to reclaim it, you could tell it had once been something grand. The arched windows, vacant and staring, resembled hollow eyes, while a crumbling staircase vanished into a wall of creeping ivy. I reached out and ran my hand along one column—smooth stone, cool to the touch, worn down by time.
“This wasn’t on the Map,” Mahya said quietly, like she didn’t want to wake any ghosts that might still hang around.
As we moved further in, the ruins seemed to grow around us. Another hundred meters past the first structure, we came across what must’ve been a mansion. Its façade was almost entirely swallowed by moss and ferns, but the layout still hinted at grandeur. Broad steps ascended to an open doorway, guarded by weathered columns that, despite their age, stood proudly. Mahya paused in the doorway, her eyes tracing the jagged lines of a broken ceiling where shafts of light cut through the foliage.
The faint sound of running water pulled us deeper into the forest. It grew louder with every step until we stood before something straight out of a painting: a pavilion overlooking twin waterfalls. Crumbling pillars stood like silent guards, framing the view of the roaring, yet majestic, falls. Mist rose from the crashing water, catching the last rays of sunlight and scattering them in a magical, even otherworldly way.
I knelt near the pavilion’s edge, where the stone was blanketed in thick moss. It felt soft and damp under my fingers, like a sponge. “It’s like the forest took this place back,” I said.
Mahya’s voice broke the spell. “Let’s head back. We can explore more tomorrow.”
Reluctantly, I stood and brushed my hands on my pants. As we returned to the balloon, I couldn’t help but glance around and take it all in. The architecture was nothing like what I’d seen in Tolarib, and the overwhelming green only added to its charm. It felt eerie—like something out of a horror movie—but an aesthetic horror movie, the kind you’d watch just for the visuals. Spooky, but in a way that made you want to keep looking. It had that kind of beauty.
The next day, I grabbed the camera and went on a full-blown photography spree. This place was too unique to ignore, like it had stepped straight out of some forgotten legend. It wasn’t just about capturing it for my memories—it deserved to be documented, preserved, if only through photos, for anyone who’d care to see what the world had let slip through the cracks.
As I framed each shot, my thoughts wandered back to Earth. From what I’d pieced together about this world, its current state wasn’t just bad luck—it resulted from greed and power struggles among nobles, warlords, and moguls. A toxic mix of ambition and disregard for others had hollowed this place out. I wanted to believe Earth wouldn’t follow the same path. I had to believe it. I’d warned them and done my part before leaving, but the doubt lingered: would anyone listen? Did any of it even make a difference?
The surrounding ruins told a story of what happens when things fall apart, and I couldn’t help but draw parallels. As much as I didn’t want to think about it, the devastation here felt like a cautionary tale, a glimpse into what might happen if Earth didn’t tread carefully. But the truth was, I wasn’t going back. I had no intention of being a savior or trying to fix what wasn’t mine to fix. Earth had to figure it out on its own.
I lowered the camera for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Good luck,” I whispered, almost to myself. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had to give. Then, I got back to documenting the ruins, determined to focus on the beauty and history in front of me, rather than the weight of a world I’d left behind.
I knelt by the edge of the clearing, camera in hand, capturing the overgrown ruins that stood before me. The first structure, partially submerged in the shallow water, looked like it had fought the forest and lost, vines and moss spilling over its cracked columns and crumbling archways. The reflection in the water added an almost mystical symmetry, as though the ruin had a twin lurking just beneath the surface.
I shifted my lens to the second ruin, standing farther into the greenery. Its arched entrance beckoned with a quiet dignity, as if it had been waiting centuries for someone to rediscover it. The sun streamed through the gaps in the canopy above, casting patterns of light and shadow that danced across the stone. Time had softened its edges, but the ruin’s grandeur still whispered of a forgotten age when its halls must have been alive with voices.
Each picture felt like capturing a piece of a story I’d never fully understand, one written in stone and silence.
Mahya found me as I lined up another shot, her footsteps quiet on the mossy ground. “Can you ask the wind if there are dungeons here?” she asked.
“Sure,” I replied, lowering the camera. I closed my eyes and focused, sending the wind a clear intention: the desire to know the location of any “portals of doom” nearby. Nothing. Just the usual breeze, brushing past without a hint of direction.
I tried again to be thorough, but the answer—or lack of one—was the same. The wind had nothing to say. “No dungeons here,” I told her, shrugging. “It’s just a ruin.”
She nodded, her gaze wandering to the surrounding ruins. “When do you want to leave?”.
“Tomorrow,” I said, turning back to snap one last picture of the moss-draped pavilion.
We flew above the mountains the next day, and the view was breathtaking. The peaks stretched out like a jagged crown, capped with snow that sparkled in the crisp morning light. I couldn’t understand how the snow still clung to the mountaintops. The summer here was brutal, even up in the balloon. But I couldn’t argue with my own eyes.
Valleys dipped between the mountains, painted in shades of green, gold, and deep shadow, with patches of mist clinging to the lower ridges.
As the balloon glided silently, I couldn’t help but lean over the edge, letting the cool air wash over my face and dry the sweat. Below us, forests blanketed the slopes. Here and there, clearings opened up to reveal small streams glinting in the sunlight, snaking their way toward the distant valley floor.
We crossed a demarcation line. It was invisible, but I could feel it down to my bones. The mana changed. Where we came from had a distinct flavor of life and vitality—nature and wood, lush plants, and verdant forests. The flavor was so thick I could taste it at the back of my throat with every breath. On the other side of the boundary, the mana carried a flavor of cold and frost, dryness and survival, tenacity and hardness. There was still some nature and life mana mixed in, but it felt harsher, with jagged edges and thorns. The south side evoked images of lush pastures and vibrant forests brimming with life. The north side conjured sensations of cacti and tumbleweeds.
The environment reflected the change in mana. Smooth, golden hills gave way to sharp ridges and rocky slopes. The trees thinned out, and those that remained looked scraggly, as though they’d been battling the wind for years. Patches of snow clung to the rocks, and the grass that grew here appeared tougher and wirier.
The peaks ahead grew steeper, their jagged tops sharp and pointed. The sunlight felt colder, almost harsh, bouncing off the rocks in pale flashes. The air smelled cleaner but was thinner, making me want to catch my breath quicker—even though it didn’t truly affect me. It was quieter but far from peaceful. The wind whistled through gaps in the rocks, the only sound cutting through the stillness.
The mountains ended so suddenly it felt like we’d hit the world’s edge. One moment, it was all jagged peaks and rocky ridges, and the next, we were floating above a massive canyon. The land just dropped away into this enormous chasm, with layered cliffs stretching out in every direction, their reddish-brown tones glowing in the soft light.
A river snaked along the bottom, winding lazily between the canyon walls like it had all the time in the world. It looked almost peaceful from up here, but the steep, jagged cliffs on either side hinted at how unforgiving it probably was. Little patches of green hugged the water’s edge, a thin line of life clinging to the banks in contrast to the dry, rocky expanse above.
The air here felt different—warmer and drier, carrying that faint dusty smell you get from baked earth. The sun was dipping lower, painting the canyon in soft pinks and oranges. Shadows stretched long and deep, making the whole place feel ancient, like it had been sitting here untouched for thousands of years, just waiting for someone to notice.
After another hour of flying over the canyon, we finally spotted the city on the horizon. It was a relief to see it wasn’t another ruin; from up here, it looked alive. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint glint of sunlight on rooftops confirmed people were living there.
“I suggest we land and approach the city on foot tomorrow,” Al said.
“Good idea,” Mahya agreed, already fiddling with her gadget.
The balloon shifted slightly as she adjusted our course, the canyon below slipping further out of sight as we moved toward a flat area to touch down. “Let’s hope this city is better than the last one,” I said, glancing at Al.
He didn’t reply, just gave one of his trademark raised eyebrows, which was probably answer enough.
