At a simple gesture of the old dragonslayer’s hand, a smaller spire rose up in the middle, about as tall as a two-story house and no wider than ten meters across. It was nothing more or less than an elevator, and with a few more subtle gestures, they rode down into the spire, perhaps even into the mountain at its base. Zel couldn’t tell — she experienced no sense of velocity during the journey. Inside was not an indoor complex of cramped hallways, but a singular sprawling chamber, set up to look like an exterior and containing a regal manor as its centerpiece. The chamber itself was suspiciously similar to the design elements of Ozmir’s “False Tree of Life” orchard — even down to the domed lattice of panels that imitated the sky. The difference was that the dome sat atop a vertical wall layer, making this place resemble a greenhouse more than anything else.
Through the clearing they went, approaching the mansion. It was decorated with a great number of statues similar to Willowdale’s original guardians. Unlike the guardians, these openly tracked their movement with their heads. Moreover, Zelsys sensed intent from them — not from each of them, but a singular and monolithic intent from all of them at once, stiff and stone-like, more akin to being watched by a mountain than a living thing. Combined with the ultra-pneuma-rich atmosphere and the countless unidentifiable plants growing around the manor, this place truly felt entirely separate from the world of man, much like the residence of the Smoke Witch. Into the mansion they went, the air growing noticeably colder inside its halls. Kanberich led them through it, up a stairway, and into a reading room of sorts. The architecture and decorations were all ancient and unfamiliar, yet also unsettlingly familiar. Books were to be seen to one side, and a rack of widely varied spears to another. Next to the rack was a pedestal, and next to it an armour stand. The suit which hung upon it closely resembled that which his younger self wore in the pictures, but it was different — this, too, was covered in black hide, and this, too, bore a closed eye, set into the helmet. Zel’s gut told her it was a distinct entity from Zirnitra, not just an item bedecked by more of its hide. Another living dragon descendant turned into a piece of Kanberich’s regalia. Rather than try to comprehend how such a thing might be achieved, Zel moved on. A painting of Kanberich in full regalia hung above the fireplace, black spear and armour both, surrounded by emerald flame.
The old dragonslayer sat at the table of gold-inlaid granite, surrounded by two chairs and a couch, both of purplish leather with a lining of supple fur. Even these materials gave off a sense of power, hinting at some forgotten beast from which they had been taken. Unlike most furniture, the couch didn’t so much as utter a noise when Zel set down her full weight on it. Even back then, only weeks after her emergence, she had already weighed a little over 150kg, and now, between her arm and general growth, she estimated herself to be approaching the upper end of the 100-200kg range. Victor remained standing.
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“Ah… It has been far too long since I have come here,” Kanberich said, sinking into his seat, resting his spear under his arm. He snapped his fingers, and with a flash of green flame, called out in Ankhezian. A few moments later, a golem as tall as Daywolf and significantly bulkier walked into the room, its footsteps light and soundless. Wrought of off-white stone, with a minimalist humanoid base design that was richly ornamented by inlays of gold and silver, the construct was unmistakably Old Ankhezian in design. It was as if it had stepped out of a historical treatise on the heights and decline of the Ankhezian Imperium. It carried in hand a platter with a jar and three cups, all of similarly Ankhezian design, with the jar having a narrow neck. It set them on the table through some manner of telekinesis and left. Kanberich enthusiastically opened the jar and filled all three cups, commenting: “I admit, I have been waiting for an excuse to do this. Out of everything there has been a severe lack of cultivator drinks since the collapse.”
The drink was clear, but it split and reflected the light in curious ways and gave off a faint mist. Sipping gingerly, the dragonslayer let out a pleased sigh that sounded like a century of tension releasing from his body.
Following suit, Zel also took up her cup and took a sip. Smooth, ever so faintly citrusy, cold, with notes of spices she couldn’t name. Warmth instantly spread through her body and she felt herself relax. It was fantastic. To compare this with alchemically-activated ethanol was an insult — only the likes of Borean blood mead could hope to compare. As far as she could tell, there was no significant toxicity to worry about, and she trusted Kanberich not to endanger her disciple. As such, she gave Victor a simple nod that it was safe. He stretched out his aura, forming a construct to pick up the cup with, drinking in the same way as they had. His cheeks instantly became flushed, and any stress disappeared from his face.
“Hell of a drink, isn’t it? All the good parts and none of the bad ones, it would be cheating if it wasn’t such a pain in the ass to get it right — get one thing wrong, and it’s poison. Drinkable, but the kid would’ve keeled over from that shot if my brew wasn’t just right. At this point, I’d like to say my version is the best on the continent, but… I’d rather not have that smug old bastard show up at my door again. Ankhezian sages are nothing if not persistent,” Kanberich said, pouring a second round before stopping up the jar.
Zel wondered if this was at all relevant to Victor’s problem, but she felt in her gut that it had to be. Something about this whole setup felt too purposeful to be just coincidental.
“Is it stable?” she asked.