Chapter 114: The man who cheated death
Atilla stared back at him, stunned. "H-How is that possible? You don't look a day over twenty. How could you be 'The Elder' they all spoke about?" He exclaimed.
A smile painted his face, though they didn't quite reach his eyes. Upon closer inspection, Ceremus noticed how hollow they were. His brows furrowed. His gaze traveled along his body. He was dressed in a simple but well-tailored tunic with delicate embroidery along the neckline. Everything about him seemed ordinary, yet there was an undeniable confidence he seemed to carry alongside his amused and knowing smile.
Ceremus' mind immediately went to the prophetic dream he had. This man standing in front of him was the same man he had seen in his dream. But that man claimed to go by the name of Nicaphorus. So who was he? Were they the same person?
There was no denying the mysterious aura surrounding him. He felt it when he was face-to-face with him, even in the dream. Ceremus was unsure of what was going on, but now that he was standing in front of him, he had no time to waste, getting straight to the point.
"I heard you are the one who is supposed to guide me in finding the garmen vivificat. Do you know its location?"
Tiresias said nothing as he turned around and called behind him for the two to follow him. He led them inside the cavern where the entrance to the cave is veiled by a cascade of hanging vines, their leaves brushing gently against stone. He gestured for them to sit anywhere.
A faint glow emanates from within, with flickering lanterns casting long, wavering shadows against the rugged walls. The scent of aged parchment, dried herbs, and faint traces of incense lingers in the cool air, creating an atmosphere both comforting and arcane.
The sight amazed Atilla. Inside, the cave was surprisingly spacious, its walls smoothed by time and effort. A thick woven rug stretched across the stone floor, providing some insulation for their feet. Against one wall, a sturdy wooden shelf filled with an assortment of earthenware jars, each carefully labeled in neat script.
Inside, dried herbs, medicinal plants, and rare alchemical ingredients sat preserved in strong glass and clay.
Further in, a carved out alcove housed a collection of tomes, and scrolls stacked in uneven piles. Strange relics—ornate daggers and other trinkets rested upon a low table. There was a separate section dedicated to supplies and provisions—neatly arranged in sacks, containing enough to last him an entire year.
Tiresias walked up to what looked like a cooking area where embers still smoldered beneath a metal kettle. He took out three cups, opened a jar of his dried herbs and poured the still boiling water inside the cup, immediately invading the cave with a pleasant floral scent.