Chapter 432 The Stone That Keeps Breath — Days in the Valdenmeer
Valdenmeer city does not have a bell.
Time passes silently. Morning arrives only when the sky changes color, and night descends like a thick fog that falls without warning. Joanna and Rui have been staying at the "Fleur de Silence" inn for three days. No one greets them, and no one asks who they are, as if the town has grown accustomed to receiving those who wish to be forgotten by the world. Shadows of history envelop them at every corner, like mysteries yet to be solved, inviting all to listen to its whispers. Amid the narrow alleys, ancient walls hold secrets of the past that unravel in silence, creating a thick atmosphere of nostalgia, especially for those who understand how to appreciate the neglected tranquility.
Yet, they know... something in this place records everything.
Their mornings are filled with wandering across the black wooden bridge that reflects the white light from the frozen river. Rui loves to sit on the steps of the east dock, feeding the little purple-beaked birds. There, a gentle breeze carries the aroma of damp earth and suppressed courage, as if inviting them to savor every fleeting moment. Occasionally, Joanna buys dried flowers from a quiet stall and places them on her window sill. Each petal gathers its own story, tales of love and loss nestled among the tracks of frozen time.
They don't speak much to each other.
Not because they are strangers.
But because this silence has become a part of the rhythm of this city. The whispers of the wind seem to remind them of the old stories engraved in the shadows of every corner of this place, complementing an illusion that never fades. The history of Valdenmeer, filled with secrets and legends, envelops them in a deep embrace, as if urging them to unearth every story that might have been forgotten.
"This place..." Rui said one morning, "is like a soul that has chosen to stop breathing but is not dead."
Joanna gazed at the snow that never truly fell to the ground, as if waiting for the right moment to unveil the hidden stories within it—tales of those who turned to stone beneath the gray sky. The laughter of the townspeople echoed in her mind, now lost in silence, disregarding the raindrops fading between the pages of extinguished time.
On the fourth day, the innkeeper—a frail old woman named Maer—finally spoke again, appearing hesitant as she searched for the right words to convey the unsettling message in her mind.
She handed Joanna a small, trembling map. The map looked worn, its edges tinged with yellow and brown, scribbled with barely legible notes, as if it harbored secrets for those brave enough to seek them.