Forty-Nine: The Astrologer’s Altar

“Hello, are you Miss Lilith?” After Little White Dragon knocked, an elf scholar with glasses drifted out. Her long robe trailed like dusk. She hugged an Astrolabe, blinking as if in fog.

My worry rose like a cold tide. I handed over Joseph Selnoser’s letter. “It’s me—Lilith. Here’s Mr. Joseph Selnoser’s letter. Are you alright? Do you need a rest?”

Her panda-dark circles painted her in midnight ink. The sight tugged up my own past—nights craned to the Star Canvas, days bowed to spells.

Thanks; my heart had already begun to ache, like a plucked string.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Let me see.” She tilted her head, a sparrow shaking off dew. “It’s the teacher’s hand, no mistake. Please, come in.” She ushered me into the altar like a lantern guiding through mist.

“I’ll show you around first. The teacher’s busy with other students’ projects now.” She led me deeper, her steps skimming stone like water. She turned toward Little White Dragon, meaning to include him.

Unease pricked like cold rain. “Uh, maybe you should rest first? It seems safer than guiding me.”

She swayed like a reed in wind, almost folding. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I slept a full four hours last night. I’m well fed on sleep.” She squeezed out a smile, a pale moon behind clouds.

Resolve set like ink. “Four hours won’t cut it. Please, sleep a little more.”

“Don’t worry. I’m among the few here who sleep the longest.” She wagged a finger, playful as a firefly. Around us, elves staggered with scrolls, lanterns in a storm. “The teacher launched a big research. Everyone’s pushing together. If we succeed, our names will ink the continent’s history. Everyone’s trying hard! My work is lighter; after I finished, I was assigned to greet you.”

“Uh… thanks.” I watched her half-dead yet blazing, a moth burning for knowledge. This place was full of my kind—see knowledge, stop walking.

Curiosity woke like a lick of flame. My sapphire eyes caught light like river stones. “Can I ask what you’re researching? No need for details. Just the direction. Please. It matters a lot to me.”

“Heh-heh! Hunger for knowledge is what I love most.” The elf girl lifted her chin, pride shining like polished brass. “Professor Joseph is trying to reinvent how Astrologers resonate with constellations. If it works, we can resonate even where the Star Canvas can’t be reached.”

“That’s amazing!” My eyes flashed like stars. As an Astrologer who fights often, Little White Dragon knows how Stellar Magic dims under a roof or below ground. If Joseph Selnoser pulls it off, most Astrologers—especially low-ranked ones—will rejoice.

“Right? It’s brilliant!” Seeing Little White Dragon so excited, she caught the fire. Sleep fell away like shed leaves. She grabbed my hand and sprinted through the altar halls, footsteps like quick rain. “Quick, I’ll show you our place and how we make it work!”

“Wait! I’m an outsider. Isn’t this improper?” I was dragged through the Astrology Academy, my voice scattering like startled sparrows.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! The paper’s almost done! We just need the last data.” She didn’t mind at all, words snapping like dry twigs.

“At least tell me your name!” I yelped while being tugged along, a kite pulled by a sudden gust.

“Got it, got it! Call me Elsa!” Elsa hauled me down the corridors, laughing loud as bells. “Ready? I’ll take you through the whole academy!”

“Hold on!” Dragged and breathless, I finally saw what research-crazed really looks like—eyes bright, feet flying.

Keeping sleep full matters—more than a charm.

“First, the most important and most basic—the aquamarine workshop.” Elsa led me into a room with great vats and long stone tables, a colonnade of work under cool light. I remembered those same vats in Asterios’s temple, their rims damp like morning.

“Isn’t this where they make Stellar Liquid?”

“Ah! Right!” Elsa scratched her head, blank for a beat like a stalled clock. “Oh no, no. We make both Stellar Liquid and aquamarine here in one place. New students and those who failed homework get sent here to refine Stellar Liquid and shape aquamarine.”

“So, the legendary potato-peeling station.” I nodded. “A labor camp. I get it.”

“Don’t say it like that. The more potatoes you peel, the sooner you go home. But the more aquamarine you craft, the later you leave.” Her grin curled like smoke.

An old Astrologer joke goes like this:

Labor shortens your term; aquamarine—make more, stay longer.

Even Paru ended up on the line, caught like a fish in the current.

“But why is no one here?” Little White Dragon paced the room, seeing no poor souls meant to toil here. Where had they gone?

“We’re slammed right now. I’m the freest one, so they made me your guide. No one else has time for aquamarine.” Elsa shrugged, then reclaimed my hand like a quick tide. “We’re rationing raw materials, rushing to finish the teacher’s project. Come on, let me show you the other spots. Where do you want to go most?”

“Hmm…” Thought folded like paper. In an Astrologer academy, of course—there. “Please take me to your Star Canvas observation site. I want to see your best gear.”

“Gotcha!” Elsa nodded and seized my hand, swift as a swallow. “We’ll go there last. First stop, the star chart vault. Let’s move!”

My hand was caught again, drifting like a leaf in a lively stream. “Huh?”