76.- The Rythm of The Ordinary

The main chamber of the dungeon hummed with a low thrum, an echo that reverberated through the black stone walls like the pulse of an ancient, tranquil heart. Black vines climbed through the cracks, their leaves glowing faintly green under the crimson light of the red orb floating at the center—a scarlet core that marked time with unshakable calm. The air, still tinged with the remnants of the Frost Claw's energy, had settled into a dense stillness, broken only by the whisper of Fire Blossoms flickering on the mossy floor, casting a warm glow that licked at the shadows. It was a place accustomed to the extraordinary, a sanctuary where chaos and life intertwined with an odd serenity.

In the circle of golden runes, where Aurora had spilled her blood to open the portal, the air still rippled, a liquid mirror reflecting fragments of other times: a blood-stained sky, a forest frozen in ice, a sea of shadows swirling endlessly. But the distortion had stabilized, and at its center stood she, motionless as a clock awaiting its next tick. Aevia, the Throne of Primordial Chronoblood.

Her figure was an impossible contrast against the gloom. Tall and voluptuous, her pale skin shimmered with an iridescent glow, as if stardust had woven itself into her flesh. Her hair, a cascading abundance of jet black with strands shifting between blood red and violet, flowed against gravity, dancing as if caught in a wind lost to time. Her dress of solidified shadows and coagulated blood rippled with each breath, patterns of temporal gears and black roses appearing and fading on the living fabric. Behind her, a mantle of floating hourglasses and golden gears spun with a hypnotic tick-tock, a halo resembling bat wings forged of time and metal. But it was her eyes that commanded attention: miniature hourglasses with red sand flowing in eternal cycles, and beyond them, a gleam of swirling galaxies, pierced by a golden hand that ticked to a rhythm only she could fathom.

Aurora approached with steady steps, her statuesque form draped in Sebastián's gardener tunic, which hung loosely but hinted at the voluptuous curves of her pearlescent body. Her green hair, waist-length and threaded with golden strands, flowed like a shimmering river, and her amber eyes, filled with spinning constellations, glinted with a blend of pride and serenity. The majestic wings that had sprouted after absorbing the Frost Claw cast a warm glow over the vines, a reminder of her evolution as an embodied Primordial Universe.

"Welcome, Aevia," Aurora said, her melodic voice cutting through the air with a queen's authority, yet laced with a warmth that echoed in the chamber. "I am Aurora, your creator, the one who shaped you in the primordial void. Now I summon you as my loyal Throne of Primordial Chronoblood, guardian of the Infinite Present."

Aevia bowed her head with a grace that seemed to measure each second, a gesture of deep devotion that carried no subservience, only eternal acknowledgment. Her clockwork eyes flickered, the red sand pausing for a moment before resuming its deliberate flow.

"Mother," Aevia replied, her voice a soft echo of bells and gears, resonant as if a thousand clocks spoke in unison. "My existence is yours since time's dawn. My power, my blood, my present—all belong to you."

Sebastián, standing a few paces away, watched the scene with a mix of awe and puzzlement. His calloused hands, stained with dirt and sap, hung at his sides, and his dark brown hair, mussed from a century in the dungeon, fell over his warm brown eyes. The linen tunic he wore was speckled with green and brown, a testament to his craft, and his relaxed stance stood in stark contrast to the grandeur of the three entities before him. He wasn't a hero or a warrior—just an ordinary man caught in an extraordinary place—and though Aevia had called him "little gardener" with an odd fondness upon her arrival, leaving him baffled, his confidence kept him steady.

He stepped forward, scratching the back of his neck with one hand while raising an eyebrow at Aevia.

"Hey, no need for all that reverence, you know?" he said, his voice rough but tinged with light humor. "We're pretty laid-back around here. No weird bowing stuff."

He extended a hand in a simple gesture of welcome, not touching her, just offering a smile that crinkled the faint worry lines around his eyes. He wasn't intimidated, just curious, and his tone was as natural as the moss beneath his boots.

Kaili, leaning against a thick root jutting from the wall, crossed her arms under her chest, lifting them with an arrogance that highlighted the curves of her voluptuous figure. Her light purple skin gleamed under the orb's light, golden, silver, and red runes pulsing with a slow rhythm, and her six iridescent wings, folded behind her, cast glints of purple and scarlet. Her sharp horns, adorned with gleaming gems, sliced through the dimness, and her dark eyes, flecked with cosmic sparks, fixed on Sebastián with a half-smile.

"Laid-back?" she said, her voice a sharp murmur that echoed in the chamber. "In a hundred years of battle training, this weakling's only learned to take hits better. A gardener with no talent for anything but digging holes and chatting with flowers."

Sebastián turned to her, feigning a grimace of offense as he crossed his arms over his dirt-streaked chest.

"Hey, that's just 'cause I enjoy getting beat up by a gorgeous girl," he shot back, narrowing his eyes with a playful grin. "But I promise you, one day I'll get my hands on those cheeks, collecting on all the hits you owe me."

Kaili snorted, her wings twitching with a faint buzz that filled the air with a whisper of iridescent feathers, though a flicker of amusement crossed her eyes before she masked it with a dismissive wave.

Aurora laughed softly, a melodic sound that rang through the chamber, and stepped toward Sebastián. With a fluid motion, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him with a warmth that belied her regal presence. Her pearlescent body pressed against his, the scent of earth and flowers from her tunic mingling with his own, and her majestic wings fluttered faintly, casting a soft glow over the scene.

"He's the official gardener of the dungeon," Aurora said, her voice firm yet brimming with affection, rising above Kaili's sarcasm. "Without him, nothing would be the same. These vines, the Fire Blossoms, the lake—all bear his touch. He's our pillar, Kaili, and you know it."

Sebastián grinned, returning the hug with natural fondness, his hands resting on Aurora's waist as he looked up at her.

"Thanks, Aurora," he said, his voice low but warm. "Though, honestly, I think the plants would grow fine without me. I just give 'em a little nudge."

Kaili snorted again, a sound that was half mockery, half resignation, her runes flaring with a golden glint as she straightened, planting a hand on her hip.

"Sure, a nudge," she retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "But I'll admit, life in this dungeon would be deadly dull without this walking disaster. Even if it's just to watch him trip over his own lilies."

Aevia, who had watched the exchange in silence, tilted her head slightly, her clockwork eyes flickering as the red sand flowed with deliberate slowness. The golden hand ticked once, and then she spoke, her voice soft yet resonant, laced with a wisdom that seemed to measure each word on an invisible clock.

"Little gardener," she said, gazing at Sebastián with a serene curiosity that wasn't childish but distant, as if assessing an oddity from a higher plane. "How does a human gardener sustain this place? Is it his time that makes him a pillar?"

Sebastián turned to her, scratching the back of his neck with one hand while looking at her with a mix of puzzlement and amusement.

"Not sure how much of a pillar I am," he replied, shrugging. "I just take care of plants. Nothing fancy. But, hey, why do you keep calling me that? You said it when you showed up, and I still don't get it. Do we know each other or something?"

Aevia stared at him, the sand in her eyes pausing for a moment before resuming its flow. Her lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile, as if she saw something he couldn't grasp.

"Little gardener," she said simply, sidestepping his question. "Time has crossed you before, though you don't recall it."

Aurora smiled, resting a hand on Aevia's shoulder with a regal calm that filled the chamber with subtle warmth.

"Aevia, I've summoned you to be with us," she said, her voice melodic yet firm. "I want you to learn how we live here, how we care for this place together. Sebastián can show you the small things that bind us."

Aevia turned the black rose she still held between her fingers, the sand in her eyes flowing at a slower pace, as if analyzing something she couldn't quite name.

"Care…" she said, her voice resonant yet tinged with distant curiosity. "I understand, Mother. Will the little gardener show me this human art?"

Kaili let out a low chuckle, interrupting the moment with a wave of her hand.

"Care, huh?" Aevia said, turning to Kaili with an analytical calm. "Sister eternal, is it this human art you tolerate in him?"

Kaili raised an eyebrow, her wings casting a purple glint as she crossed her arms tighter.

"No need for such a long title, Aevia," she replied, her tone sarcastic but practical. "Just call me Kaili and skip the 'sister eternal' bit. When the Queen summons the others, you'll only confuse the dumb gardener with all that cosmic nonsense."

Aevia nodded with a calm that seemed to measure the remark on an unseen clock.

"Kaili," she repeated, her voice a soft echo. "Understood. Time simplifies."

Sebastián laughed, a relaxed sound that echoed in the chamber as he sat among the vines, wiping dirt from his hands with a tranquility that was as ordinary as it was powerful.

"Human art, she says," he muttered, glancing at Aevia with a grin. "Guess I can teach you how to water plants without drowning them. Though Kaili'll probably say I'm a mess at that too."

Kaili snorted, her runes flaring with a golden glow as she leaned against a vine.

"A mess is an understatement," she shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Go ahead, Aevia, learn from the master of crooked holes."

Before Aevia could reply, a crunch sounded from a corner of the chamber. Terrón, the small clay golem, emerged from the vines, followed by a dozen of his clumsy kin. Their pudgy hands clutched heaps of haphazardly uprooted flowers: silver lilies, black roses, even a couple of faintly sparking Fire Blossoms. Roots dangled from their fists, leaving a trail of dirt and broken petals in their wake, and their clay faces bore a solemn devotion as they approached Aevia.

Sebastián groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead at the sight of the wreckage.

"Seriously?" he muttered, eyeing the mangled flowers. "Those were my best plants. Why am I always the one who pays?"

The golems, oblivious to his complaint, stopped before Aevia and raised their offerings with awkward synchronicity, like an impromptu honor guard. The Throne of Primordial Chronoblood tilted her head, observing the flowers with an intensity that seemed out of place for something so mundane. She took a black rose, one of the few that had survived intact, and held it between her fingers, studying it with analytical calm.

"Time flows strangely in this," she said, her voice resonant yet serene. "Is it a human gesture, little gardener?"

Sebastián sighed, but a smile tugged at his lips as he bent to pick up a broken lily from the floor.

"Sort of," he replied, shrugging. "Though these little guys don't know how to ask before yanking stuff up. Welcome to the dungeon, Aevia. This is what we do here: chaos and flowers."

Aurora settled beside him, her green hair falling like a shimmering river over the moss, and Kaili leaned against a vine, crossing her arms with a half-smile that betrayed her fondness despite her words.

"Chaos and flowers," Kaili echoed, her tone sarcastic but light. "Sounds like the perfect life for a talentless gardener. But you'll get used to it, Aevia. It's what keeps this place… tolerable."

Aevia looked up at them, the sand in her eyes flowing at a steady pace, her expression an enigma blending wisdom and distant curiosity.

"Tolerable…" she said, her voice a soft echo. "I understand, Kaili. The little gardener makes time tolerable."

The dungeon hummed softly, a tranquil pulse that welcomed its new Throne. The Fire Blossoms flickered with a faint red glow, the vines whispered against the walls, and the red orb pulsed with eternal calm. There was no tension, no grand promises—just a moment of unity between a cosmic queen, her primordial Thrones, and an ordinary gardener who, somehow, kept them all together.