Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 259: The Tru

Chapter 259: The True Art of Chromomancy

Days slipped past swiftly. Eleanor had only a single week to catch up with all her theoretical classes before the

practical training began. After that, she would have to prepare for the journey to Vanaheim, where her

awakening awaited.

Yet Eleanor did not fear. She was closing the gap, slowly but surely. She would have been on par with her peers

already, had she not insisted on working through every reference book recommended by the professors. In her

hunger for knowledge, she pushed both body and mind to the limit, determined to absorb all the academy had to

offer in the short tgranted to her.

By day, she attended her mandatory courses, each held on alternating days. Ophelia proved an unexpected ally,

lending her the meticulous notes Eleanor had missed. It was not in Ophelia’s nature to take notes for herself, let

alone for another... but she had done so all the same. Eleanor was quietly grateful.

Rest of the mornings were devoted to study under Professor Jiro or Professor Seren. Fortuitously, Instructor

Arrichion, seeing the dark circles deepening under Eleanor’s eyes, granted her a week's leave from his training.

If only he knew how she spent it... not in rest, but in further labour. She studied the academy curriculum through

the day, then, after dinner, retreated to her room where she devoured the texts Nora had uncovered from the

academy servers. She read almost until dawn, stopping only when exhaustion forced the book from her hands.

Professor Jiro, mercifully, had paused his lessons until Eleanor could catch up. With only two students... Eleanor

and Ophelia... he now resumed his classes after the mandatory morning lectures, carrying them through until

lunchtime.

Theirs was not a comfortable syllabus. He taught them how to endure when stripped of civilisation, of food, of

fire, of tools, of communication. Lessons began with the simplest of tasks... dozens of ways to conjure flame

without flint or tinder... and climbed to the intricate, like charting courses by the silent glow of starlight.

They learned quickly that Vanaheim bore no resemblance to Midgard'’s skies. There were no fixed constellations

across the realm... no North Star to anchor one’s bearings. Each region carried its own scatter of stars, a chaos

of shifting skies that defied the making of a single, unified map. Only three constants existed... the three moons,

visible to all corners of Vanaheim.

By day, navigation was simple enough. The solitary sun allowed Midgardians to mark landmarks or follow its

steady path, though storms and driving rain could hinder even the keenest eyes. By night, however, survival

demanded more than instinct. The only way to find one’s path was to know the moons... their phases, their

positions and to read them not only for direction, but also for time. And tmattered, for night in Vanaheim was

a curse.

Almost every creature of that realm lived beneath the ground by day, shunning the sunlight. At night, the land

crawled with them. To Midgardians, every last one was deadly. The waters were poison, the air itself often

treacherous, and the beasts were worse. Even the Tecton... an ant-like super gentle creature that fed only upon

the dead and never struck at the living... could spell disaster. One careless step upon its carapace, one

thoughtless crush, and the hive-mind would stir. Thousands, then millions, would rise with single-minded

vengeance. One ant might seem trivial. An army of them was death itself.

Fortunately, Professor Jiro possessed a vast album filled with drawings... detailed illustrations of the realm’s

fauna. With these he taught them how to recognise each creature, how to avoid them, and, if avoidance failed,

which ones could be killed and which ones must never be engaged.

These lessons fell under the cultivation course, the term's focus being Ascendance and Vanaheim. Yet Jiro’'s

teaching turned them into something far more rigorous than the syllabus required. He explained not only what

these creatures were, but why they behaved as they did... their instincts, their weaknesses, their patterns. It was

his nature to go in-depth, often painstakingly so. But thanks to that habit, Eleanor and Ophelia gained more than

theory. They acquired the beginnings of readiness... the ability to meet the unknown with knowledge sharp

enough to cut fear itself.

Even the lessons in dead languages... subjects Eleanor had at first dismissed as useless, proved far more

fascinating than she could have imagined. She had assumed the academy's translator nanobots would carry her

through any language barrier. Yet Vanaheim was riddled with tongues long fallen silent, fragments of speech and

inscription with only a handful of surviving words. The nanobots faltered there, unable to supply meaning where

no complete structure remained.

By studying the remnants herself, Eleanor found she could make sense of scattered remarks and half-forgotten

records. Every language in Vanaheim, no matter how broken, shared the grammatical skeleton of the ancient

rune tongue. Professor Jiro drilled them in its foundations until they could begin to piece together meanings from

fragments, to bear sense where others might hear only noise.

For Eleanor, the experience was strangely exhilarating... like uncovering the whisper of a world long buried. For

Ophelia, it was something else entirely. Having never been a serious student, she found the process of absorbing

so much theory strange, numbing, and exhausting. She yawned through nearly every class, her eyes glassy from

the weight of symbols and syntax. And yet, she never stopped paying attention. However tedious the work felt,

she knew one truth... knowledge of survival, whether linguistic or otherwise... might be the only thing standing

between her and death in the month to come.

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Eleanor’s lesson with Professor Seren went surprisingly smoothly. She discovered that the Department of Mental

Arts was not, in fact, hostile to its own students... only to outsiders. The clashing neon pink walls set against acid

green panels were not a matter of eccentric taste, but deliberate design. Their sole purpose was to irritate

visitors, driving them away without a word being spoken. And it worked. Since the colours had been introduced,

no one from other departments chere twice unless duty absolutely required it.

"Colours influence us," Professor Seren explained, her voice carrying that calm authority Eleanor had cto

admire. "They shape us through psychological, biological, even cultural associations. They can sharpen or dull

concentration, raise or steady heart rate. They can stimulate or soothe the nervous system. Red and orange

agitate. Blue and green soothe. Yellow sparks cheer. Pale tones expand space; dark ones shrink it."

Once past the jarring reception, the corridors changed entirely. Muted shades of soft blue lined the walls,

wrapping the space in a hushed serenity. Here the air felt calmer, inviting students to breathe, to reflect, to

gather themselves. Eleanor learned that blue, above all, was the colour of safety. Its tie to sky and water made it

instinctively reassuring, and clinical studies even confirmed its ability to ease anxiety.

The department library offered yet

another shift in atmosphere. Most of

the walls were a warm taupe, but one

accent wall had been painted a deep

forest green. Rich terracotta bllbWs

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spftenediithe hairs, while a vase of

sunflower-yellow blooms brightened

the centre of the great oak table.

Professor Seren called it a

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harmonious analogous scheme” ...

colours that sit beside one another

on the spectrum. Green sharpened

focus. Taupe steadied the eye. The

tiny bursts of yellow kept the mind

from sinking into sluggishness. The

content is on novelenglish.net! Read

the latest chapter there!

’

Even the department's common

room was a careful composition.

Students and staff could collect free

snacks and canned drinks there by

scanning their devices p akipski

food sliding)from h Ki en vault like

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teal re from a conjurer’s chest. The

space itself was arranged with equal

care... deep sapphire sofas against

warm beige walls, their cushions a

vibrant burnt orange. Professor Seren

described this as a complementary

scheme... blue and orange, opposites

across the wheel. Balanced together,

they created a room both dynamic

and alive. The blue calmed the body,

the orange sparked the conversation.

Professor Seren’s chamber was painted in soft shades of green. Green is the colour of balance and harmony. It is

restful to the eyes, known to improve reading speed and comprehension. It creates a calm, stable environment

conducive to long stretches of focus without ever dulling the mind. Many call it the colour of concentration.

As she taught, Professor Seren’s voice carried the weight of one who had not merely studied colours, but lived

among them. "The true art of Chromomancy," she said, "the manipulation of mental and emotional states

through colour, lies not in the broad strokes... but in the subtleties. The hue, the saturation, the composition. It is

not enough to know a name. One must know the spirit within the shade."

She gestured to a tapestry woven in

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rich violet threads. "Purple is the

bridge. It holds the calm stability of

blue and the fierce energy of ISS

its deeper tones. |Auberyite, royal

ole: becomes the colour of

introspection, of wisdom, of the

mystical. That is why we use it in our

meditation chambers. Yet, soften it

into lavender or lilac, and it shifts. It

becomes nostalgic, delicate,

soothing... balm for the anxious

mind. The colour of transition, gentle

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but inevitable." The content is on

novelenglish.net! Read the latest

chapter there!

She moved to a small painted panel of sunlit hues. "Yellow is the mind's stimulant. It wakes the left brain to logic,

the right to creativity. In a golden marigold, it sparks innovation and nimble thought. But saturate it too far... let

it burn as bright lemon... and it turns harsh, even cruel. It fatigues the eye, frustrates the spirit, provokes anger.

Remember, the mind cannot bask too long in brilliance without being scorched."

Another panel bore a deep, earthen red. "Red is the body’s alarm," Professor Seren intoned. "It quickens the

pulse, raises the breath, rouses heat in the blood. It is raw energy, passion, danger. But temper it with earth, and

it yields terracotta, burnt sienna. No longer panic, but warmth. Protection. A hearth-fire instead of a blaze."

She let the words sink in before continuing, softer in the end. "A colour is never just its name. It is its shade, its

saturation, its weight of light and shadow. A pastel is a whisper; a saturated hue, a shout. Dark shades enclose a

space for intimacy or intimidation. Pale tints open it, for freedom and clarity. Alone, a colour is monotone.

Oppressive. But when woven together... colours sing."e Art of Chromomancy