Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 259

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 time granted 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.

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

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

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

them how to recognise each creature, how to avoid them, and,

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

academy’s translator nanobots would carry her through any language barrier. Yet Vanaheim was riddled with tongues

in Vanaheim, no matter how broken, shared the grammatical skeleton of the ancient rune tongue. Professor Jiro drilled them in its foundations until

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


***

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

calm authority Eleanor had come to 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;

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

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