We arrived at Isla de la Luna today.
I now fully understand why Daddy insisted repeatedly that I prepare myself mentally beforehand.
Unfortunately, I do not believe mental preparation would have helped very much.
The island is not overwhelming in the way Yggdra was overwhelming.
Yggdra felt sacred.
Ancient.
Oppressive.
Isla de la Luna feels different.
Calmer.
Quieter.
And somehow infinitely more confusing.
My first impression was not wonder.
It was suspicion.
Because nothing here behaves the way civilization is supposed to behave.
The harbor itself appeared strangely modest at first glance.
Small.
Orderly.
Almost underwhelming compared to Port Roderick or Windward.
There were ships present, certainly.
But after observing them more carefully, I began noticing details that made increasingly little sense.
Several vessels appeared partially constructed from metal.
Not reinforced with metal.
Built from it.
At first I assumed my eyes were simply exhausted from weeks at sea.
Unfortunately, that explanation stopped functioning quickly.
The city itself rises from pale stone terraces overlooking the sea.
Elegant architecture.
Old.
Beautiful in an understated way.
No excessive decoration.
No visible desperation to appear wealthy.
Everything simply looked… complete.
As though it had already existed comfortably for a very long time.
Then I noticed the lights.
Lanterns glowing without flame.
Soft white illumination suspended inside glass frames.
No oil.
No smoke.
No visible heat.
Nobody reacted to them.
Nobody explained them.
At one point I considered asking Miss DeLuna directly.
Then I remembered she once treated an infinite storage artifact like a pillow.
I no longer trust her judgment regarding what qualifies as unusual.
The deeper we traveled into the city, the stranger things became.
Everyone carried books.
Not occasionally.
Constantly.
Books.
Scrolls.
Annotated papers.
Even ordinary conversations sounded disturbingly academic.
At one point I overheard two younger locals calmly debating historical interpretation while walking down the street.
Not dramatically.
Not performatively.
Casually.
Like discussing weather.
Worse still—
They were probably younger than me.
Several of Miss DeLuna’s acquaintances greeted her politely throughout the day.
“Lady Artemisia.”
Always formally.
Always respectfully.
Then they would turn toward me.
Smile politely.
And somehow begin evaluating my intelligence without directly insulting me.
I do not know how they accomplish this.
But I felt academically examined several times today.
One particularly polite young woman asked what historical methodologies were favored within Roderick commercial archives.
I nearly died.
Even the High Elves here feel wrong somehow.
Outside this island, High Elves are rare enough that entire noble gatherings reorganize themselves around their presence.
Here, they simply walk through the streets carrying scrolls.
Teaching classes.
Discussing philosophy.
Wearing the same scholar robes as everyone else.
I noticed seven distinct robe colors repeated constantly throughout the city.
Different shades.
Different insignias.
Something about them reminded me immediately of the Seven Councils.
I suspect the connection is intentional.
At one point I suddenly realized something deeply unsettling.
Miss DeLuna and I were the ones who appeared out of place here.
Not because she was unwelcome.
Quite the opposite.
But because everyone around us moved with the same strange intellectual rhythm.
Measured.
Observant.
Educated.
Meanwhile Miss DeLuna herself seemed slightly uncomfortable the entire time.
Not frightened.
Not nervous.
Just…
Aware.
Like someone quietly returning to a place where expectations already existed long before her arrival.
Which somehow made her feel more normal than before.
And me significantly less so.
There are no visible markets here.
None.
No merchants shouting prices.
No haggling.
No obvious currency exchange.
No crowded trade district.
And yet somehow everything functions perfectly.
Food exists.
Infrastructure exists.
Supplies exist.
People live comfortably.
I cannot identify where resources originate.
Or how distribution functions.
This realization is currently causing me severe psychological distress.
At one point I finally looked upward and noticed something even stranger.
Rain.
Falling only across certain parts of the city.
Perfectly contained.
Like invisible barriers shaped the weather itself.
The sky above one district remained clear while another received steady rainfall several streets away.
Nobody reacted.
Again.
Nobody explained anything.
Near sunset, I briefly noticed four enormous structures rising beyond the upper districts of the island.
Massive silhouettes against the fading light.
Ancient towers perhaps.
Or archives.
I could not determine their purpose from this distance.
Miss DeLuna noticed me staring and casually informed me we could explore properly tomorrow instead.
Then she asked whether I was feeling seasick again.
I genuinely considered throwing her into the ocean.
Instead, I accepted her suggestion and returned to rest.
Because after only a single day here, I have reached one very uncomfortable conclusion.
This place is impossible.
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