The weeks passed in the capital in a relentless rhythm, almost monotonous, a tedious routine of classes, lectures, and studious evenings at the Imperial School of Mor. Spring was settling in gently, the melting snow revealing the worn stone and damp earth under a timid sun. Yet, amidst this quietude, a great excitement stirred in Mero's heart, an impatience that grew with each passing day. The paintings he had envisioned for the four corners of the world, bearers of his ambition to capture the essence of distant lands, were finally returning. Their rolls, filled with whispered tales, arrived like messengers from an elsewhere he had never truly explored.
One day, as the soft light of dawn filtered through the windows of his room, a servant knocked at his door, carrying a discreet yet charged mission. The artists entered one by one, their attire still marked by the dust of the roads and the salt of the seas, their faces bearing the tan of months of adventures. They laid their precious rolls on a large wooden table in the center of the room, and Mero felt his breath catch as they unrolled the first canvases before him. A mix of emotions washed over him—amazement, curiosity, a hint of apprehension—as if he were opening windows onto worlds he had only vaguely dreamed of until now.
The paintings from the Orient burst before his eyes like an explosion of warmth and life. The warm hues—golds, oranges, deep reds—seemed to capture the sun he had so often contemplated from the coasts of Sel. Exotic markets sprawled across the canvas, their stalls overflowing with spices, silks, and rare fruits, painted with a precision that almost made the scents waft through the air. Animated scenes unfolded, each detail—a merchant haggling, a child playing, a woman carrying a jug—telling a story, inviting the viewer to dive into the bustling scene. Deserts stretched endlessly, their sandy expanses dotted with caravans, their silhouettes flowing like rivers of gold under the blazing sun, while luxuriant oases offered a promise of freshness, their waters shimmering like jewels amidst the arid landscape. Each detail—a majestic palace, a lush garden, a bustling souk—murmured a tale, each stroke of the brush capturing a moment of life, a fragment of a distant world.
The paintings from the Northern lands, on the other hand, opened onto more austere yet equally breathtaking landscapes. Vast, endless skies stretched over snow-covered plains, their horizons melting into an ethereal haze. Icy mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks capped with eternal snows, while glacial lakes reflected the stark beauty of the surroundings. Small villages nestled in the valleys, their chimneys puffing out thin trails of smoke, hinting at the warm, cozy interiors within. The scenes were painted with a sober, almost reverent touch, each stroke capturing the grandeur and silence of these isolated lands. Mero could almost feel the crisp air, hear the crunch of snow underfoot, and see the hardy inhabitants going about their daily lives, their faces marked by the harsh climate yet radiating a quiet strength.
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The paintings from the Southwestern territories, however, revealed a world of stark contrasts, where the shadows of the mountains met the blazing light of the desert. The skies, vast and endless, were painted with a vibrant intensity, as if the very air was charged with energy. Desert landscapes stretched out, their sandy expanses dotted with cacti and rugged shrubs, while hidden oases offered a promise of respite, their waters shimmering like mirages under the scorching sun. Small, picturesque villages clung to the mountainsides, their whitewashed houses gleaming under the relentless sun, while narrow, winding paths snaked through the rugged terrain, hinting at the hardy lives of their inhabitants. The scenes were painted with a raw, almost visceral touch, each stroke capturing the harsh beauty and resilience of these isolated lands.
The paintings from the Southeastern archipelagos, in contrast, opened onto a world of lush, vibrant beauty. The skies, vast and endless, were painted with a soft, almost dreamlike quality, as if each grain of sand held a secret, each gust of wind whispered a hidden tale. Tropical beaches stretched out, their golden sands meeting the turquoise waters of the sea, while hidden coves offered glimpses of paradise, their waters shimmering with hues of emerald and sapphire. Small fishing villages nestled along the coasts, their colorful boats bobbing gently on the waves, while lush forests stretched out in the distance, their canopies teeming with life. The scenes were painted with a lush, almost reverent touch, each stroke capturing the grandeur and tranquility of these isolated islands.
Mero felt a particular connection with these paintings, their landscapes echoing the tales of Mandarine on her native shores. The scenes, vibrant with life and color, seemed to capture the very essence of the distant lands, inviting the viewer to dive into their stories, to explore their hidden depths. He imagined the paintings hanging in a grand gallery at the school, each canvas a doorway, an invitation to explore, to understand, to unite. He knew that this project would transcend ages, a legacy that would bear his name and that of Sel in history.
One evening, as he was noting a card in his chamber, a servant entered with a new purse—an additional payment for the artists, which he had decided to add to support their journey. "Let them have everything they need," he ordered. "I want them to return with masterpieces, not regrets." The servant bowed and disappeared, leaving Mero alone with his thoughts.
He approached the window, gazing at the capital stretching out under a sky streaked with rose and gold. The artists were gone, their footsteps already echoing on distant roads. He felt a deep pride swell within him—not for himself, but for what they would accomplish together. The world was opening up to him, canvas by canvas, and with each stroke of the brush, his dream took flight.
