Chương 104: Chapter 37: The Destiny of the One Who Stumbles

Finally, when she arrived, there beneath the imposing and silent presence of the Hourglass, a figure waited. Valerian, incredibly punctual, was leaning against the stone base of the clock, with his arms crossed and an expression of studied boredom. Upon seeing her arrive running, with her face slightly flushed from the effort and the haste, a malicious smile appeared on his lips. With a voice that cut through the scattered murmur of the atrium, he shouted: —Crown Duchess, over here!

The words resonated with deliberate clarity. Several heads turned; curious or reverent gazes fell upon Selena. She felt the blush rise from her neck to her cheeks, a mixture of irritation and embarrassment. Valerian enjoyed every instant, his smile widening upon seeing her discomfort. Once the gazes began to disperse, Valerian, without further ado, opened the hidden passage in the base of the clock with a fluid gesture.

Selena followed him, plunging once more into the intestinal labyrinth of tunnels beneath the university. This time, the path was shorter, less sinuous, as if the final destination were closer to the surface than usual. The room they arrived at was small, intimate. The walls were of a simple ochre color, a warm and austere earth tone that did not entirely reflect the light of the few tallow lamps.

There was no formal furniture; instead, cushions of thick cloth and faded colors were scattered across the polished stone floor. The atmosphere was strangely welcoming, far from the oppressive whiteness or the glacial gray of other rooms. Selena, without waiting for instructions, chose a cushion near the center and sat down, crossing her legs beneath the fold of her refined linen dress. Valerian remained standing for a moment, observing her.

Then, to her surprise, he sat down in front of her, adopting a similar posture, without flourishes or bows. —Crimson —he began. His voice completely lacked the usual theatrical affectation. It was a flat, almost respectful tone. —I give you my congratulations for using your perception of the Void to find me. Selena felt a prickle of alarm. Her lie from yesterday weighed heavy on her tongue.

Before she could articulate an excuse, fearing that her deceit would deprive her of more advanced lessons, she hurried to interrupt: —I lied yesterday. I found you by chance. Valerian raised a hand, not with abruptness, but with an authoritative calmness. He brought his index finger to his own lips, in a gesture of silence that was both a command and a lesson. —A resonant with high perception —he said, lowering his hand— will always be guided by inevitable destiny toward their goal or design.

It is like a carefree anurhy that comes across fish meat by stumbling into it. A smile, small but genuine, appeared on his lips. —That counts as food too, crimson. —This time there was a slight flourish with his hand, a nod to his old persona, but it vanished quickly. He kept silent, letting his words settle in the still air of the ochre room. His gray gaze studied Selena, weighing her reaction, measuring the depth of her comprehension. —So, I thought about giving you a gift —he continued.

His voice dropping to a more intimate, more confidential tone. —One that I know you desire, but which you, in your veiled ignorance, are incapable of glimpsing, despite the fact that you play with it between your fingers on certain days. Selena held her breath. What is he referring to? Corren's bracelet? My fire? Valerian leaned his body forward, reducing the distance between them.

His voice resonated then with a strange tone, as if it arrived with the wind through cracks in the stone, laden with an ancestral weight: —I will tell you, little ignorant of everything, little apprentice of nothing and being of prudent curiosity… He made a dramatic pause, and when he spoke again, each word was a nail in the coffin of a legend, a truth unearthed from the deepest darkness: —Eliud Volgthar, upon dying, left behind a horrifying dungeon. But upon knowing his destiny, he withdrew to the Twisted Forest.

There, in a hidden cave, was his demise. He asked that no one follow or accompany him. Valerian's voice lost every trace of mockery, turning grave, narrative, like that of a chronicler of tragedies or that of a true teacher; that gave Selena a shiver that ran all the way down her spine. —But some loyal soldiers disobeyed him. Selena could see it: the first king, consumed by his power and his guilt, crawling to a forgotten place to die in peace, to contain the catastrophe of his own death.

And those men, faithful until the end, crossing the boundary of his final order. —That dungeon —Valerian proceeded. She noticed in the jester's eyes something that seemed to pierce through the ochre walls toward a place of horrors that had once existed. —Deformed the surrounding reality. The cave transformed into a dimension of the impossible, which dismembered anyone who set foot in it. The soldiers, driven to madness, mutated.

They turned into creatures of horrifying shapes: some of pulsating and exposed flesh, others with limbs that a human should never have had, fused with the rock or twisted at unnatural angles. A nightmare feast, the echo of his power corrupting everything it touched. Another shiver ran down Selena's back, this time deeper than the first. It was not the first time she had heard about dungeons, but the vivid description, the fate of those loyal men, made it tangible, bleeding.

—But the day the resonant artifact was recovered thanks to the Crown —Valerian said. She noticed then a flash of something akin to respect that shone in his eyes. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. —Fortunately, the hex disappeared. The dungeon collapsed, reality recovered its shape… or at least, a habitable shape. What remained was the artifact. He paused, ensuring he had her full attention.

When he spoke again, each syllable was clear and heavy: —That artifact, the second king called it 'The Book of the United Flesh.' One of the few imagined artifacts of which there is a record in the world.

'The Book of the United Flesh.' The name resonated in Selena's mind with a sinister echo. It did not sound like an object of power, but like a condemnation made volume, a treatise of possible horrors. Valerian fell silent, observing how the words settled in her. For a moment, the mask of the jester, of the capricious idiot, had been cast aside completely. In its place, there was a sensible man, a knower of deep and terrible secrets, sharing a fragment of that truth with his student. It was a gift, yes.

But like everything that came from Valerian, it was wrapped in warnings, in the reminder that the power of the founders, of the first resonants, was not a glory, but a scar on the world, a book whose ink was the blood and the twisted flesh of those foolish enough to follow them to the end. —I know more about the object, but I won't give it to you for free —Valerian said in a playful tone. At last, as if an internal mechanism had turned, the mask of the jester slid back over his features.

The solemnity of the previous moment vanished, replaced by a mocking and sharp smile. —Advance. Demonstrate what you are capable of. He paused, enjoying the tense silence. —Perhaps you prefer to remain in the ignorance of an anurhy that finds fish by stumbling into it… or of one that decides that eating its own tail is a brilliant idea. —He concluded with an exaggerated flourish of his hand, a gesture that cut the air like a silk guillotine. Selena pondered the words; the secret, the gift was the same.

She knew it instantly: the jester was deigning to urge her forward. Her thought was cut short by the teacher's voice. —From today onward —he announced. His tone acquired the cadence of a master dictating a sentence or an irrevocable order. —You will learn the price of each spell. And I will apply the practical method. Let us see how many years you are capable of giving before a rebound. He stared at her, his smile a sharp edge in the ochre dimness. —Or how many fingers you can lose, if you prefer to start there.

Selena felt an internal tremor, a dull vibration that was born in the depths of her stomach and rose until it tightened her throat. She remained motionless, pinned to her cushion, during long minutes that felt like hours. The air in the room became thick, laden with the promise of pain and loss. Finally, when she spoke, no words came out of her mouth. Instead of sound, there was pure intention, a mold of will forged in the silence. The room lit up. It was not a flame that burst from the walls or the floor.

It was as if the air itself had become impregnated with a phantom fire, of a deep and vibrant emerald green that filled the space with a supernatural glow. The flames danced, crackling with a sound that was not sound, a static energy that made the hairs on her arms stand up. But it did not burn. It transmitted no heat. It was a fire of pure appearance, a perfect but harmless replica, born of her will and her fear of harming, of paying a price not yet understood. Valerian did not flinch.

He did not even blink at the green spectacle enveloping the room. He simply observed, with the calmness of one watching it rain. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he formed a word with his lips. There was no sound, only the precise movement of his mouth, a silent syllable laden with intention. The effect was immediate and brutal. All of Selena's senses vanished, swept away by an invisible force.

The crackling green silence disappeared; the touch of the cushion beneath her, the smell of tallow and stone, the taste of the air… everything vanished. Only sight remained, fixed on a point in front of her. And there, materializing out of nothing, a glass appeared, but with that appearance, her senses returned. It was perfect. Of carved crystal, with elegant curves, in addition to having a brilliance that captured the faint light of the lamps and the fire that was beginning to extinguish.

Inside, clear and still water reflected the residual green glow. It was so real, so tangible in its appearance, that Selena, driven by a blind instinct, extended her hand. Her fingers closed around the glass. She felt the glass, cold and smooth. She felt the weight of the water inside. With her other hand, she dipped a finger into the liquid. The sensation was unmistakable: freshness, moisture, reality. And then, a minute after having been created, the glass ceased to exist. It did not fade, it did not break.

It simply stopped being there. Her hand closed into a fist in the empty air, and the sensation of the water on her finger evaporated like a poorly drawn memory. Valerian smiled with sadness in his eyes, then his face turned into a gesture of condescension. —Crimson —he said, his voice sounding strangely clear— you are an anurhy hatchling. Good enough to see the fish in the river, but too small to swim in the deep.

Frustration, mixed with the humiliation of the illusion and the insulting comparison, boiled in Selena's chest. This time, the annoyance was stronger than the fear. She moved her mouth, forming another silent word, but this time the intention was different: it was not an illusory creation, but a physical imposition. Out of nothing, around Valerian, the air condensed into water. Not a jet, not rain, but a sudden volume that soaked him completely, as if he had been plunged all at once into an invisible pond.

His black tunic clung to his body, his graying brown hair dripped onto his face, and a puddle formed at his feet on the stone floor. Valerian blinked, surprised by the rawness and the effectiveness of the spell. A moment passed, only the sound of water dripping. Then, a slow smile, almost of pride, shaped itself on his lips. —I already know how to swim —he said, and his voice sounded wet but filled with a genuine satisfaction. Without losing his composure, he formed another mute word with his mouth.

There was no flame, there was no light. Only a wave of dry and soft heat, like the breath of an oven in the height of summer, which emanated from himself. In a matter of seconds, his clothes stopped dripping. The puddle at his feet was reduced to a faint vapor that dissipated into the air. His hair and his tunic were completely dry, as if they had never been touched by water. The heat, controlled and precise, had done its work without leaving a trace.

—I also know how to dry myself —Valerian concluded, and made a mocking bow, giving way to her, inviting her to continue. Selena tried. For long minutes, concentrated until her forehead ached, she moved her mouth in silence, trying to replicate something, that subtle transformation. But nothing happened. The air remained cold and still. Up until she moved her lips, but everything remained the same. Valerian observed, his expression beginning to turn toward boredom.

He opened his mouth, presumably to let out another biting comment, but instead of words, a sound came from his throat: a high-pitched, strident squeak, like the shriek of a trapped mouse. He fell silent at once, bewildered. —You didn't… wait —he murmured, touching his throat in disbelief. It was then that Selena spoke, aloud, with a tone of scientific satisfaction: —It is helium. Valerian arched an eyebrow, confusion replacing the mockery. —Is that a gas?

—he asked, his voice recovering its normal timbre, but with a hint of genuine curiosity. Selena smiled foolishly, nodded her head, until at last she verbalized it. —It is —she confirmed, a flash of triumph shining in her green eyes. She had replicated, minimally, the property of helium and its composition; Valerian was breathing at that moment, without wanting to, that gas which surrounded him in a minimal amount, momentarily changing the resonance of his vocal cords.

A minor spell, almost a trick, but effective and, above all, different. Valerian observed her for a long moment, then let out a brief, dry laugh. —Ingenious. A useless waste of life, but ingenious. He sprang to his feet, the movement fluid despite the session. —This class ends here today. You are exhausted, and the Void charges more dearly when a tired mind is forced. They left through a different hiding place, a discreet exit near the thermal baths that led into a backyard.

The cold evening air was a balm after the laden confinement of the ochre room. After a silent and mechanical dinner in the university dining hall, where the food tasted of ash and effort, Selena headed straight to her quarters. Although an idea fluttered forcefully in her head still, the jester's method worked better than any theoretical lesson.