Chương 112: Chapter 45: The Method and the Bubble

The next day, after an intense study session in one of the auxiliary rooms of the library, surrounded by the aroma of parchment dust and beeswax, Selena continued her slow and meticulous labor of intellectual sowing with Hassan and Ralish. The topic was methodology, the cornerstone of all reliable knowledge. Instead of imposing ideas as dogmas, Selena, with the patience of a gardener who knows that the seed must germinate on its own, guided the conversation with questions.

—Imagine —she said, toying with a piece of chalk upon the table— that you see a patient recover after drinking an infusion of dusaut bark. What would you do? Ralish, with his back perfectly straight in his chair, was practical and replied: —I would administer the same infusion to others with similar symptoms. Hassan, bringing his hand to his face in a more cautious gesture, added: —But what if it was a coincidence? Or what if the bark had a beneficial parasite that day and not another?

Selena nodded, a spark of satisfaction in her eyes as she spoke. —Exactly. We need a path, a method that leads us from casual observation to reproducible truth. Thus, weaving her questions with their answers, she revealed to them, almost making them believe that the idea sprang from their own reasoning, the logical skeleton of the scientific method. She broke it down into steps, simple and powerful: —First, the observation of a phenomenon. Something happens; something catches our attention.

Hassan nodded, his agile mind following the thread. —Second, the question. To define with precision what it is that we want to understand. Not does this cure? but does this specific infusion reduce fever in patients with symptoms of seasonal flu? Ralish frowned, noting down every word with fierce concentration. —Third, the hypothesis. To propose a possible explanation, based on what we know.

"Dusaut bark contains a substance that lowers body temperature." Hassan, this time, watched her with absolute attention, almost catching her words in the air. —Fourth —Selena continued. Her voice took on a tone of conviction that illuminated the dusty room, while her friends pondered her words. —Experimentation. The hypothesis is put to the test with a controlled method.

One group receives the infusion, another receives tinted water so that they believe it is the medicine, and their temperatures are measured under the same conditions. Fifth, the analysis. You compare your results with what was expected. Did those who took the infusion improve more? Was it a significant difference or could it be chance? Both youths nodded, Ralish in particular writing rapidly.

—Sixth, the conclusion —she said and left the chalk on the table with a definitive click— You accept, discard, or adjust the hypothesis. And seventh, communication. The results are made known, along with all the steps, so that anyone, anywhere, can repeat it and verify if they reach the same result. This is how knowledge is built. Brick by brick, experiment by experiment, not by faith or tradition, but by verifiable evidence.

Hassan and Ralish kept writing maniacally, their quills scratching the parchment with an urgent and hopeful sound. In their eyes shone the flash of a revelation, the feeling of having finally found a compass to navigate the sea of uncertainty that was the medicine of their world. It was more than a lesson; it was a tool of intellectual liberation. Later that same day, academic rigor gave way to a necessary respite.

Selena went out with Maya, leaving the shelves and theories behind for the living bustle of Kaelburg under a gentle and persistent snowfall. The flakes, large and slow, fell like feathers from a leaden sky, covering the rooftops and streets with a quiet, white mantle. They found refuge in one of the numerous modest inns, one called "The Hoarse Tun." The interior was warm, smoky, and smelled of fresh beer as well as a thick broth.

They ordered the house specialty: tanner's soup, a robust stew made with chunks of tough meat softened for hours, legumes, and some lean herbs that gave it a unique character. For Selena, who still carried in her memory the flavors of Terracanto shared with Kaela, every hot spoonful that gently burned her tongue was an earthly paradise, an anchor in the most basic and satisfying physical reality. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

After eating, with their bodies warmed by the food, Maya dragged her to the main square. The snowfall had driven away the crowd, but a small group of musicians, sheltered under an awning, played with determination. The melody was simple, a repetitive and melancholic tune called "The Tanner's Ballad." It was sung by a burly youth, with a voice like honey on warm bread.

"Down beside the valley river stands old Martin's tannery, Among hides and staining barrels rich with indigo and dye. He scrapes the leather by moonlight, works it through the golden sun, For no worthy saddle-maker pays for mistakes once they are done. They all swear his weathered hands have never known a tremblin' fear, Yet they soften into candlewax when a certain voice is near." Both were about to leave, shivering despite the stew, when Selena saw her.

A little girl, bundled up in an oversized red coat, was playing on the steps of a fountain already covered in a layer of snow. Upon seeing Selena, the girl smiled at her, a flash of innocence in the midst of the winter gray. Selena returned the smile, an automatic gesture of warmth. Then, the girl pulled a small ring and a vial from her pocket. She dipped the ring into the soapy liquid and, blowing it gently, brought forth a soap bubble.

It was perfect, iridescent, catching the meager light and breaking it into fragile rainbows as it floated, weightless, in the cold air. But out of nowhere, a visceral, primitive, and absolutely paralyzing fear took hold of Selena. It was a physical reaction. A cold sweat ran down her back. Her heart accelerated until it struck her ribs with a dull hammering. The image of that bubble, fragile and bright, connected with something dark and buried deep within her being, awakening a blind, irrational panic.

Without thinking, she turned around and took off running. She left the square behind, along with Maya shouting her name, and the musicians whose melody distorted into a buzzing in her ears. She ran without direction, driven only by the need to escape that bubble, until she ducked into a narrow, dark alley away from the bustle. There, between the dirty snow and the moldy stone walls, she curled up, wrapping herself in her blanket as if she could disappear. Sobs shook her, convulsive, uncontrollable.

With each hot tear that rolled down her cold cheeks, she seemed to shrink, to make herself smaller, retreating to a state of childlike vulnerability that she did not know or understand. Maya found her minutes later, panting and worried. —Selena? What happened? —she asked, kneeling beside her in the snow. Selena, her voice choked with sobs and confusion, barely managed to articulate: —I don't know… an irrational fear took over me. Maybe… maybe I have a phobia of bubbles?

Maya, after an instant of surprise, could not help it. The tension of the moment, the absurdity of the situation compared to the real dangers they faced daily, provoked a nervous laugh that transformed into a liberating roar of laughter. —Seriously? —she managed to say between laughs— You get kidnapped by armed men, a bounce tears away your fingers, but… a soap bubble traumatizes you? She wiped away a tear from laughing. —What's next? Fear of the air?

Maya's words, spoken with affection and a dark humor that only they could share, acted as a balm. The spell of panic broke. Selena, still trembling, let out a shaky sigh and then, little by little, a weak smile appeared on her lips. The absurdity of the situation struck her as well. She sat up, wiping her face with her sleeve. —Maybe —she said, her voice still hoarse but recovering a joking tone— it's fear of anurhys.

The image of the chubby and happy anurhy licking her hand rose in her mind, contrasting grotesquely with the terror of the bubble. A new fit of laughter, this time shared, shook them both there in the cold alley, a strange and vital sound that chased away the last vestiges of the inexplicable fear. That day ended like that, with the echo of nervous laughter still warming her chest despite the cold alley. The next morning, long before the first sound of the dawn bell echoed over Kaelburg, Selena was already awake.

A thick silence, cushioned by the snow, enveloped the Cloister of the Forest. She got out of bed and approached the window. Outside, the world had been transformed. The overnight snowfall had been generous, covering every rooftop, every branch, every path with an immaculate, white mantle several fingers thick. The light of dawn, still timid, tinged the scene a pale, ghostly blue.

Samira, always discreet and efficient, had already lit the small stone stove in a corner of the room; a dry, comforting warmth was beginning to dispute territory with the cold filtering through the window frames. Selena dressed with care, choosing her warmest clothes: thick wool trousers, high boots of greased leather, a quilted vest over a thermal blouse, and above all, a long, heavy tunic lined with animal fur, soft and warm.

She wrapped herself in a travel blanket, put on a long scarf and a woolen hat that let escape only strands of her brown hair. Gloves completed her armor against the winter. She looked at herself in the mirror; she was not the fearful girl of the first days in this world, nor would she ever be again.

She refused to be the hereditary duchess, but her bearing undoubtedly betrayed her; looking in the mirror, her green eyes always stood out like two stars guiding her destiny, a destiny that had changed through simple conversation with her fellow apprentice doctors.