Chương 158: Chapter 19: The Sky Before Dawn

Although the little girl decided to eat in solitude, Selena, respecting her privacy, left the workshop. Later that same day, Selena headed to the university's main dining hall, her stomach rumbling discreetly after hours of concentration. The corridor was silent, bathed in the golden, lazy light of the afternoon. In a niche beside a window, she found Maya sitting on a stone bench, deeply absorbed in a thick, official-looking book.

Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her fingers following the lines with almost devout attention. Selena approached noiselessly and looked over her shoulder. The title, engraved in severe Gothic lettering, read:"The Servant's Code: Rights, Duties, and Tributes" – Chief Royal Magistrate. An arid volume, filled with laws that stratified society with the coldness of a scalpel.

With a gentle movement, Selena placed her hand on the page and began to lower the book slowly, as if closing a curtain on a world of statutes and obligations. Maya showed a clear grimace of displeasure, her eyes still fixed on the lost text, until she looked up and recognized her friend. Then, her expression softened into a mixture of annoyance and affection. —Always pulling me away from my books without permission —Maya said, closing her eyes and shaking her head— You should be more polite, Selena.

A little warning, at least. Maya sighed deeply, but her gentle smile remained on her lips. —Actually —Selena replied, adopting a casual tone but with a playful gleam in her eyes— I was thinking about what to do with this silver bracelet I've created. She pulled the bracelet from her pocket, letting the light capture its modest shine. —I had thought of a healer girl who now studies alchemy. I even thought of someone with hazel eyes, intelligent and observant. Or perhaps... a mage.

Yes, a mage like the ones in legends, the kind who write treatises and change the course of things with their minds. She watched Maya as she spoke, seeing how expectation grew on her face, how her cheeks began to blush slightly. Without further preamble, Selena took Maya's left wrist and slid the bracelet around it, fastening the clasp with a soft click. —A tangible bond of our promise —she said, her voice now lower, more intimate— Not written on parchment but forged in silver. So that you won't forget.

Maya turned completely red, from her neck to the roots of her hair. The bracelet, simple but elegant, shone against her pale skin like a captured fragment of the moon. —People are going to think we are sweethearts —the alchemist murmured, lowering her head and speaking so softly that the words were almost an unintelligible whisper. Then, she looked up, her hazel eyes shining with a mixture of embarrassment and deep curiosity. —Do you believe in Solendri, Selena? It's just that...

I've never seen you worship at the Church of the Sap, not even in Aelthra, nor do you mention the Flow much. You are... different. Selena looked at her for a moment, evaluating. Then, she lowered her voice to a whisper that only Maya could hear, leaning into her ear. —If I tell you, don't judge me. —She made a dramatic pause— I don't believe in the gods of any religion or cult. None of them. She pulled away slowly, and a conspiratorial wink accompanied her words. —A heretic, some would say.

Selena was relishing the word, as if it were a private banner, a truth she could only share with someone who would not use it as a weapon. Maya did not seem surprised, but rather relieved. She sighed, a sound that carried the weight of a long-intuited understanding. —No healer has a strong faith —she said, her voice firmer now— That's what Mother always used to say. Blind faith clouds the diagnosis. You must see the illness, not the miracle. She paused, and a flash of nostalgia crossed her face.

—Though she did believe it. In the Church of the Milky Mushroom. Do you know them? She looked at Selena expectantly, and seeing her shake her head, she continued. —Micolis, the White Mother. Their dogma and motto is:"From the body is born milk, and from milk, life. Death is not the end, but ferment for what follows." The words came out with the cadence of a prayer learned in childhood. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

—Studying the mushroom here, in the Natural Sciences and Alchemy track, they teach us that mycelium is connected to everything, that the micolac, the milky mushroom, was selected through thousands of years of cultivation, choosing the best, the healthiest ones. But of the faith Mother taught me... little remains. Now I only see networks of fibers, spores, and chemical reactions. Poetry became process. And sometimes —she added, stroking the silver bracelet with the tips of her fingers— I miss the poetry.

Selena nodded, understanding not only the words but the silent grief they described: the loss of magic to explanation, of mystery to certainty. It was a journey she herself had undertaken, in another world, in another life. —Then —Selena said, taking a seat beside Maya on the stone bench— we have a heretic and a skeptical healer. A fine pair to challenge gods and diagnoses. Would you like something to eat? Today there are, according to rumors, steamed Gau-Zi. A true miracle, if you ask me.

Maya smiled, the flush on her cheeks beginning to fade, replaced by an expression of quiet affection. —An earthly miracle —she agreed— That I do believe in. Selena pulled out another cloth, clean and carefully folded, where she kept more steamed Gau-Zi, still warm. She unfolded them before Maya on the cold stone of the niche, the aroma of home and spices filling the small space between them.

They ate in silence at first, savoring every bite, then smiles and jokes emerged naturally, dissolving the weight of their previous confessions. They talked about classes, Maya's progress in alchemy, the absurd court protocols that Selena now masterfully avoided, and the way the anurhys kept fleeing from Maya despite her attempts to pet them. —Isolde mentioned a way, she said they could be marked and they wouldn't fear.

—Maya left the information hanging in the air and sighed— But she didn't tell me how to do it; the worst part is she only mentioned "you must understand the mind." The afternoon swayed gently, the golden light yielding to violet and orange hues, until the first shadows of night stretched through the corridors. They walked together to the Cloister of the Forest, where the air smelled of damp earth and nocturnal flowers. They said goodbye with a brief but warm embrace, a gesture that no longer needed words.

The days went by, weaving themselves into a pattern of effort and small victories. Selena continued practicing jewelry creation with Meilan, her hands gaining muscle memory, her mistakes becoming less frequent and more subtle. In the afternoons, she studied Norrun with Fjora and Samira, a language that at first had seemed harsh and guttural to her, but was now beginning to reveal its musical secrets, its declensions that could turn a threat into a whisper or a promise into a roar.

—Klucz k nawuknjenju norruma je zrozumjenje casa —the Nordic woman pronounced with a fluidity that only a native possesses despite the years. Samira moved her mouth slowly, pointing her fingers at her lips until Selena followed her. Only then did the scholar speak. —Kedźbuj na sylne zvuki, Selena. She learned slowly and carefully, just as she had done with Sahric; every night was sacred to speak solely in that language, until her saturated brain could take no more due to mental fatigue.

Her weapons practice progressed even faster; within two weeks, Selena already prevailed in most bouts against her classmates, her fluid and economical style disarming more brutal attacks with frustrating elegance. It was then, after a particularly intense session where she had defeated three opponents in a row without receiving a single significant blow, that Instructor Cartago called her aside. His weathered face showed an expression of respectful evaluation.

—Selena de Solendra —he said, his grave voice echoing in the quiet courtyard—, from today on you will study with Remo, the master of the art of Denadi Stili. Seeing the furrow of unfamiliarity on Selena's face, an almost imperceptible smile appeared beneath his gray mustache. —You don't know the name, of course. But you already use the art of the flow when you fight with your scimitar. That is why you prevail, using the opponent's force as if it were water you are redirecting.

Remo will teach you to name it, to understand it... and to truly master it. Selena nodded, a spark of curiosity kindled in her eyes. Denadi Stili, they explained to her, meant The Flowing Shield. It was not magic, but it sounded like a close cousin, a philosophy of movement applied to combat. Another layer to decipher. That same day, after training, she headed straight to Meilan's workshop.

She had been practicing every possible day for two and a half months, and today, under the clear afternoon light streaming through the windows, she finished what she considered her first complete work: not an exercise, not a practice piece, but a creation with intent and meaning. It was an earring. Made of dark silver, carefully polished to achieve a deep, matte shine, like the sky just before dawn.

Although her jewel gleamed like a ruby, it was not one; rather, it was garnet of a dark, intense, and sanguine red, set with a precision that had cost her three attempts and a bruised finger. It was, without a doubt, an excellent twin to the original that Valerian had given her. Not identical, the original was more aggressive, more theatrical in its black silver and blood-red stone, but a complement: more earthly, more reflective, but with the same latent fire in its garnet heart.

Meilan took it between her fingers, turning it slowly, subjecting it to her implacable scrutiny. She spent an entire minute in silence. Then, she nodded a single time. —Medium-high quality for a respected goldsmith —she declared, with her usual brutal honesty— The edges of the setting could be cleaner, and the oxidation is a bit irregular here, on the curve. She pointed to an almost imperceptible spot. —But for a novice... it is great work. You did it. You have created something that does not just exist but speaks.

She handed the earring back to her and, with an unexpected gesture, pulled a small bottle of dark glass from a shelf. —Take this. A family tradition. Fermented Chámun liquor, infused with fruits. —Her eyes shone with a flash of ceremony— Celebrate the first tangible achievement of a jewel. You will never forget that one. It is the step from apprentice to artisan. The first rung toward greatness... or toward ruin, if you get overconfident. She held a smile full of mischief.

Selena accepted the bottle, feeling its cool weight in her hand. The gesture, simple but laden with meaning, moved her more than she expected. It was not a trade; it was recognition. Then, with determination, she took a firm swig; the liquor burned her throat, and the fruity flavor sang upon her tongue, leaving sweetness as the final note.