Chương 167: Chapter 28: Simply Selena

The year-end festival arrived, a vibrant celebration where the entire university and a large part of Kaelburg were dyed in brilliant colors. Tradition dictated wearing white, like a pure canvas to receive the new year painted with new hopes. That night, the air filled with colored powders from all across the spectrum, launched into the sky in rainbow clouds that covered the people, the streets, and the buildings. Selena, Maya, Ren, Fjora, and Samira joined the crowd.

Although to Selena, the powder was more of a nuisance than an enjoyment; it made her cough, it stung her eyes, and it reminded her, with a pang of sour nostalgia, of the fireworks of her previous world, the images of those controlled explosions of light and sound in the night sky, which here were replaced by this silent and suffocating earthly rainbow. In Calcar, the first month of the year, the twentieth day finally arrived: it was Selena's birthday.

She expected nothing more than the gift promised by Valerius, perhaps a rare book, a piece of fine jewelry, or some discreetly packaged political favor. But what arrived, sent by an elegant delegation wearing the livery of House Solendra, completely surprised her. She did not expect it at all. It was a short scimitar, but not just any kind. It was a masterpiece of martial arts.

The hilt was made of solid, yet unostentatious gold; it was carved with the crest of House Solendra, the hawk over the waves, in a relief so detailed it seemed alive. The blade, made of gleaming steel with a faint water-like pattern, was perfectly balanced. As she unsheathed it with her good hand, which was her left, fortunately unharmed, the sound was a whisper of promise and death. Fjora, upon seeing it, smiled, and that emotion rose to her eyes.

Selena had learned to read her emotions in her minimal gestures, in her silences, and she understood her better now by learning her native language. Only then did the Nordic woman let out a rare compliment: —A work of art. Not just to show, but to use. Whoever forged it knew both beauty and function. Selena nodded, speechless; it was not what she expected, and the surprise made it all the better. A weapon as a gift, an instrument of war, exquisite and lethal.

It was the most honest recognition Valerius could have given her: he did not see her as a court lady, but as a warrior, a survivor, someone who needed and would know how to use a worthy extension of her will. The accompanying note was equally remarkable, written in the same energetic penmanship as the previous letter, but briefer, more personal:"Selena, A gift for a woman who truly knows how to defend what she loves. And my affection is almost as precious as the hilt of this sword.

I hope it accompanies you for the rest of your life. With love, Valerius." The complete absence of noble titles and formulas of courtesy gave it an extra touch, something that felt close. All of it carried a single message: it was intimate, direct, and affectionate in a practical and profound sense. Selena ran her fingers over the cold gold of the hilt, feeling the perfect weight of the weapon, and for the first time in a long while, a genuine smile, free of irony, lit up her face.

That same day, while she was heading toward her morning routine, which had now been adapted to include rehabilitation exercises for her shoulder, Maya stealthily snuck up from behind and covered her eyes with her hands. —Countess! —she announced in a theatrical voice— You are kidnapped once again. Without giving her time to react, she placed a thick blindfold over her eyes, tying it with a ridiculously loose knot. —By my power as a resonant, I bind you to the cloth!

And you will not be able to remove it until I decree it so. It was all an absurd lie; that kind of magic did not exist. The countess only thought one thing: How do you even replicate the binding of an object? Selena laughed, a clear sound of amusement at the ridiculousness of the act. —Now follow us to the cave where we will torture you! —Maya continued, trying to sound sinister but managing only a playful tone— If you resist, we will treat you with even greater disdain.

Ren's laughter was heard then, along with his deep voice, imitating the tone of a clumsy executioner: —In my name and by my power, I shall guide you to the cave! If you stray from the path, you will lose your leg. Or perhaps just a shoe! The soldier could not contain his laughter, and neither could Maya; both giggled quietly. Selena, blindfolded but smiling from ear to ear, allowed herself to be guided.

For several minutes, they led her through the paths and corridors of the university amidst similar jokes, feigned stumbles, and increasingly absurd threats, occasionally even poking her in the ribs with a finger. It was Maya who added the last one; she sounded thrilled, perhaps crying with laughter. —If you breathe too loudly, we will make you recite love poems in Volg-Thûr! Finally, she noticed the air changing, the sounds of footsteps multiplying, and that they were entering a larger space smelling of food.

Although upon entering everything was silent, only the warmth of breathing betrayed the presence of more people. It's the dining hall, she quickly deduced. Hardly anyone is around at this hour. They never removed her blindfold. Then, she heard more voices. A woman, with a sweet and melodious voice that contrasted with the previous rowdiness, said: This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. —The prisoner seems to be in good condition.

Although her fashion sense is questionable. It was Fjora. Selena laughed, delighted. —My guardian! —Selena exclaimed, making a forced gesture of dramatic relief— She will come to save me from these vile kidnappers! A singsong voice, full of familiar sarcasm, responded immediately: —Crimson, if you move, we will poke you until you have no blood left. You will be a nice, dry sponge. Maybe I'll replace your blood with cheap ovin. It would be an improvement, considering your taste for the dramatic.

It was, without a doubt, Valerian. —The idiot is right —another voice added, female, dry, and with an authority that brooked no argument— You would be more useful as a sponge. It was Isolde. No one else referred to Valerian like that, with that disdain loaded with a strange familiarity. Then, Samira spoke, in pure Sahric, her voice soft but clear: —Xanima min, ji wan bawer neke. Ev şanogeriyek e. She understood it immediately; the scholar had said:"My lady, do not believe them. It is a farce."

Selena smiled, recognizing her academic tone of complicity. But Valerian replied instantly, also in fluent Sahric, with perfect intonation: —Al'Shar dê te ceza bike heke tu ji rola xwe derkevî, xayina piçûk. Li gorî senaryoyê biçe, an na ez ê heta berbengê traktatên taksonomiya kudan bi te bidim wergerandin. The jester had said:"Al'Shar will punish you if you step out of character, little traitress. Stick to the script, or I will make you translate treatises on mushroom taxonomy until dawn."

The threat, delivered in the language of the desert, was so absurd and precise that Selena could not suppress a louder laugh, which echoed through the nearly empty dining hall.

After the theatrical threat, Maya continued with her role as a sinister kidnapper, leaning close to Selena with a voice that tried to sound ominous but vibrated with suppressed laughter: —We will torture you by making you eat entrails and coagulated blood —she declared with ridiculous solemnity— That way we can complete the sacrifice to the Dark Weaver and obtain his favor... or at least, a good harvest of crustios next autumn. But what she brought to Selena's blindfolded lips was nothing disgusting.

The aroma that reached her nostrils was sweet, warm, of baked flour, honey, and some fruit she could not identify but which smelled like summer. It was the unmistakable scent of a cake. —You must eat without asking questions —Maya instructed, lowering her voice even further, as if sharing a deadly secret— If you ask, the ritual will be ruined... and we will have to sever your limbs one by one. Starting with your toes. It would be a shame; you have nice feet.

Selena heard Valerian whisper nearby, his voice a thin thread of pure sarcasm: —Very fitting for the former Crimson Duchess. From bloodthirsty to baker. The circle closes with powdered sugar. The black humor, so typical of the jester, amused Selena so much that a sob of stifled laughter escaped her lips. Then, without further ado, guided by the aroma and the trust that this was another affectionate joke, Selena lunged with a blind bite toward where she expected the sweet to be.

Her teeth closed not upon the void, but upon a spongy, sweet, and slightly moist texture. Indeed, it was a cake. A generous mouthful of fragrant sponge cake, with a creamy fruit filling and a smooth glaze that melted on her tongue. A chorus of laughter erupted around her. Then, gentle hands removed the blindfold from her eyes. The light of the dining hall, now decorated with simple garlands of wildflowers and a few candles, welcomed her.

In front of her, forming a smiling semicircle, stood everyone: Maya, her eyes shining with joy; Ren, with a wide and carefree smile; Isolde, with her usual stern expression but a slight curve on her lips; Valerian, with an arched eyebrow and his smug, feline smile; Fjora, standing with her martial posture but an unusual softness in her glaze-blue eyes; and Samira, observing everything with her wise, calm gaze. In unison, as if rehearsed, they declared: —Happy birthday, Selena!

One by one, they handed her their gifts. They were not items of ostentatious luxury, but thoughtful, personal gifts that spoke of the place she occupied in their lives. Maya gave her a necklace. Although it was not a piece of jewelry made from precious metals, the fact that it was made of fine hand-woven thread made her appreciate it more; it was composed of green and earth tones, from which hung small transparent resin gems enclosing tiny petals and fragments of dried leaves.

—So, you can carry a little piece of the forest with you —the alchemist said with a timid blush. Ren gifted her a bersh. Selena examined it with growing amazement: the board and the pieces were exactly like those of a chess set from Earth.

But looking closer, the pieces were not kings, queens, and bishops, but delicately carved animals of Erabergh: the king was a majestic dune felis, the queen an agile Titanopods, the pawns upright anurhys, the knights flyers of the sands, the rooks robust titarde trees, and the bishops highly stylized nimoras. —So you never forget that strategy is universal —Ren said proudly— And so you have someone to play with when you're bored. Isolde handed her a quill.

It was no ordinary bird feather, but one of finely crafted silver, with the calamus sharpened like a needle and the body engraved with minuscule, almost invisible runes. She said nothing, only holding it before her with a meaningful gesture. A nod from the master of the written touch to the student who had created her first resonant object. Valerian gave her a book. It was small, with a thin spine. Selena opened it to the first page. In the center, in large, simple letters, it read: "HAPPINESS."

The following pages were completely blank. Valerian, smiling from ear to ear, announced: —I see you were gifted happiness. Curious gift. I hope you fill it with things less bloody than your usual memories. Fjora stepped forward then. In her long, calloused hands, she held one of the hairbands she always wore, simple strips of soft leather woven with Nordic geometric patterns. —It is an inheritance from my mother —she said, her voice sweet and deep at the same time— from before they brought me to this kingdom.

I do not have much to give, but this... this has value. So, you can tie your mane with something that has history, not just pretty cloth. Finally, Samira handed her a book. It was a thin but dense treatise:"Foundations of Proto-Erahari: The Foundational Language of Erabergh." —So that, when you master Norrun —Samira said with a slight smile— you have another language to lose yourself in. Knowledge, after all, is the only refuge that never betrays you.

Selena held them all, one by one, feeling the weight not of metal or paper, but of affection, observation, and connection. They were not courtesy gifts; they were pieces of their worlds, offered to her. The rest of the day passed in a bubble of simple and genuine celebration. They ate the cake, which turned out to be made of berries and wild honey cream, drank sweet ovin and light beer, and shared absurd anecdotes from classes, failed training sessions, Valerian's whims, and the eccentricities of the university.

Laughter filled the empty dining hall, echoing against the stone walls like an echo of life in the midst of the holiday silence. That night, Selena fell asleep in her room at the Forest Cloister, half-dizzy from the mild alcohol and with a large, calm, and unguarded smile on her face. It was the widest and most serene smile she had possessed since arriving in that world exactly one year ago. She had not resolved the mysteries of her existence, nor cured all her wounds, nor found all the answers.

But for that night, surrounded by the simple and meaningful gifts on her nightstand, along with the warmth of the cake and friendship still in her stomach, she felt, for the first time, not like an intruder, not like a trapped countess, not like a blood-stained survivor, but simply as Selena. And, for now, that was more than enough.