Chương 170: Chapter 31: Well Said, Child

Once she noticed Selena coming to her senses, Isolde took a sharp breath, a deliberate sound that filled the room with expectation and then exhaled a long sigh, heavy with the fatigue of someone repeating a painful and immutable truth. —Valerian was right —she said, her voice lower yet no less penetrating— You are talented with the echo. And that, for a resonant, is always a curse, child. Not a blessing.

Isolde looked directly at her, almost daring Selena to refute that reality, to seek a sliver of hope where there was none. —In any case, my duty is not to scare you, but to inform you. I only want you to accept reality. Reality is not whimsical. It does not adapt to our desires, and you must know it, in all its harshness, if you choose to walk this path. Because once you do... there is no turning back.

She fell silent, and the stillness that followed was dense, ominous, heavy with the weight of what had been said and left unsaid: the blood of the fallen, the stains in reality, the prices paid in life and sanity. Selena met Isolde's gaze without looking away. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air turning thick, until she took a deep breath and, with calm that surprised even the master, responded: —If it helps me reach the truth... I accept it.

—She sighed, a sound of resignation, but also of determination— I cannot regret it now anyway. I know how to use the written touch at least enough to heal myself. I have paid the price with my own blood and my time. A crooked, bitter smile formed on her lips. —My only option is to move forward. Going back would be... wasting the cost. Isolde observed her for a long moment, and something in her severe expression softened by a fraction, like ice yielding beneath steady, determined pressure.

—Well said, child —she nodded, her tone almost one of approval— We must always make a decision despite the pain in our hearts. It is a choice I... only learned as an adult, and at a high price. She looked at her gravely, evaluating her anew with a fresh perspective. —I know you use the written touch. The problem is that you must feel the barrier preventing you from advancing far enough with it, and that issue is that it does not function like the spoken echo. Both are replicators.

Both are paid for with time, with life. But what you do not know... —Her tone shifted into that of a seasoned master who had been teaching for decades—... is that the written touch only works on the surface of an object, or upon the resonant who activates it. Its range is limited by the time of writing, by the blood used which will disappear as the spell is consumed, by the object supporting it, and by the method of activation.

She paused, and for the first time, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. —But it has advantages, too. You can modify your own body, granting it temporary properties if you understand the necessary replication or quality. You can make a spell act as a trap, activating only under certain conditions: the presence of an enemy, a specific emotion, a hostile intent. And better yet... its power can be used across indeterminate distances.

A sealed parchment can activate months later, miles away from where it was written. However —she added, changing her tone— as you know, the spoken echo only affects up to ten meters away, whether upon the environment or a third party. It is immediate, but short. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Selena had not known that. The jester had not mentioned it at all; she had learned it solely through use. Then, Isolde's gaze turned inquisitive. —Surely the idiot did not tell you.

—She was clearly referring to Valerian with familiar disdain. She sighed and spoke again— But the echo used for direct harm to another person... always requires a medium. A channel and the efficacy varies. She counted on her fingers, enumerating with clinical coldness. Selena raised an eyebrow with growing curiosity. —Target blood yields the best efficiency: ninety-five percent. Hair offers a good rate, seventy to eighty-five. Nails, around fifty. Saliva is variable, between thirty and forty.

Finally, a beloved possession or one used for years... yields a miserable result, ten to twenty percent at most. Isolde saw Selena's surprised look, her green eyes wide at the revelation. It was clear she had not known. Isolde sighed, a sound of resigned exasperation. —So, the idiot did not explain it. Classic jester. He loves the theater but sometimes forgets the details that can save or doom a student. Selena processed the information, its dreadful and practical implications.

Then, she asked, her eyebrow raised in a gesture of calculating curiosity: —Can a resonant defend against that? Against a targeted attack using... using their blood? Isolde nodded slowly, then answered without hesitation. —Yes. A resonant object created with your own blood inside can act as a receptacle, receiving the damage directed at you in your place. But, as you know, resonants are few. Even the royal-ranked resonants in the crown's service... we are no more than twelve now, after Magnor...

—She paused briefly, a tacit acknowledgment of loss— Do not worry too much. Battles between resonants are almost impossible. We are few across all the kingdoms of the continent, and our value is far too high to waste on personal duels. Often, if two resonants face each other, they will retreat before reaching a point of no return. If they cannot... it becomes a matter of overwhelming the opponent with raw power, with the expenditure of life. And if that does not work...

Something in her expression seemed to shift, and her voice turned colder, flatter. —What will kill them will not be the other's spell, but the overwhelming expenditure of their own life. It is a race toward the void. Whichever has more to burn, or less to lose, is the one who usually remains standing... or the one who falls first, consumed from within. Isolde said it with absolute coldness, as if describing a meteorological phenomenon. But to Selena, the words ran down her spine with a visceral chill.

It was not merely theory; it was the brutal logic behind the power she wielded. The void was no noble art; it was an economy of annihilation, a transaction where the currency was existence itself. Now, with this new understanding, every silent word, every stroke of blood, every created object acquired an even more terrible and precise weight.

—Just in case that fool forgot, I will remind you, Elizabeth —the master inquired— We classify resonants as potential when searching for them, initiates when they begin their studies here at the university, advanced when they can catalyze the echo or touch, even if imperfectly and conscious when their mastery progresses to the point of being conscious of their own life in the exchange. She stopped abruptly, adding as she saw Selena's brow furrow. —You do not have the right to know any more for now.

After the long stay in the subterranean chamber, where Isolde's cold clarity had illuminated yet darkened the most intimate, dangerous mechanisms of the magic, Selena stepped out into the evening light with a clearer mind, but also a heavier one. Knowledge was a double-edged sword: now she understood the rules of the game, but she also understood the lethality of the stakes.