Chương 174: Chapter 34: The Abyss Always Waits

When the third of the four autumn months arrived, Sporex giving way to Arach with its first biting cold, Selena headed to Meilan's workshop very early one morning. She knew the young goldsmith usually woke early to work in silence, but this time the space was empty and quiet, bathed in the pale light of the autumn dawn. Upon one of the workbenches, Selena carefully placed an object wrapped in clean cloth.

It was a painting, a modest-sized canvas she had secretly painted herself over the last few weeks, stealing hours from sleep and using pigments she had mixed or bought at the market. It was not meant to be a realistic portrait of the sea from her hometown on Earth, that would have been impossible, but a cloudy memory had guided her. She created it as an abstraction: fluid, overlapping shapes of deep blues, greens, silvery grays, and touches of foamy white.

They were strokes and colors suggesting the movement of the ocean, immensity, the nostalgia of a saltwater horizon. It was something that, to anyone else, might seem an interesting artistic exercise. But to Selena, every brushstroke held the echo of the murmur of waves on the black sand beach of her former life, the silent cry of the wandering soul of a transmigrator longing for a home to which she could never return.

Beside the painting, she left a note written in her neat, elegant handwriting, the very script that reminded her of love letters in the romance novels she had once read. It read:"Meilan, I am sorry for not being at your little birthday party in a few months. To be honest, I hate bustling celebrations filled with people I don't know who stare at me like a rare specimen. But I did not want to miss the opportunity to return the gesture in some way. Last time, you gave me this beautiful ring.

I am wearing it right now, on my right pinky, where it shines with discretion. And in return, I give you one of my most cherished memories. I gift you this painting; it is not the sea of Jingdao, I know. Yet it is the sea I carry within me, the sea of another place, of another time. I know that down in the depths of your soul, you long for yours too. Shorty yes, I will still call you that, it is a term of endearment, I hope you keep growing.

In the time since I met you, you have already grown at least five centimeters. Welcome to the one-fifty-meter club. May every centimeter bring you closer to the skies you dream of touching. Affectionately, S." She did not grant it the courtly legitimacy of using her full name; it was merely an "S," intimate, like a whisper between friends. She left the package clearly visible and departed, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and relief.

She had shared a fragment of her truth, wrapped in metaphors and paint, with someone who might, in her own longing, understand it. The days flew by once more, dragged along by the cold wind heralding winter. Snow had not yet fallen in Kaelburg, but the air already held a sharp edge, and the nights lengthened like hungry shadows. It was on one of these frigid afternoons, during her private lesson with Isolde in the subterranean room, that the master did something unusual.

After months of relentless instruction, dry corrections, and lessons hard as granite, Isolde paused and looked at her. It was a gaze unlike her usual evaluative one; it was a deep, measuring look, as if weighing something beyond her academic progress. —Elizabeth —Isolde said, sitting with her customary rigid posture; she had begun calling her that whenever something was of utmost importance— It is impossible to set standard tests for you to pass as a written resonant.

The criteria are not designed for someone who arrived with... your particular background. She paused; her gray eyes fixed upon her. —But your improvement is truly incredible. Even Maya, in the year and a quarter she has been studying, is incapable of reaching the level of theoretical and practical mastery you possess now. It is... unusual. Selena waited in silence, sensing a "but" approaching.

—To another student, I would assign the perception test, the one with the eight objects —Isolde continued— But I know Valerian already put you through that when he named you a conscious resonant. Of another, I would demand they create a functional resonant object as a requirement. But that, ironically, was the test you were given to reach me. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. A flicker of something resembling irony crossed her severe face.

—It is truly remarkable what you had already achieved before even sitting in this room. —Isolde let out a short sigh— So, I will ask something else of you. You remember I had you collect your blood in a special flask, with an arcane seal to prevent it from clotting. Selena nodded; it was a task that had puzzled her at first, but she had quickly deduced the outcome. Isolde continued. —Good. Now that you have it, I will reveal the objective. We need a seal in this room. One specific protection: to prevent fire.

It does not need to be permanent. —She clarified, raising a hand— But create it. Use your blood and protect us from flames, I know you understand flames. If you achieve this... you will advance. Not to a next level, because those do not truly exist, but to a deeper understanding of the strategic application of the written touch. Selena nodded again, slower this time. Perception tests were far from this; nevertheless, she understood it: it was arcane engineering under pressure.

She stood up, went to the shelf where she kept her materials, and retrieved the opaque glass flask containing her own blood, still liquid and dark beneath runic lettering identified it as her property. She held it for a moment, feeling the strange weight of that separated part of herself, ready to be used as ink and sacrifice. Then, without hesitation, she began. She approached the wall closest to the door, dipped the tip of her index finger into the cold blood, and began to trace.

Her hand moved erratically; it was a complex pattern, guided by her perception of the void to interconnected symbols speaking of barriers, repulsion, and heat turned into nothingness, symbols no one else could discern. Her hand moved with confidence she would not have possessed months ago, following the echo's instinct to replicate, her blood moistening the stone surface according to her specific intent.

As she wrote, the blood on her finger vanished, absorbed by the wall as though the stone itself were thirsty, leaving behind nothing but the void and nothingness. She worked on all four walls, spending several minutes on each, connecting the patterns at the corners to create a closed protective network. The room now smelled of iron and that faint ozone left behind by the process of the written touch. When she finished the last wall, she took a step back, inspecting her work.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, and she felt that familiar emptiness, faint yet present, meaning she had expended life in the act. —It is ready —Selena said, her voice slightly raspy. Then she sighed, releasing her concentrated tension. She looked at Isolde expectantly, wondering what the next phase of the test would be. Isolde, contrary to everything Selena expected, simply stood up, exited the room for a moment, and returned with an ordinary torch, the kind used to light the hallways.

She lit it with a tinderbox. The flame grew, crackling and sending black smoke curling toward the low ceiling of the room. Selena held her breath. Is she going to set the room on fire? she thought. That's insane. Yet Isolde did not. Instead, with short, deliberate steps, she approached the door, which Selena had intentionally left as the entry point. Then, the master crossed the threshold, stepping into the room with the lit torch. The very instant the flame crossed the invisible line, it vanished.

Without a final crackle or residual smoke. It simply... ceased to exist, as if it had never been. Isolde stood in the center of the room holding the wooden torch, its tip now merely a piece of cold, charred cloth. The master lowered the torch and set it aside. Then, she looked directly at Selena. —Congratulations —she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. Though her tone proved it was neither congratulations for good fortune nor effusive praise. It was a cold, professional acknowledgment: you did it correctly.

You fulfilled the objective. You passed the test. The void never yielded true congratulations, only completed goals at a palpable cost. —I suppose starting today I must continue with Valerian, right? —Selena said that her tone carrying the weight of someone who knows she walks on sharp edges but accepts it as necessary. The statement was not a question; it was the confirmation of a destiny that, however uncomfortable, had already been drawn in ink and blood.

—Starting tomorrow —Isolde answered that her voice cutting through the air like a sharp knife. Selena stood still, attentive, learning to listen to what the resonant considered important. Isolde spoke just as she had expected. —A word of advice before you leave with him: the next level of the arcane path is not for everyone. But you must learn this: the path of a resonant is always toward the abyss. No matter what we desire as a goal.

—She paused, her gray eyes locked onto Selena's, as if attempting to engrave the warning directly into her soul— The abyss is always there, waiting, and sometimes, the only thing separating us from it is a misstep... or a truth we did not want to hear. She ceased speaking, and an ominous silence once again dominated the room, thick as fog before a storm. Selena gave a single, brief, sharp nod, adding nothing. She already knew the weight of unspoken words; now all that remained was to carry those that had been said.