Chương 189: Chapter 48: All at Once

With the passing of days, when the time arrived for her combat lessons with Remo, the master treated her as if she had never been away. There were no comments regarding her absence, nor questions about her journey only the unalterable ritual: meditation first, a silence carved by the wind and forced concentration under his calculated disruptions.

Then came combat, and with it, a return to the tacit pact that had emerged long ago: the constant rivalry between Selena and Efraín, beneath the watchful eye of Fergus, whose role as referee and touchstone remained steadfast. Fergus had taken the time to train Efraín more thoroughly during Selena's absence, polishing his defenses and sharpening his counterattacks. Selena, for her part, had never ceased practicing neither with Valerius's short scimitar nor with the principles of the Denadi Stili.

Every day during the journey to and from Ashkharum, she reviewed the forms of combat alongside Fjora. When the fighting commenced, Remo observed from the side, motionless as a stone pillar, his predatory eyes scrutinizing every movement, every breath, every minor muscle tension. The initial bouts were promising. Selena won three in a row, her speed and renewed understanding of the flow granting her an early advantage. She deflected Efraín's strikes with economical elegance, using his own momentum against him.

But then, something shifted. Efraín, serious and methodical, began to adapt. He learned her patterns, anticipated her feints, and slowly, the tide of the contest turned. Selena lost the fourth bout, then the fifth, and so on. When the final duel ended with her on the ground, her wrist pinned in a precise and inescapable lock, a bitter, familiar taste filled her mouth. Constant practice and effort had not yielded the expected result. A cold, sharp frustration coiled in her stomach.

She pushed herself up, dusting herself off with a sharp gesture as she awaited Remo's dry critique some reproach for having "neglected her fluidity." But what came was not a reprimand. The master approached, and with unusual calmness, placed a large, calloused hand on her shoulder. The pressure was firm, almost comforting. —You are good —he said, his voice rough yet devoid of harshness— And you know it. You have neglected the flow here, in this courtyard, despite everything you practiced while away...

but it is not a failure. He winked at her, an exceedingly rare gesture from the stony man, and then leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper meant only for her, in the intimate space between the noise of the other students and the murmur of the wind. —You are a Resonant, Isabella. With what you know, in a real fight, even I... —He made a deliberate pause—... would die from a single mistake. But here, on this ground, the martial art we teach is meant for ordinary people.

Even if it bothers you to hear it, I will tell you plainly. Selena breathed heavily through her mouth; her brow furrowed in a mix of irritation and confusion. But the master added: —You are not an ordinary person. To truly flow, for the Denadi Stili to become something more than mere technique, you must understand your own nature first, girl. Your nature. He closed his mouth then and withdrew his hand. He said nothing more.

Turning on his heel, he walked away, leaving her alone in the middle of the courtyard, the dust settling at her feet as the echo of his words resonated in her mind like the tolling of a deep bell. The master was offering her another kind of lesson, a key. An uncomfortable yet liberating truth all at once. Her mind filled with questions, but one thought settled above all others with immense power.

My nature once again that of being a Resonant, perhaps that of being a woman who does not belong to this world, and furthermore, of bearing so much blood on my hands, with a heart full of scars this reality could never comprehend. Perhaps true flow did not consist of imitating the movements of others, but of discovering the unique current arising from her own being, no matter how contradictory and complex it might be. That, perhaps, was a lesson no combat manual, not even Remo, could teach her.

She would have to discover it for herself. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. She let out a deep sigh, the afternoon air laden with training dust and uncomfortable truths. It was true. She was a Resonant. She was a physician. She was also a noble, a warrior, a linguist, and, at the deepest core of her essence, a soul from another world. She knew it, and now Remo, with his brutal clarity, had laid it at her feet like a thrown gauntlet.

Was he guiding me toward this? After all, why did I want to be so exceptional in pure martial arts? She reasoned with cold clarity. When a single spell, no matter how costly in life, can grant me the decisive advantage in an instant? Exhaling deeply, she recognized that with what she had already learned of the martial arts, the foundations of the flowing shield, she could indisputably prevail hand-to-hand and unarmed against most ordinary opponents. It was an absolute certainty.

What was more, with a weapon like her scimitar of gold and steel, Valerius's gift, she could even dominate those whose physical endurance was difficult for her to overcome. It was true, after all. She had never truly relied on what Remo taught her to survive; she had relied on her adaptability, her iron willpower, and the chaotic mosaic of knowledge carried within her. Just as she herself was when facing the world, a tapestry of overlapping identities so too must her way of fighting be: all at once.

Interdisciplinary knowledge, projected as an ultimate end, as a singular weapon. The echo, medicine, strategy, perception, even memories of another life all flowing into a single stream of purpose. Perhaps that was the true Denadi Stili she needed to master: not a single style, but the capacity to make all her abilities flow into a defense and attack perfectly synchronized with her complex nature. She spent the turning of the year with Maya, Ren, Fjora, and Samira.

The celebration of the festival of colored powders once again left her exhausted, the coughing, the stinging eyes, the bittersweet memory of Earth's fireworks, yet filled with a simple, genuine happiness woven from shared laughter and knowing glances under a rain of earthly rainbows. It had been especially gratifying to see everyone gathered with smiles upon their faces. The following day, with the calm of the new cycle settling over the nearly empty university, Selena sat in her room and wrote a letter to Kaela.

It was a long, intimate letter, pouring into ink her best wishes for what was to come, bringing her up to date on her progress in her studies, her small triumphs and daily frustrations, and how much she cared for her despite the physical distance and the worlds that now lay between them. She sealed it with plain wax, omitting any heraldic stamps that might attract unwanted eyes. Afterward, she searched throughout Kaelburg, moving from the affluent quarters down through the middle districts to the merchant square.

Hooded, she walked through dark alleyways, blending into the lower quarters until, after paying a few copper crowns to the beggars, they told her where to go. She arrived at the cave just around sunset. Upriver, the cave lay hidden on the outskirts of Kaelburg behind lush, overgrown vegetation; many avoided it due to animals resembling foxes that Selena discovered were called Lysna.

Their tails were thick and fluffy, exuding strong resinous scents, and they were fiercely territorial, though none attacked her, upon seeing her, they sniffed the wind and disappeared into the ferns. At the entrance, following signals from a man, she was guided by a particularly short man, so short that she was slightly taller than him. Reaching one of the bends in the cave, he stopped, and ten others emerged from excavated alcoves around them. Only then did he speak. —Who are you?

—all of them drew daggers in unison; Selena merely smiled— Why do you seek us out? However, the intimidation had no effect on her whatsoever; it merely caused her minor amusement, as low as the men surrounding her. When she spoke, her voice turned serious despite her mood. —Mordrer, the vagrant from the lower quarter, told me I could find you here. —Some relaxed, though most did not. Selena clarified further— I am a university student. For certain reasons, I wish not to give you, my name.

But I want to be clear: I only wish to send a letter through a means that cannot be traced. The ten men lowered their daggers, but the one who had guided her did not, his brow harsher than the rest. —You know we are the "Deaf of the Cellar" —the short man said in a deep voice. Selena nodded— We traffic the finest ovin we find in the cellars, not letters. The countess had already anticipated this, so she jingled her coin purse. The sound of metal echoed through the cave like a resonance. The short man smiled.

—I see you know how to speak our language. —He finally lowered his dagger, granting her freedom— It is unheard of for us to do this, but we can negotiate freely. Selena smiled; she had succeeded. After speaking for a long time about where it was to be delivered, she handed him the envelope, which bore only a delicately drawn initial: an S.

She paid five silver crowns, not merely for the delivery, but for absolute discretion one more thread in the web of connections she was weaving between her present life and the affections that anchored her recent past. She returned to the university as deep night fell, guided by the flickering stars in the sky.