Chương 204: Chapter 62: They Decide Not to Look

Selena listened to them, the knot in her stomach becoming denser, colder. She looked at the surrounding faces, each marked by power and burden, each justifying their place in this shadow machinery. Finally, she spoke, her clear voice cutting through the air laden with confessions. —You fight like children. You argue philosophy while your hands are stained. You believe that the 'greater good' justifies anything, any atrocity.

—She sighed, a sound of deep weariness— Eliud himself, did he not shed tears when he uttered those words? Did he not feel the weight of every life he took, of every truth he buried? She did not avert her eyes from Thaerón, defying the solemnity of the stone throne. —I prefer the rawness of what is now extended to me. Sufficient information about the horrible roots, about the price to pay. But that does not mean I want to be part of the world's slaughter.

That I want to become just another tool for your justified killing. Thaerón held her gaze. There was no anger in his gray eyes, only an ancient sadness, carved into the stone of his soul. When he spoke, it was not with the voice of the King, but with the echo of a condemned poet, reciting verses from a tomb:"With tears upon my cheeks, myself I do betray, With spirit torn apart, I fall into the gray. With all my pain, my fear I cast aside, And from the dark and shadow, light shall now abide.

For all that I have seen shall lead me to the Drauz, And to creation's call I answer without pause. To the void, to fate, to resignation I shall bow, Sacrificing pieces of myself for a better world I vow." The words, bitter and beautiful, echoed in the bare chamber. —It is from him, Selena. From Eliud. From his personal diary, not from the official book or the imagined artifact. Girl, you are unaware of the end of the story. It is normal that you do not understand it now. But now…

—His voice hardened, regaining authority— It is no longer your decision. You are part of what we are. You have been named. Your essence has been seen and labeled. You are 'The Empty One'. There is no turning back in perception. He stood up then, a fluid and definitive movement. The meeting was over.

When Selena, with the green-trimmed robe hanging from her shoulders like an alien skin, turned to leave, the King added, his words reaching her like a whisper laden with meaning: Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. —Ponder his words. The poet's, not the king's. Eliud, after all, before being any of that… was a healer. Do not forget it. What followed that day, as she prepared in silence for the return to Kaelburg, was not peace, but an inner whirlwind.

A thousand unanswered questions revolved in her head, each more sharp than the last. The main thought, the shadow that overshadowed everything, was the "greater good." That terrifying, cold, and expansive logic that justified every lie, every murder, every buried secret. That, Selena thought with certainty, that chilled her, will be what breaks this kingdom one day. Not by external invasion, nor by famine, but by the moral rot growing in its very heart, fed by the very guardians who swore to protect it.

It was a paradox so clear to her, so evident, that she found it impossible to believe that the others, with all their intelligence and power, did not see it. Or perhaps, simply, they had decided not to look. When the day to depart arrived, Selena hired an experienced driver and a sturdy wagon pulled by four cargo titanopods, powerful and fast-paced beasts that significantly reduced travel time.

Together with Fjora, now her hired guardian whose silent loyalty was an anchor amidst the chaos, they resumed the road to Kaelburg. The landscape passed like a dream, a green and golden backdrop for her turbulent introspection. Her birthday passed without her even realizing it. In the deepest part of her psyche, her brain remained tied to the rhythm of Earth, to that anniversary in another world, another life.

It was only one morning, amidst the monotonous rattling of the journey, when Fjora, in a gesture so unusual that it was unsettling, took her briefly by the shoulders and pulled her into a quick, solid embrace with a whisper in her ear, before returning to her watch post in the wagon. —Wšitko najlěpše k narodninam, knjeni. Njch su Waše bitwy přeco dobyće.

"Happy birthday lady may your battles always be a victory." was an explicit message from the Nordic woman who almost never showed physical affection. But the gesture, the disruption in the routine, was like a mirror Selena did not expect. Something clicked in her mind. She made quick calculations, translating Erabergh's four-week months and eight-day weeks. Sixteen local months… yes. A full year had passed since her last conscious anniversary. In this world, now, Selena de Solendra was twenty-four years old.

The revelation was strange: it was not nostalgia, nor sadness. It was an existential mismatch, the feeling that her life was being measured with two different clocks, and both marked times that did not quite synchronize. They arrived in Kaelburg under a leaden sky that announced the slow turn from summer to autumn. The university, although the new cycle had not yet officially begun, breathed with the expectant calm of preparations.

Selena was informed that, given her new status as an Initiate Arcane Resonant, she would not have a routine class schedule. Her learning of advanced echo now depended mostly on her own self-directed study. In theory, she would have all the time in the world to dedicate herself to delving into medicine, perfecting fluid combat with Remo, or unraveling the mysteries of the Veritasilba. The first matter was a mere administrative formality, but laden with personal symbolism: certifying her official mastery of Norrun.

The instructor in charge, named Harald de Smid-Vík, a stern man with marked Nordic features, examined her with a mix of skepticism and curiosity, being a pure-bred native. The written test was a dense text on navigation techniques in icy waters; oral, a fluid conversation about the cultural differences between the northern tribes and the southern kingdoms. Not much more was needed.

Although the language had been a monumental nuisance barely a year ago, a rough and guttural obstacle, now she mastered it with a fluency that surprised even the examiner. She could speak with nuances, capture the dry humor and dark poetry of its idioms. After all, Fjora and Samira had strived, for months, to speak with her solely in that harsh and rude language, turning every meal, every walk, into linguistic immersion.

The certificate she received was only a piece of paper, but for Selena it was tangible proof of an obstacle overcome, a bridge-built word by word with the two women who had changed her life.