Chương 206: Chapter 64: A Refuge

It was then that the atmosphere became charged, passing from the uninhibited nature of trust to the harsh tension of something yet to be said, a slight tremor in the marchioness's hands accusing her more than anything else. —I guess it's my turn —said Selena, her voice lower, as if revealing everything in a secret confessional— You are royalty from Jingdao, so, I suppose… you'll believe me. Or at least, it won't surprise you as much as others.

Meilan looked at her with absolute attention, her dark eyes scrutinizing every shadow on Selena's face, every tension on her shoulders. Then, Selena did something. She moved her lips, but no sound came out of her mouth. It was a silent whisper, a shaping of air and will. From that mute gesture, from that word unpronounced for ears to hear, a flame was born. It sprouted right above the palm of her extended hand, dancing with an ethereal fluidity. But it was not a normal flame.

It was an intense, deep green, the color of leaves under sunlight filtered through a dense forest. It crackled with a soft sound, like that of old papers rubbing against each other, but it gave off no heat whatsoever. It stayed there, inexhaustible and impossible, a fragment of forest turned into cold fire. —Pû-sú —pronounced Meilan, her voice a thread of reverent awe. The word in Jingyu sounded strange and ancient in the workshop— I always thought they were just legends… stories that nannies told to scare us.

Even though dad had one in court, a man with his first gray hairs emerging whom everyone treated with barely disguised fear… I never saw him do something like this. Seeing it… is different. Selena looked at the green flame in her own hand, hypnotized by her own capacity, by the elegant monstrosity of that power. —Touch it —she said, her voice almost a whisper— And you will see it. Meilan, without hesitating, extended his hand.

Her index finger, stained with fine streaks of rust dust and wax, slowly approached the green dance. She touched it and nothing happened. There was no pain, no burn, not even the slightest sensation of heat. Her finger went through the flame as if it were an apparition, a perfect illusion. Only a slight tingle, like that of static. —Magic —said Selena, and the word, simple and huge, made the green flame extinguish instantly.

It simply ceased to exist, as if it had never been there, as if reality had reclaimed its space. —Before you have… the greatest chain I bear. —She sighed deeply, a sound that seemed to come from her bones— I am a resonant. A mage. A sorceress. A witch, as some have called me with hatred or fear. But the truth… is that I am actually a murderer. With stained hands. She lowered her head, unable to hold Meilan's inquisitive gaze. —I have killed. Sometimes out of justice or what I believed was justice.

Others, in self-defense. Others… out of fear. Because I was afraid of what they could do to me, or to mine. I am not the humble girl your eyes see, Meilan. My hands have taken away the right to life from others. And there is no greater act of arrogance, nor greater guilt, than that. Silence settled between them, laden with the weight of the confession and the green ghost that had just disappeared. Meilan looked at her for a long moment.

Then, she sighed too, but her sigh sounded more like resigned understanding than horror. —A bloody and powerful tool… Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. She murmured; her words were very careful. —But tell me, Selena… is the sword to blame for being carried to murder? Is the fire to blame for being used to burn? Of course not. The guilt resides in the hand that wields, in the intention that guides.

Punishing yourself for a power you did not ask for, for circumstances you did not completely control… that is perverse. It is turning the blade against your own neck. She stepped closer, and with a surprisingly tender gesture, closed Selena's hand, the one that had held the flame, between hers, which were small but strong. —Avoid it. Move forward for yourself. Not for the crown, not for debt, not for guilt. When you face a dead end, a choice between two evils… search for a third way out. And if it doesn't exist…

Her eyes shone with the spark of stubbornness that Selena knew so well. —Create it. The little goldsmith smiled at her, a smile full of stubborn faith. It was laden with hope, with the hope of a friend. —If twelve-year-old little Meilan, with pure tantrums and artist arguments, could convince an emperor of an entire southern island to let her come here alone… it is clear that a twenty-four-year-old marchioness, with your brain and your heart, can handle much more.

She dropped Selena's hands and took a step back, her expression changing to a mix of timidness and pride. —Now that I see you with your head down, perhaps my gift will make you look up. I saved it for when you returned. She smiled, a flash of the mischievous child reappearing, and before Selena could react, Meilan ran toward the back room of the workshop. She returned moments later, carefully holding a small painting, its light wood frame simple.

—It's your gift —she said, bringing it closer to her— Look at it and tell me what you think. You don't know how many times I made mistakes, the layers of paint I had to scrape off, the tones that didn't quite… well, look at it yourself… Selena took it with hands that trembled slightly from something that was not fear or tension. The gesture laden with her confession began to fade as her fingers stroked the edge of the wood. She turned the painting over. She held her breath.

It was a painting of the sea, but not abstract, not suggested by spots and emotions like the one she had given Meilan. This one was realistic, vivid, a window to a beach of an almost painful beauty. The sand was a golden white, fine as sugar. The water was a translucent turquoise that turned emerald in the depths, with waves breaking softly into crests of white foam like lace. Lush green palm trees leaned toward the shore, swaying in a breeze that could almost be felt.

The sky was pure blue, dotted with cottony clouds. It was the Caribbean. It was her Caribbean or the closest thing she had seen in this world. It was the beach of Barranquilla, from those vacations of another life, from when Saúl sunbathed in a hammock, with the sound of cumbia in the distance, the sweet and fresh taste of a newly opened coconut on her lips. The image struck her with the force of a tsunami of nostalgia.

Her mind navigated, without permission, toward those buried memories: the humid heat on her skin, the salt in the air, the laughter of friends whose faces were completely blurry, the feeling of a simple and complete happiness that belonged to a world impossible to recover. Unintentionally, unable to prevent it, tears welled up in her eyes. They were a silent and constant flow that ran down her cheeks, falling onto the glass that protected the painting.

—I guess I do paint well —said Meilan, her voice soft, trying to lighten the moment with a joke— If I stay this talented, maybe they'll name me as an empress of Jingdao for artistic merit. The silliness managed to draw a trembling smile from Selena, even as her tears continued to fall. Meilan came a little closer, her own expression now tender and understanding. —I was seeking to give you the sea, the sea you carry within.

But it seems that, unintentionally, I gave you the same thing you gave me twice already: longing for home. For the home that is missed, even if one cannot return. Neither of them spoke again of what had happened, of the magic, of the guilt, of the secret titles and the bloody chains. There was no need. The understanding between them was no longer just a thread stretched between two distant shores. Now it was woven, intertwined, creating something new and resilient: a bridge.

A small and precious victory in the middle of a world of chains. It was a space of mutual freedom, where a princess could be a goldsmith and a resonant could simply be a friend with a heart broken by nostalgia. It was the essence of true friendship: that bond everyone yearns for, which only a few find, and even fewer truly deserve.

In the shared silence, amidst the smell of oil and metal in the workshop and the impossible image of a sea of memories, Selena and Meilan knew they had won something more valuable than any secret or any power. They had won, for each other, a refuge.