Chương 207: Chapter 65: Shit Again

The next day, with the echo of Meilan's words and the view of the impossible sea still beating in her chest, Selena attempted to seek some normalcy. She wanted to give her congratulations to Anselmo in person, to embrace the old man who had dared to dream with her of a cleaner, more rational world. But when she arrived at the offices of the Medicine track, she found the door locked, the space behind the glass dark and silent.

She asked at the Atrium of Knowledge, of the duty clerks and the secretaries swarming with stacks of parchments, until one, a man with a hurried gesture, informed her with an automatic bow: —Doctor Wick departed for the royal court at first light, Lady Marchioness. To receive his decoration of nobility. He will be a viscount, can you imagine? A commoner elevated by royal decree. Incredible things. The news, though expected, gave her heart a strange jolt. Joy for Anselmo, yes, mixed with a pang of nostalgia.

Another thread of her previous life in Kaelburg was transforming, ascending, moving away from the daily routine of the university corridors. She felt the need for air, for sun, for something that was not the weight of events. She left the Atrium and headed, almost by inertia, toward a majestic coral tree that dominated one of the lesser plazas. Under its dappled shade sat a dark wood bench, worn by generations of tired students.

She sat down, closed her eyes for a moment, letting the faint warmth of the early autumn sun caress her face. —Crimson. Welcome to the group. The voice, melodious and laden with irony, made her open her eyes. Valerian was standing in front of her, his silhouette outlined against the light. His playful smile formed, but in his silver eyes Selena thought she saw something more than the usual masquerade: a flash of immense surprise, quickly disguised.

—Green suits your emerald eyes well —he continued, making a theatrical gesture toward the invisible robe that Selena was not wearing, but whose essence both knew— But a pity you weren't crimson. The color of the purest blood and your former name… it would have been tragicomic in its poetic accuracy. He sat beside her on the bench, uninvited, as if he had always belonged to that space. Selena, already accustomed to the man, simply maintained her position. —I believe your mind is still behind the curtain of doubts.

Perhaps you expect the jester to tear that curtain away from you with a painful and brilliant truth. But the only words I have for you today are borrowed and have nothing of me: "Do not push the river, it flows by itself." He paused, observing her reaction with the eyes of a cunning predator, like a feline stalking in the darkness. —Something like that I heard from some… interesting heretics. They call themselves the Path of the Inner Voice. They have a curious philosophy, don't you think?

Without waiting for an answer, he stood up as abruptly as he had sat down. —Until next time, Emerald. Do not drown trying to navigate against the current. He left her there, alone under the tree, with those words echoing in her ears like chimes from a distant temple. The very words I brought to this world… used against me, Selena thought, with a bitter aftertaste of cosmic irony.

It was a quote from the Tao Te Ching, distorted, simplified, tossed around like a philosophical coin by the most cynical resonant in the kingdom. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I suppose it will always be like this. That in reality, no one could understand the Tao just from a bland quote on an answer sheet I gave to Corren. She let herself fall backward onto the bench, the hard wood against her back. Not even I myself remembered what the Tao was back then…

The exhaustion, accumulated from days of revelations, journeys, and impossible decisions, overcame her. She closed her eyes, and almost without realizing it, the whisper of the wind through the leaves of the coral tree and the lukewarm heat lulled her into a light sleep, but the rest was brief. A strange sound, metallic and organic at the same time, snatched her from her drowsiness. It was the noise of multiple legs, large and segmented, striking the compacted dirt of the path.

She sat up with a start, her mind still clouded by sleep, and looked up. A soldier, riding on the back of a post titanopod, stopped right in front of her. He was not a university guard. He wore a more practical version, of sturdy linen, of the blood-red military uniform that Selena had been given at the palace. The quality was inferior, but the cut and color were unmistakable. The man, young and with a face weathered by the sun, evaluated her with a quick, professional glance.

Without dismounting, he extended an arm and handed her a sealed envelope. —For the Sap and the Crown, Colonel —he said, with the martial formula striking his chest twice with his fist. After ensuring she took the letter, he turned his beast around and set off at a trot, leaving a cloud of dust and the certainty that the official world, that of orders and deadlines, had just barged into her stolen moment of peace. Selena took the letter. The parchment was thick, of good quality.

The handwriting was neat, impersonal, the work of a military scribe. But at the bottom, stamped with wax the color of dried blood, was the royal seal: the dune felis with a sword in its snout. Only a royal messenger could notify a colonel. She broke the seal with a finger and unfolded the message.

"To Colonel Isabella Elizabeth Selena de Solendra, By order of the Royal General Staff and under the authority granted by His Majesty King Thaerón IV, you are requested immediately and as a matter of urgency to report to the Dawn Fortress Complex. The deadline is one week from receipt of this missive, at first light of the day.

Once at the Dawn Fortress, Colonel Solendra must take command of the logistics of the Special Unit 'Hammerer' and set in motion all necessary planning for the associated Project to initiate its operations in the fastest, most efficient, and most discreet manner possible. The success of this mission is of vital importance to the security of the kingdom.

Yours sincerely, General Arc Verrion, Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Army of Erabergh" —Shit —exhaled Selena, the word coming out like a sigh laden with all the accumulated frustration and fatality. It was fate again, or rather the machinery of state, claiming her. The chain, golden and bloody, pulling at her neck with all the concentrated force of a kingdom. Hadn't Valerian said it, after all?

"Do not push the river, it flows by itself." She sighed, a deep and tired sound. Always at the worst moment, red resonant, she thought, with a mix of annoyance and resignation. After all, the river had indeed been flowing. While she rested in Kaelburg, while she traveled, while she confessed her secrets and received paintings of impossible seas, the current of official events continued its relentless course.

Now the water was up to her neck, the ground under her feet was slippery, and there was no choice: she had to go with the flow, wherever it might lead. A twisted, desperate idea crossed her mind. Perhaps this is because my book with Anselmo is on hospital management. They see me as an organizer, a manager of resources and protocols. Then she remembered Meilan's advice, given in the workshop between tears and truths: "Search for a third way out. And if it doesn't exist… create it."

I could, she thought with bitterness, apply the law of minimum effort. She sought to do just enough not to be accused of insubordination, but without putting passion, without ingenuity. Or, even more radical, she could subtly sabotage everything, make the project fail miserably. That way, at least, she would lose a chain. She would be declared incompetent, perhaps stripped of her military rank… But at what cost?

And would she truly be free afterward, or would she just be exchanging one chain for another, that of eternal dishonor and distrust?