Chương 48: Chapter 47: Memory of the Vulnerable

In the midst of her ruminations, a sound interrupted her. It was a clearing of a throat, a minimal but deliberate noise, designed not to startle, but to announce a presence. Selena raised her head and looked at him. There he stood, dressed in his brown robes from head to toe, as if he had never moved from that spot, even though she had seen him disappear down the passageway just a few hours prior. It was none other than Maester Corren.

—Here are your seven bronze crowns— he said, depositing the cold, rough coins on the table in front of her. The metal struck the wood with a dry clink, the sound of a pact fulfilled. —Your friend asked me to warn you. Evening is falling; you must depart. Selena gathered the crowns in silence. Her fingers brushed the metal, feeling its weight, its texture, and the promise, each one held. Then she counted them, one by one, with deliberate slowness.

Once finished, she tucked them into her bag, alongside the others she had left, into that hidden compartment that had become her most precious treasure. Only then did she speak. —I understand— she managed to say, her voice sounding a bit hoarse, worn thin from hours of silence, reading, and reflection. —Your library... gave me more questions than answers. She sighed, letting the air escape slowly. —It's a bit frustrating to know that you couldn't answer them for me anyway. Corren looked her in the eye.

In his own —dark and framed by deep circles— danced a light of understanding, of recognition. It was only then that he spoke his final words, his deep voice resonating in the small chamber with the solemnity of a sentence: —Knowledge is only that which leads us to deeper questions. He made the symbol of the open circle over his chest, the gesture Selena had seen Elian use and which she now recognized as the mark of the heretics, the seal of those who sought truth beyond the gods.

—Knowledge is only that which allows us to doubt the established and move forward. Selena sighed again. A soft smile played on her face, tinged with irony and resignation, but also a hint of gratitude. She hadn't obtained concrete answers, but she had gained something better: the certainty that the right questions were the true treasure. —See you, Corren. She rose from the chair, feeling the weight of the hours in her numb legs, and headed straight toward where Kaela was waiting.

Passing the threshold of the corridor, she reached the main chamber. There, under the flickering light of the torches, stood the tanner. She held her own handful of coins in one hand, and a wide, genuine smile stretched across her face, an expression Selena had never seen on her before. It was the smile of someone who has seen a door open where before there was only a wall. The smile of someone who, for the first time in a long while, held something resembling hope.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. —We're leaving now! — Kaela announced, her voice carrying a light, almost jovial tone that contrasted violently with her usual serious demeanor. Selena, swept up by her friend's relief and newfound energy, nodded. Together, with renewed purpose and pockets heavy with hope and metal, they began the walk back to the shelter. They emerged from the cave.

The cool evening air hit them like an embrace, and the sun, nearly hidden behind the trees, painted the sky in shades of orange and purple. They walked in silence, but it was a different silence than the journey there. It wasn't the silence of fear or uncertainty, but of complicity, the kind shared by two people who have experienced something profound and need no words to feel it. By the time they reached the shelter, twilight had fully settled.

The last lights of day faded behind the rooftops, and the first shadows of night began to stretch. Anya greeted them at the gate as she did every day, with her tired smile and warm gaze. After entering, they went straight to Elara. The rigid woman, mistress of inflexible protocols, only asked for a signature. Selena traced her name in perfect Spanish. No questions, no tea, no tests. As if they were already part of the furniture. When they reached the dining hall, something happened that Selena did not expect.

Maren was gone. Her absence was reflected in the faces of the other women, in the way they avoided looking at her empty seat, in the silent tension floating in the air. Maren fulfilled her fifteen days the truth echoed inside Selena. The woman with the perpetually bloodshot eyes, who had lost her children to the plague, who had said goodbye to Enara with words that broke the soul, was no longer there. She had returned to that implacable cycle that cast women back out into the elements every fifteen days.

Hardly had they sat down when Anya entered with another woman. She was young —possessing the kind of youth that has already seen too much— with a face marked by a fatigue that should not have belonged to her. Anya guided her to a seat and as was custom, began the introductions. One by one, the women stated their names. Until it was the newcomer's turn. —Celga— she said, her voice broken and cracked. —Laundress. She paused.

Her fingers betrayed her: despite her youth, they were slightly twisted, the joints thickened by years of wringing clothes in freezing water, scrubbing against rough stones, and working until the bones cried out. —Until an accident... — She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. Her fingers spoke louder than anything her mouth could have said. They were the chronicle of a life of toil, effort, and pain. They were proof that, in this world, the body was the first book in which everyone's story was written.

The rest of the evening proceeded normally. The "normalcy" of the shelter, that blend of routine and resistance that the women had turned into a way of life. Steaming tea, conversations, jokes that sprouted like flowers in the desert. Rumors about neighbors, gossip about merchants, and anecdotes of nimoras and anurhys that always drew laughs. Nyssa, as always, repeated her litany of prices. But that night she said something different: ovyn liquor had risen in price to two copper crowns.

Many murmured, expressing indignation at the brutality of the increase. Then, the prayer. Anya led them to the chapel, and words of gratitude to Aelthra filled the small space with a collective murmur. Selena moved her lips in silence, repeating prayers she did not feel. Finally, the straw mattress. The straw crunched under her weight as she lay down, and the coarse blanket covered her with its comforting familiarity.

The darkness of the communal dormitory enveloped her, broken only by threads of moonlight filtering through the high windows. The weight of the night fell upon Selena. In her chest, accompanied by the rhythmic breathing of the other women, there was only one feeling: the reminder of how vulnerable she truly was. The adobe walls protecting her were temporary. The roof over her head was borrowed. The women beside her could disappear tomorrow, like Enara, like Maren, like so many others.

And the thoughts of the day returned. The heretics, with their philosophies of critical thinking and their denial of the gods. The girl Eldra, who had healed her anurhy with a heat blooming from her hands. Corren, with his moon necklace and enigmatic words. The magic that existed and didn't exist, that was real and was legend, that was forbidden and persecuted yet somehow remained alive on the margins.