Chương 56: Chapter 55: The Silver Thread

After she finished reading, she ate her sandwich. The meat, juicy and tender, filled her stomach with a sense of satiety she hadn't experienced in days, and the soft, almost creamy vegetables provided a touch of freshness that contrasted with the density of the white bread. She ate in silence, savoring every bite, letting the food restore not only her body but also her spirits, so battered after hours of fruitless reading. Only after she had eaten did she see Corren return.

The Master crossed the threshold of the passage with a clear expression of displeasure; his eyebrows knitted in a line that boded no good. Upon seeing Selena, he spoke without preamble, his deep voice losing its usual calm for once: —It is time for both of you to leave. The afternoon has deepened. He reached into his pocket and held out a closed fist. When Selena extended hers, she felt the cold metal settling in her palm: the day's crowns.

—We shall see each other again, green eyed girl —he added, and in his words was a veiled urgency, something left unsaid. —Just remember to look in the right place. Selena did not reply. Something in Corren's demeanor told her it was not the time for questions. She tucked the coins into her bag and headed toward where Kaela was.

The teenager was scribbling on the ground with a twig, tracing letters with absolute concentration, while Elian, sitting beside her, dictated short words in his harmonious voice: "anurhy," "nimora," "estuary," "coralwood." Kaela repeated each letter with the tip of the twig, her tongue peeking slightly from the corner of her lips in that gesture of concentration. She approached slowly until she stood behind them, then cleared her throat. Both turned.

Kaela's face was one of frustration, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed in the grimace of someone who had been struggling for a long time against something that wouldn't quite come out. Only then did Selena say: —Corren has said it is getting late for us. She sighed for a second, letting the information settle. —We must go back. Were you having a hard time? The tanner could only nod, a slow, almost embarrassing movement.

Then she spoke, her voice holding the tone of someone who feels guilty without reason: —I find it very hard to write. She shook her head gently, as if trying to shake off the frustration. —But it isn't his fault —she added quickly, gesturing toward Elian. —It's mine. I'm clumsy with my hands at this. Elian interrupted her, his harmonious voice adding context with that calm he never lost: —You are good. He looked at them both, and in his hazel eyes shone a disarming sincerity.

—I only learned to write by dictation after six months. Six months of mistakes of blots, of letters that wouldn't come out. —He paused, letting the information sink in. —Even if you make mistakes and your hand trembles, you would be a good scribe if you decide to dedicate yourself to it in the future. Smiling, Kaela nodded, and in that smile, Selena saw something she hadn't seen before: pride. A small, budding pride, but real.

The certainty that perhaps, just perhaps, she could be something more than a failed tanner, something more than a survivor. Both said goodbyes to the acolyte. The man, with a quick gesture, paid the teenager before they left, the coins passing from his hand to Kaela's with the naturalness of those fulfilling a pact. Together they walked along the bank of the estuary, the sun already declining toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. They smiled.

Kaela told anecdotes about how difficult it was to learn, how her wrist and fingertips were starting to ache from holding the twig so long, and how the letters escaped her just when she thought she had mastered them. Selena, for her part, could only complain about the lack of information she had found regarding what she was truly seeking, how the history books closed their doors on her one after another. Her small consolation was having enough money from the daily pay.

It was something that made them both feel secure. For the first time since Selena woke up in this body, for the first time in Kaela's life, they had a steady income. They could eat. They could save. They could, perhaps, begin to think about the future. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. They reached the hostel as the long shadows gave way to the approaching night.

The sky was now a canvas of deep purples and blues, and the first stars were beginning to twinkle timidly. Anya received them with her usual smile, and beside her, as always, Kael stood erect like a statue, though Selena managed to catch the exchange of complicit glances between the sister of charity and the guardian. They went straight to Elara. The woman, as impeccable as ever with her severe bun and unwrinkled robe, only asked for the signatures.

Selena traced her name in perfect Spanish; Kaela made her mark with clumsiness. Upon reaching the dining hall, two were missing this time. Tessa and Sylva. The woman who had lost mobility from the accident with the titanopods, and the newcomer from only a few days ago, the net-weaver with restless hands. They sat waiting for the sister of charity, the murmur of the other women filling the space with its comforting familiarity. When Anya arrived, she was accompanied by two new women.

The first was Margot, an elderly woman with brown hair bathed in gray, her hands knotty as roots, her gaze dim but serene. She had been a spinner all her life, she said in a voice as worn as her fingers, until her eyesight failed and she could no longer thread a needle. The other was young, Mila, barely a teenager with large, frightened eyes. She said she was a midwife's apprentice, in a voice that was barely audible, until that happened.

She never said exactly what had happened, but her tears, silent and constant, spoke louder than any word. Community time began. It passed among light anecdotes, soft smiles, and the progressive integration of the newcomers. Nyssa repeated her prices, Pira told a story about a boy she had seen at the market, Lyra mentioned something about a new tannery. Normalcy —that blessed normalcy— flowed like the water of the estuary. But curiosity pricked Selena's heart. Something wouldn't leave her in peace.

And before everything ended, she approached Anya, speaking softly while the rest continued their conversations. —What happened to Sylva? —Selena asked in a whisper, her green eyes fixed on those of the sister of charity. Anya looked down and said, her voice losing all its usual warmth: —She was expelled. She sighed, a deep sound that dragged years of having to enforce rules that hurt. —She arrived under the effects of corsol. Rules are rules. —She looked up, and in her eyes, Selena saw genuine sadness.

—Though it pains us, it must be so. To protect others. They spoke no more. It was not necessary. Soon community time came to an end, and after the prayer, Selena lay on her straw pallet. The lights were out, the dense darkness of the communal dormitory enveloping everything. The breathing of the newcomers joined the nocturnal chorus, blending with Kaela's, with Pira's, with everyone's. Selena prayed silently, only to herself, as sleep claimed her. She prayed she could rest without dreams like the night before.

She prayed for a truce, a respite, a moment of peace in the midst of the storm. Destiny denied her immediately. The dream drew itself with a clarity it hadn't possessed before. Flying above the sky, she was over a town. Adobe houses with thatched roofs stretched beneath her like a map of miseries and hopes. Branch huts, narrow alleys, the estuary shimmering under the moonlight. It was Terracanto. She looked at her body and found nothing.

She was only an invisible and weightless form, a floating consciousness that could see more than any human eye could prove. She moved against her will, guided by a force she did not control, until she reached old Orla's lodging house. There, in the gloom of the alley, she saw four hooded figures in dark clothing, blended into the darkness as if they were part of it. They were shadows among shadows, but one of them stood out. A silver thread, fine as hair but intensely luminous, extended from one of the figures.

Selena concentrated and realized that it was not a man, despite being tall and robust. It was a woman. She wore a blindfold over her eyes made of silver silk that slightly reflected the moonlight, creating a faint glow around her face. On the blindfold itself, two small crystals the size of a fingernail reflected the light with cold glints. Beside the crystals were two small, unknown letters that Selena couldn't read, but her heart identified them as runes.

She recognized them without recognizing them, as if they were part of her prior knowledge. The woman spoke, and her voice was clear and practical, devoid of the tension surrounding the scene. —I found it. It is in that room, where the signal comes from. She brought her hands to the blindfold and removed it slowly with a gesture of annoyance, like someone taking off glasses that bothered them. —It's clear; the thread leads directly there. Could you tell me what you see? The blindfold took my sight this time.

—A sigh of exasperation escaped her lips. —I hate it when it's the sight. Selena, in her dream, shuddered with violence that almost woke her. Her heart—that organ that in her ethereal form should not beat—pounded with terrifying force. She recognized that room. She didn't just recognize it; it was the same one in which she had awakened that first morning of horror. The stone room with the adjoining bathroom, the floor stained with blood that later vanished, the mirror that returned the face of a stranger.

Where the consciousness of the man from Earth had landed, brutal and confused, into Selena's body. The place where it had all begun. They are looking for something in that room, she thought with terrifying clarity. Something related to me. To what happened. At that moment, as if a compassionate god were answering her terror, the metallic and clear ring of the bronze bell echoed in the dormitory.

The sound, tangible and real, pierced the membrane of the dream like a knife, tearing through the nocturnal scene, dissolving the hooded figures, the rune-covered blindfold, and the silver thread. Selena clung to that sound like a shipwrecked soul to a plank, letting it drag her back to wakefulness, back to the safety of the hostel, back to Kaela's breathing beside her.