Chương 61: Chapter 60: On Expectations

As soon as she looked up from the book, still immersed in that meditative half sleep that follows great revelations, she saw her. It was Kaela, her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the stone frame of the office entrance. She wore a small, almost non-existent grimace. —I came to tell you we have to go —Kaela said, and her voice had the tone of someone interrupting reluctantly. She looked at the book Selena held in her hands, her dark eyes scanning the worn cover with a new, newborn curiosity.

—But you were so interested in your book that I didn't want to interrupt you. She sighed softly, and then the question Selena had been expecting since Kaela began learning her letters finally burst from her lips: —Is reading that good? She arched a curious eyebrow, genuinely interested, as if for the first time she could imagine what it felt like to lose oneself among pages and words. —Elian says you should go talk to him so he can pay you. He already gave me mine. She smiled, that wide and genuine smile.

Selena rose slowly, stretching her arms above her head while considering the question. Then, when she reached where Kaela was waiting, she said: —I wouldn't say it's "good." She mused for a second, searching for the exact word. —It was interesting. It talked about the technological development of the kingdom. —Her eyes lit up with a flash of wonder— I would like to see one of those suspension bridges it mentions.

Kaela replied immediately as they both began to walk down the stone corridor, their steps synchronized as always: —Suspension bridges exist? Selena looked at her incredulously for a second. The question was so sincere, so genuine, that for a moment she forgot that Kaela was barely learning to read, that her world had always been that of the tanneries and the dirt streets, not of books and the wonders of the kingdom. —That's what the book says —she replied, shrugging— It could be true or not.

But I want to believe it is. She smiled, and Kaela returned the smile, and for a moment, in that torch-lit corridor, both shared the same childlike hope that the world was larger and more wonderful than they had known. When they reached the main chamber, Elian was waiting for them seated on his stone, as usual, but there was something different in his posture. A barely perceptible tension, an expectation he couldn't entirely hide. —Selena —he said when he saw her appear— Were you able to answer anything today?

He inquired with a certain curiosity on his face, but there was also a hint of skepticism, as if he expected a short answer, a sample of work for one day. Selena reached out and handed him the parchment. Elian took it carefully, almost with reverence, and unrolled it wide. His eyes began to move over the lines of text, following the words Selena had written hours before. And as he progressed, his pupils widened more and more, until he was wide-eyed, his jaw slightly dropped, his breath held.

Selena could only say, with a complicit smile that struggled not to turn into a laugh: —Unfortunately, I could only answer five of them. She made a dramatic pause, savoring the moment. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. —Oh, right, there were five. She laughed, a light and free sound that resonated in the stone chamber. —It's part of my job. Elian hesitated. He looked at the parchment, then at Selena, then the parchment again.

When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper: —Five? He felt silent, processing. Then, as if the words had to force their way through enormous astonishment, he added: —Master Corren thought you would only be able to answer one per day. One. —He shook his head, incredulous— This is incredible. So much in so little. His face was a mute poem of surprise and re-evaluation. The expectation of a week of intellectual work had collapsed before a single afternoon of feverish concentration.

Everything they had planned, all the measured questions, all the scheduled encounters, were falling apart before the evidence that Selena was much more than they had imagined. Selena said nothing. She choked back the giggle that threatened to escape. She withstood the acolyte's scrutinizing gaze with a calm that was not feigned, but that hid a whirlwind of thoughts. I screwed up, she thought suddenly, with that cold clarity that sometimes visited her. Perhaps. This wasn't what they expected. What will they do now?

Elian added nothing more to the subject. He composed himself, put away the parchment with almost exaggerated care, and when he spoke again, his voice had regained part of its usual equanimity: —You are exceptional. The payment, in any case, must be given each day. He sighed for a second, as if he himself needed to process what had just occurred. —Issues of the Path. —A shadow of irony crossed his face— We will see each other tomorrow, girls.

Without adding more, he turned toward Kaela, who was observing the scene with curiosity, her eyes jumping from Elian to Selena trying to understand the magnitude of what she had just witnessed. A slight nod was enough. Both said goodbyes to the acolyte with a murmur, and he, with a quick movement, handed Selena the day's coins.

They set out on the way back to the hostel, leaving behind the cave, the parchment that challenged paradigms, and the pensive gaze of the acolyte who now kept a secret not only of heresy, but from an extraordinary mind that had just broken, without fully knowing it, all his calculations. The return to the hostel was the consoling repetition of a known ritual. The silhouette of the Sacred Rest rose before them like a refuge of stone and order in the midst of the world's chaos.

Anya, at the entrance, received them with her serene smile and her words of welcome, a mantle of normalcy that fell over their shoulders and wrapped them in their warmth. Then, the signature is in Elara's registry. A quick, almost automatic gesture, which no longer provoked anxiety or curiosity, only the certainty of the routine, that some things, at least, could be predicted. The community time in the dining hall passed as always, with that mixture of gossip and anecdotes that wove the daily life of the refuge.

Whispers about the cost of bread, which had risen another penny. Comments about the persistent cough of a neighbor, which kept everyone on the street from sleeping. The story of a minor altercation at the market, where two women had pulled each other's hair over the last sack of flour. They were the monotonous and comforting heartbeats of a life that, for a moment, seemed predictable.

And Selena, sitting among them, listening, nodding, smiling at the appropriate moments, let herself be swayed by that current of normalcy like one who submerges in warm waters after a long journey. Anya guided them to the dormitory, and the evening prayer flowed like a river of worn but familiar words. Selena repeated the phrases with her lips, feeling how the ritual anchored her, how it connected her with these women who were, in some way, her tribe in this strange world.

The last "goodnight" faded into the gloom, and Selena, for the second time in what seemed like an eternity, sank into a dreamless sleep. An abyss of silent and restorative darkness, where there were no questions or answers, only the deep rest of one who has given her all. The ringing of Anya's bell found her rested. Upon opening her eyes, the light filtering through the large windows was golden and clear, announcing a totally sunny day, a welcome rarity in the usual morning mist of Terracanto.

The rays drew lines of light on the dirt floor, and the dust danced in them like tiny dancing spirits. The morning passed with the precision of clockwork. The morning bath, the cold water that prickled the skin and cleared away the last remnants of sleep. The meeting in the dormitory to receive the tasks, with Anya distributing duties with her maternal efficiency. Selena was assigned, along with two other women, to clean the courtyard.

It was a simple task, almost meditative: sweeping dry leaves that the night wind had accumulated in the corners, sprinkling water to settle the dust that rose with each movement. They performed it in a complicit silence, each concentrated on her task, while the sun began to warm the stone slabs and the first rays bathed the central well with their light. Back in the dining hall, the morning porridge was served and consumed with the usual respect.

The same taste of cooked grain and salt, the same thick texture that filled the stomach and prepared one for the day. The morning prayer resonated, a collective murmur that was at once gratitude and petition, words that Selena repeated with her lips while her mind already flew toward other places. She prepared herself mentally for the farewell at the gate, for the path toward the cave and its mysteries.