Chương 88: Chapter 21: Knowledge for Knowledge

That morning, guided by her sleepless night, she washed her face for a long time while looking in the mirror. The cold water slid down her cheeks, washing away not the grime of sleep, but the heaviness of hours without rest. The glances from Fjora and Samira said more than any complaint: her dark circles spoke volumes. It was not the appearance a Duchess Heir ought to present. But Selena's mind was neither in mirrors nor in appearances. It lingered, sleepless and ravenous, upon Eliud's grim confession.

The words of the first king, written millennia ago in a tanned-hide book, kept burning beneath her eyelids like freshly extinguished embers. She dressed clumsily, with fingers that still trembled from exhaustion and the revelation, so much so that she accepted without much resistance Samira's help to tidy her blouse. The scholar's hands, soft and precise, adjusted her collar, smoothed the pleats, and restored order to her attire while her thoughts remained elsewhere.

She stepped out into the cool morning air, but her feet did not lead her to the classroom. Instead, she headed straight to the breakfast stall. There, she ordered a hot cup of tea, steaming and bitter, along with her usual sandwich: brown bread, cured cheese, and a slice of cold meat. The same one she had eaten hundreds of times since her arrival in Kaelburg. Sitting near the immense hourglass that marked the minutes with deliberation, she watched the mineral dust fall in its slow and ceremonial descent.

The metallic sands gleamed with copper glints under the morning light. Her head felt heavy. Her eyelids, like tired guillotines, threatened to close with every blink. She decided, after nodding off several times, that she would not go to the medicine class. The theory of the four humors could wait. Her body needed a truce, even if her mind refused to grant it. It was then that she saw her. It was Maya, dressed in her simple cream-colored dress, her reddish-brown hair pulled into a practical braid.

She was walking alongside Ren; both were smiling, apparently talking about something light. The healer's hands traced shapes in the air, illustrating some idea, while the guard apprentice nodded with his usual seriousness, though a corner of his lips curved into a restrained smile. Their gazes crossed. A moment of recognition. Then, as if drawn by a magnet, they approached. It was Ren who spoke first.

—We have a bet with Maya —he said, with his soldier's posture and a tone more playful than usual, as if he had stripped off an invisible armor upon crossing the dining area's threshold. Maya looked at Selena with a slight blush and added, playing with the edge of her dress: —We bet on who could get a childhood memory out of you first. Selena was surprised. Her brow furrowed so much that, for a moment, the faces of the other two became equally perplexed, frozen in a mirrored grimace of confusion.

The silence stretched for barely a second, but it held the density of a warning. Yet Selena could only sigh. The gesture was deep, laden with a weight that neither of them could comprehend. —Let's make it more interesting —she proposed. A spark of something that could be amusement or simple distraction flashed in her green eyes. —If you can get a childhood memory out of me, I will buy a round of beers.

She then added, winking conspiratorially with a gesture she had practiced, and which now came naturally: —Of the best you can find in Kaelburg. House Solendra will pay. Both smiled broadly and accepted without hesitation, nodding. Their heads bobbed like springs, the promise of free beer acting as an instant spell of joy. Maya, always the boldest, began. —Once, when I was a child, my grandmother told us about the Zarvok. Selena opened her eyes. She could not hide it.

It was a minimal gesture, barely a dilation of her pupils, but it was enough. Zarvok. The name resonated in some recess of her voracious reader's memory, pulling at her curiosity like a physical tug. However, the next thing heard was Ren's voice, laden with an indignation that bordered on the comical. —That's not fair, Maya! Look at how she reacted. She's probably never heard the story. I wanted to tell her one about them.

His fist tapped gently against his palm, a gesture of restrained frustration that betrayed his competitive spirit. His chin tightened in a grimace of anticipated defeat. Maya smiled knowingly, savoring her advantage, but did not reply to Ren's complaint. Instead, she continued, her voice taking on the hypnotic cadence of a fable-spinner. —I have a better idea, Selena. Since your family is made up of merchants and Ren has already lost... how about knowledge for knowledge?

She toyed with the proposal, turning it between her fingers like a newly minted coin. Her gaze scanned Selena's face, which now bore no trace of her previous sleepiness. The dark circles were still there, but her green eyes shone with renewed, wide-awake curiosity. —Very well —Selena said, a hint of surrender in her voice. She could not help it. She knew it: the only thing that interested her about this world was that.

Knowledge, stories, the fragments of truth hidden in legends and myths like gold coins in a dark well. And besides, she thought carelessly, I don't remember anything of my childhood. Anything will convince them. Perhaps the thing about the heels. Maya suddenly became theatrical. Her hands clawed forward, fingers curved like twisted roots. Her voice dropped an octave, becoming grave and ancient, as if speaking from the bottom of a centuries-old well.

"When the world was still young and the rivers had no names, it was said among the elders that there existed beings older than kings and older than the divinities themselves. They did not dwell in temples nor did they accept prayers, for they were not gods. They were the Zarvok: walkers of the veil, creatures of immense power who granted what a man desired, always in exchange for a fair payment." —And of all the tales about them, none was as feared as that of Revelse, great chief of the Ardel tribe.

Maya had closed her eyes. She was not reading; she was remembering. The story flowed from her like water from a spring, with the naturalness of someone who has heard it a hundred times around a campfire, with the warm breath of her grandmother brushing the back of her neck. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

"It happened in the year of the dead earth, when the fields cracked like diseased skin and the wheat turned to dust between fingers. Mothers boiled stones to cheat the children's hunger, and the elders slept to forget the emptiness of their bellies. Not a single drop of rain fell for seven whole moons." Her hands described the drought: fingers spreading like cracks, palms offered empty to the sky.

"Then Revelse, whose beard already showed the white of winter, spoke before the fire of the assembly: —If the gods have closed their eyes, I will seek those who existed before them. And he took his staff of dusaut, covered his shoulders with furs, and ventured alone into the Whispering Forest. For months Revelse wandered among twisted trees and paths that shifted places at dawn. He found black lagoons where the sky was not reflected and human-eyed deer that watched him without fleeing. Yet he found no Zarvok.

Until one afternoon, exhausted and starving, he stopped searching." Maya paused. Her voice became a whisper, intimate and deep.

"—Let my heart walk where my eyes know not how to go —he said. And he followed a path covered with gray flowers he had never seen before." —There he found him.

"He was not a monstrous beast, nor a figure made of fire. He looked like an ordinary man, dressed in dark, ancient clothes. However, there was something about him that made the spirit tremble. His feet never touched the ground, and when he spoke, his mouth did not move; the words were born directly inside Revelse's chest." The tale grew denser, heavier with ancient gravity. Selena noticed how Ren, beside her, held his breath.

"—Why do you seek me, child of clay? The great chief fell to his knees and explained the misfortune of his people. The Zarvok listened in silence. Then he slowly raised his eyes toward the sky hidden by the branches. —Every gift demand balance. What will you offer? Revelse promised part of the coming harvest, part of the feast of abundance, and eternal honor in the songs of his tribe." Maya's hands described offerings: a bow of the head, a gesture of surrender.

"He nodded. Then he extended a pale hand toward the clouds." Maya's gesture was slight, barely a flick of her wrist. But Selena felt the air around them grow denser, fully immersed in the healer's theatricality.

"The sky roared. Rain fell upon the dry earth for three days and three nights. The rivers awoke. The fields turned green again. And when the harvest season arrived, the crops were so abundant that the granaries overflowed until they broke their huts. The tribe celebrated by raising huge straw effigies that later burned under the stars, just as tradition dictated." The imaginary fire illuminated the faces of the three. Maya opened her eyes, and in them was a glint that was not just a reflection of the morning light.

"And that night, the Zarvok came to collect his debt. He drank water from the pitchers, danced around the fire, and watched the laughter of the children. Yet he did not taste a single grain of the banquet. When the flames began to die out, Revelse approached with respect. —Great lord —he asked—, tell me how much grain I must deliver to you. Then the Zarvok turned his dark eyes toward him, deep as bottomless wells. And he replied: —I have already eaten enough at this festival."

Maya's voice cracked slightly, a whisper.

"That very night, seven people disappeared from the tribe. None left a trace. No footprints. No screams. Only empty beds and the echo of the wind among the ashes of the burned effigies." The silence that followed was dense, heavy with a stillness that seemed to carry weight. Maya slowly closed her hands with the same theatricality with which she had told the story, moving her fingers at each pause, as if she were weaving a spell of words. Selena, however, was not overly surprised.

The breakdown of legends she had experienced in her magic classes, and the explanations from Isolde and Valerian about the real origins of myths, had left her reticent to believe in the innocence of any ancient tale. She asked in a neutral, almost casual tone: —Didn't you live in the Whispering Forest? She chuckled with obvious sarcasm in her voice, a sharp note cutting through the heavy air of the legend. —They must have already taken you, and you're an infiltrator.

Selena looked at her with an arched eyebrow, a gesture that in others would have been a warning sign but in her was pure academic curiosity. An infiltrator in the Whispering Forest? Or a survivor who had learned to tell stories to keep the monsters at bay? She held back her laughter. Maya, however, turned as red as a tomato. The blush crept from her neck to her cheeks, staining her cheekbones a crimson that contrasted with her skin.

Her hands, which moments before had been a storyteller's claws, now wrung in her lap. When she finally spoke, shyly: —Yes, I lived there —she admitted, and the confession hung heavy in the air like a stone— Don't change the subject. You must pay up. Selena sighed deeply. It was a sigh that came from deep within, from that reservoir of borrowed stories and other people's memories she had been accumulating since her arrival in this world.

She began her lie, one she had woven from everything she had observed in the university of the nobility, adding Valerius's memories and fragments of conversations overheard in the corridors. She told of how much noble protocol had annoyed her all her life. She spoke of endless feasts where smiles were porcelain masks and whispers were poisoned daggers. She recounted how, even now as an adult, she was unable to attend a social gathering in heels because she tripped with every step, yet etiquette dictated it.

She added a detail that was not entirely false: the memory of a fall in the great hall of Lumenburg, in front of some twenty nobles who held their breath before bursting into murmurs of poorly disguised commiseration. —My uncle Valerius had to steady me —she said. The image was so vivid she could almost see it. — He whispered in my ear: "Tomorrow, I will teach you to walk in them. But today, just get up." And I got up. With bruised knees and cheeks burning with shame. But I got up. Maya considered herself paid.

She looked smugly at Ren's face, who had evidently lost. The guard apprentice lowered his head with a comical grimace of defeat, his fingers drumming in a gesture of resigned impatience. —Next time —he muttered, through gritted teeth— I will be the one to tell the story of the Zarvok. —There won't be a next time —Maya shot back with a triumphant smile— The beer is on you. That day, Valerian's class was brief.

The jester limited himself to speaking about time comparison tables, using his usual mocking tone but with less energy than he typically displayed. He argued, without anyone asking, that he was preparing a more theatrical class and this one did not deserve his attention. Some grumbled, but no one raised their voice. The students, accustomed to his eccentricities, accepted the shortened lesson with a collective sigh of equal parts relief and frustration.

Later that same afternoon, the three of them detoured to a local tavern. It was called "The Hugging Barrel," a modest inn on the blacksmiths' street, where the smell of hot metal mingled with the aroma of freshly poured beer and brown bread. The tables were made of dark wood, worn by the elbows of generations of patrons, and oil lamps cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. The beer flowed like a river. First one mug, then another.

The golden, frothy liquid wet the lips of Maya and Ren, who drank with the thirst of those who had spent the morning studying and needed to drown their stress in something stronger than tea. Their cheeks flushed; their laughter became easier, louder. Soon, Maya and Ren's noses were red. Both were smiling, both telling childhood anecdotes: that time Maya, terrified, got lost in the forest and decided not to move so as not to cross paths with a Zarvok, convinced that silence was her best shield against the unknown.

Or the time Ren, wanting to win over a girl from the neighboring village, received nothing but a slap because he had wanted to gift her his favorite food: grilled intestines on a skewer, with a bitter herb sauce. —I never understood why she took offense —Ren said, with a look of genuine bewilderment— They are delicious! Selena, however, got stuck to drinking water. Sip by sip, the cool, neutral liquid contrasted with the beer that soaked her companions' words.

Sleep, which had been lurking since the night before, weighed on her eyes with every blink. The story of the Zarvok, Valerian's class, the promise of the beers... everything blended into a warm, thick fog. Until it all ended. The last mug was emptied; the last laugh faded into the warm air of the tavern. Selena paid for everything, her eyes weary and her smile betraying her eagerness to sleep. Maya took Ren by the arm, her petite frame supporting the guard apprentice with a strength that belied her appearance.

Returning to her bed, exhausted by the day, Selena dedicated herself to resting. The mattress creaked under her weight. The woolen blankets enveloped her like a cocoon. The silence of the Forest Cloister, broken only by the distant chirping of night insects and the slow breathing of Fjora and Samira in the adjacent room, was the best balm for her tired mind. She closed her eyes. There was no need to pretend, to lie, or to play the duchess, the student, or the seeker of answers. Just to rest. Just to be.

And for a moment, between sleep and waking, between the echo of Maya's story and the memory of Eliud's words, Selena let the world dissolve into the darkness.