Chương 92: Chapter 25: Two Main Ways

The next morning arrived with the subtlety of a hammer blow. A small but persistent hangover throbbed against Selena's temples in time with her own pulse, exacerbated by the sun's rays filtering relentlessly through the window. She opened her eyes slowly, silently cursing the mead and the fragility of her body.

After repeatedly rinsing her face with cold water, seeking to dissipate the ethanolic haze, she dressed in her usual practical armor: thick wool trousers, a simple linen blouse, and a deep green vest that reminded her of the moss in the Forest Cloister, a small, earthly consolation. She headed straight to the medicine class, where the first exams were to be held that day.

Although for her, enrolled as she was in the Way of Medicine as a cover, the grades were irrelevant, a part of her, the competitive academic she carried deep within her consciousness, had prepared religiously. The bones, their names, joints, and functions, she mastered with the precision of a cartographer. The main muscles and their movements were also burned into her memory. But the blood vessels...

the arteries, the veins, their infinite ramifications and tangled names, remained an elusive and confusing territory. Too many paths, she thought, frustrated, too many to remember. The morning slipped away in an intense and exhausting exam, a succession of questions and diagrams that put her knowledge to the test. When she left the classroom, her mind tired but satisfied with the effort, the next destination was inescapable: the echo class.

She met the group under the mocking gaze of Valerian, shrouded in his black tunic with red trims that looked like fresh scars. The six they had been were now only five, she recalled with a shiver, as they followed him through the secret passages. This time they arrived at one of the ten different rooms that Selena was already beginning to recognize, each with its own atmosphere of oppression, all hidden in the intestinal labyrinth beneath the Hourglass.

Upon taking their seats, they noticed that something was different about Valerian. There was none of his usual theatrical chatter or exaggerated bows. Instead, he made a surprisingly sober flourish of his hand, a slight inclination of his head, and when he spoke, his tone held a frigid solemnity that chilled the air in the room. —My little cursed ones —he began. The words resonated with a new weight. —Today, four of you must decide which magical line you will choose. That is to say...

And he made a dramatic pause, letting the implication settle. —You will choose your condemnation as beginners; perhaps one day you will become aware of your decision. A macabre smile, brief and devoid of humor, twisted his lips as he finished. Then, his gaze settled on Corin, the blonde poet, and the mask of solemnity shattered to reveal pure contempt. —Corin —he spat the name— even for a cursed one, you fail. It is unacceptable. How do you fail when you have the curse in your blood?

His voice was a lash of bitter disappointment. —Be ashamed enough, because your path will be the most arduous. You must learn everything from scratch. For the first time they had known him, Valerian sighed. It was not a theatrical sigh, but a deep sound, laden with genuine, human fatigue. He remained silent for a few minutes, an interval of time that stretched like a heavy stone over the students, allowing Corin's humiliation and the weight of the choice to settle into their bones.

When he spoke again, his voice recovered some of its mordancy, but the underlying seriousness remained. —Those three short-minded ones who can only master the written touch —he said with disdain. Then his gaze went directly to scrutinize Ren, Yarra, and Maya. —I already know you do not possess the gift of the word. It is a pity. That is only born of cowardice and the fear of one's own power. —His disdain was palpable. Then, his gaze, sharp as a dagger, turned and locked directly onto Selena.

All irony and contempt vanished from his face, replaced by an expression of genuine, almost ravenous, interest. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. —However... His voice dropped to an almost confidential, intimate tone, his gaze reflecting an interest rarely seen in the jester. —There is a crimson duchess who did understand the value of the blood that stained her hands. A duchess who speaks and feels the blood, who speaks and feels her life.

That one... Then pointing at her with a slight nod of his head, he finished the sentence. —She will go with me. The silence that followed was dense and heavy, charged with the invisible smoke of diverging futures. Only the sound of breathing, some shallow, others deep and resigned, filled the room. Until Valerian's voice, now stripped of all affectation, resonated again, sharp and clear. —In any case, you wretched and miserable lots —he began. The epithet sounded more like a statement of fact than an insult.

—I must congratulate you. The path toward death approaches you swift and fast, but you are aware of it. An ignorant person who knows they are ignorant is more useful than a clever person who is unaware of what they ignore. The phrase, tangled and cynical, contained a bitter truth. The acceptance of their own condemnation was, paradoxically, the first step to surviving it, at least a little longer. —Starting tomorrow —he announced, with the coldness of one giving a military order.

The youths were only capable of holding their breath; the expectation of the curse's future terrified some, while it weighed with sadness upon others. —Classes of the void will cease for three full weeks. Several faces showed a hint of relief, quickly extinguished by what followed. —When you return, Maya, Yarra, and Ren will be assigned solely to Isolde as mistress of knowledge of the written touch. I will assist, but you will not have my knowledge.

His gaze slid toward them, and it was as if he were withdrawing a mortal privilege. —Likewise, the crimson duchess. His tone recovered a hint of that sinister familiarity. —She can only be taught by me. Isolde can only assist. The segregation was now official and absolute. Two paths, two masters, two specific condemnations. —Without further ado —Valerian concluded—, before leaving, you must take one of these sheets on the front desk. They list your new subjects and books.

There was no final flourish, no theatrical gesture. He simply leaned back in his chair and waited, observing them with the patience of a predator that had already marked its prey. Selena approached the desk and picked up her sheet. It was made of a paler, almost pearlescent parchment, and was thicker than the others. At the top, in black and austere letters, it read: "Spoken Way." And in a lower corner, a sober note warned: Course duration: from seven months to two years.

Her gaze descended the list of courses, each one a step deeper into the abyss: Applied Restoration to the Body Applied Restoration to the Mind Advanced Perception of the Void Costs of the Echo Arcane Arts Applied to the World Then, the textbooks, whose titles promised a journey of no return toward the mastery of the impossible:"Treatise on the Formed Word: Theory and Practice of the Spoken Echo" by Herald Kylvar.

"Arcane Restoration: Healing of the Body and Mind through the Verb" by Cantor Leathe.

"Advanced Perception: Tuning the Senses to the Void" by Seer Mara. They were manuals to learn how to mold reality with a whisper, to heal with the soul, and to perceive what should not be perceived. The curriculum of a minor and condemned god. When everyone had their sheets in hand, Valerian rose. A simple gesture of his hand was enough. They followed him in silence through the stone labyrinth until they emerged into the afternoon light, which seemed unrealistically normal to them.

Selena, Maya, and Ren, united by habit and shared catharsis, headed to the dining hall. The aroma of simple food was a balm after the abstract nightmare of the room where they were taught. —What will you do with your free time? —Selena asked, breaking a piece of bread with her fingers. Her eyebrow arched with genuine curiosity, seeking to anchor herself in the mundane. Maya took a sip of water before responding. —I must keep studying Oratory and Debate —she said in an amused tone.

Then she looked at Ren with a timid smile. —Perhaps I'll ask Ren for help. He is incredibly good at it. Did you know we take the complementary course together? The revelation of this small alliance, forged in rhetoric classes while they were segregated in the class of the void, was a flash of warmth. Ren emitted a grunt, toying with his food. —Logistics of Warehousing and Distribution has been getting really complicated for me —he confessed, his brow furrowed.

The murmur of conversations accompanied the voices of their conversation. —I am terrible at mathematics. Zorn is helping me, but even with that, it's not enough. —A sigh of frustration escaped his lips. It was an earthly problem, almost laughable, but real. Selena looked at them, envying for an instant the simplicity of their complaints. —I am having a hard time with an ancient book I am reading in the library —she shared, choosing her words with care— It is complex. I will dedicate my time to that.

The dining hall, with its muffled bustle and the smell of greasy food, vanished as soon as Selena headed to her room first. They had been separated; the echo that claimed their lives with each use also distinguished them into two completely different paths. It was the isolation of knowledge, the isolation of those who differ in their essence despite sharing the condemnation.

Her only relief was that behind all those thousands of books, she would find the words of the first king; curiosity drove her once more, drawn by profane and secret knowledge.