“To preserve the stability of the whole, one must sometimes sacrifice a part. For not every chance can alter the course of the inevitable.”

  [ 40th of Lumiran, 1749 | Yuvel | 06:55 | Dormitory Room 231 ]

  The morning began with an absence. Catherine had left before dawn, leaving behind not a physical vacancy, but a philosophical void—a dense, palpable silence in which the unspoken words of the previous night weighed heavier than those pronounced. It was not merely awkwardness. It was a glitch in the familiar structure of our shared space, a vacuum remaining where, just yesterday, a vibrant, irrational variable had existed.

  I did not see her leave, but I registered it post-factum—by the perfectly made bed, by the absence of her scent in the air. My mind, obeying habit, immediately reconstructed the scene: the slight creak of floorboards, the soft rustle of a dress, the barely audible click of the lock. I knew perfectly well who she had gone to see. She wanted to find answers from Nova. Two anomalies, two unpredictable variables had met, and their interaction promised me nothing good.

  I stepped out of my room. The corridor smelled of damp stone and spring drafts. I stood before a high arched window, watching the academy wake up. Along the paths of the inner park, where the first small leaves had already unfurled on the branches and young grass was breaking through the thawed patches, students walked unhurriedly, wrapping themselves in light cloaks against the morning chill of Lumiran. Their carefree movement was a sharp contrast to my internal state.

  As I stood observing, footsteps sounded behind me—fast, but restrained.

  “Hello, Shadow from Tarvar,” a familiar voice said quietly.

  I turned. Isolde Veyne stood before me. Her black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, revealing a pale face with shadows under her eyes that even her usual arrogance could not conceal. In her dark blue eyes splashed an anxiety uncharacteristic of her, mixed with something else.

  “Hello, Isolde,” I replied without interest. “Do you need something?”

  She took a deep breath, and I heard the joint of the index finger on her right hand crack.

  “Artalis, I need to speak with you. Immediately and in private,” her voice was quiet but insistent. “This conversation concerns only you.”

  I looked her over skeptically. I wonder why everyone assumes I am obligated to help them.

  “If you think I harbor a desire to converse with you in private, you are mistaken,” I replied coldly and turned back to the window, signaling that the conversation was over.

  “Artalis…!” she almost shouted, taking a step toward me. “Listen, this is not a plea for help. This is a matter that no one but you can solve! It is a question of paramount importance!”

  I turned to her again.

  “Isolde, do you realize that I personally have not a single reason to speak with you in private? Or do you think that by greeting me as the ‘Shadow from Tarvar,’ you improved your chances? No. Which means you are free to go,” I replied calmly.

  Isolde clenched her fists; her knuckles turned white.

  “Artalis, this is very important! These are not just jokes! I am serious! I swear!” she shouted with unconcealed frustration. “Please, give me a couple of minutes. I know we haven’t interacted in the best way, and with Catherine too… But…” She came almost right up to me, and her whisper, smelling of slight irritation, touched my ear. “It is a question regarding Prince Frederik.”

  The information was a new, unexpected variable for my calculations. It was unclear what connection Isolde had to Frederik, but even with full concentration on the mission in Fermecanima, data on the situation in Illumora was a valuable resource. After all, a backup plan is never superfluous.

  “Fine, but only if it is quick…” I said with deliberate negligence.

  Isolde nodded, and we went downstairs. She led me to a secluded corner by the pillars of the dormitory where Brina and Maelis lived—a place slightly masked from prying eyes.

  When we were in place, she spoke, her voice low and hurried.

  “Artalis, basically, listen carefully… I know you are a guardian mage there and you associate with this Nova…” She cast a quick glance at the students passing by. “I am secretly betrothed to Cassian Alvare… you have heard of him…?”

  The start of the conversation was a bad sign, too bad to ignore. How had Cassian Alvare managed to trace me?

  “I do not quite understand who that is,” I lied to clarify the gaps in my analysis and understand where she was leading.

  “Artalis, let’s not play a comedy, alright?” Isolde asked, slightly irritated. “If you think I came to joke, you are mistaken.” She paused. “Eliza Cornell, the Royal Gambling House, Sumerenn,” she answered firmly.

  Isolde’s tone was sincere and manipulative at the same time. Such information from her lips was a clear sign that they wanted to drag me into another backstage intrigue. And most importantly, how did Cassian obtain such information? Perhaps Isolde was bluffing, and these were no more than her simple guesses. I needed to verify this by asking a few more leading questions.

  “Eliza Cornell? Royal Gambling House? Are you sure you aren’t confusing me with someone else, Isolde?” I replied without unnecessary facial expression.

  Isolde crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Listen, do you take me for a fool?!” she asked angrily. “Once again: Cassian saw everything, he followed Frederik’s carriage personally. Or do you think you did everything perfectly?” she smirked.

  I deliberately shook my head.

  “I still do not understand what you are talking about. And most importantly, what do you need?” I asked skeptically.

  Isolde rolled her eyes.

  “Listen, Artalis. I am not going to play games with you, let alone tell you how he did it. If you have the desire, ask him personally.” She said, rolling her eyes slightly again.

  I realized there was no point in hiding any longer; she spoke too confidently to be merely lying.

  “Fine, let us assume so. But what do you need from me?” I asked directly.

  Isolde smirked, pleased with her small victory.

  “Me? I need nothing from you, Artalis. I need you to help my future husband save his best friend. The mathematics is simple, isn’t it?” She smiled contemptuously and then shook her head.

  “Understood. And do many people, besides Cassian, know about this?” I asked dryly.

  “Enough, Arta, enough. Or do you think Cassian doesn’t know how Evelina’s people work?” she smiled slightly, asking this question.

  Expected. If not for Evelina, I could have erased the memories of both Isolde and Cassian. But now I had to solve other people's problems again.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Fine, Isolde. If anything comes up, you know where to find me. Organize a meeting outside the city and note, I will not be alone,” I replied calmly.

  Isolde chuckled.

  “If you plan to bring that girl who keeps trailing after you, then I will go as well,” Isolde replied angrily. “And yes, if you expect the upcoming conversation there to be like a joke, then open your eyes.” She clicked her tongue, and then added: “For today, our conversation is finished; I will find you within a couple of days.” Finishing the phrase, she turned and walked away along the small path leading past the dormitories toward the academic buildings.

  I turned around and headed back to the dormitory. Unfortunately, Illumora was a constant source of human trouble for me—and by some irony of fate that escaped even my understanding, I was forced to deal with it every single day of the week.

  『 ?? 』━━━???━━━『 ? 』

  [ 40th of Lumiran, 1749 | Yuvel | 13:35 | Academy dining hall ]

  Catherine and I met only at lunch. The entire first half of the day passed without her, and this was a deviation from the usual rhythm. When she arrived, I was sitting in the corner of the dining hall, away from the general noise, uninterestedly poking at a boiled potato with a fork. Food had no meaning and was merely a necessity to maintain the form of this fragile vessel.

  Catherine approached with a tray. Her gait was confident, almost defiant. Placing the tray on the table with the pose of a victor, she pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “Arta, I found out everything!” she began in a joyful voice, slightly louder than usual.

  It was clear what she was driving at, and I asked a question that would perhaps halt her fervor.

  “Is that precisely why you disappeared at dawn, missing breakfast?” I asked without interest, breaking a large piece of potato with my fork.

  “Ah, that…” She looked somewhere at the ceiling, and then proceeded to neatly slice a boiled chicken breast. “Nova and I talked. I heard her version of events, and, you know, it was interesting. I learned a lot of new things about this trip and even about you.”

  I shook my head.

  “And what did you learn? Should I be scared immediately?” I asked, watching her slice the breast.

  “Oh, well, firstly, that you and Nova really didn’t kiss. And secondly, that you said I was beautiful, like a perfect blade. And that I need to be protected! Was that true?” she looked at me enthusiastically.

  The fact that Nova had slightly rephrased my sentence was not dangerous. Far more ambiguous was the fact that she had told this to Catherine. Every subsequent error in conversation with this anomaly could lead to structural dissonances in my flawless consciousness.

  “To be honest, I said a lot of things and drank a lot,” I replied, lowering my eyes. Confirming Nova’s words was unnecessary.

  Catherine smiled broadly. “Well, you know, it seems to me that drunks sometimes speak the most honest words. That is so pleasant, Arta!”

  “And what about the kiss,” I asked in a quieter voice, “are you convinced that the goddess of fertility is playing a double game?”

  “To be honest, I was almost sure of it since morning. Sorry for yesterday’s hysteria.” She pierced a piece of breast with her fork and brought it to her mouth. “In the end, who should I trust: the person I love, or an incomprehensible goddess?” she finished, and the piece of meat went into her mouth.

  Ironic that she separates us so, considering that, in essence, CL and I are Alpha-souls. I wonder, in cycle 3217, did Catherine understand anything at all about my nature? Repeating the experiment with disclosure makes no sense anymore.

  “So, you and Nova sat in her room all this time?” I asked Catherine to gather at least a little information.

  “Not exactly… so…,” Catherine answered while chewing. She fell silent and continued only after swallowing the piece. “First we were at Nova’s, then Beatrice asked us to leave. She… she is still unable to listen to what happened.”

  I remained silent, feeling no need to comment on this story, and only looked into her eyes, waiting for her to continue.

  “Then we went to Ren’s and sat in her room. By the way,” Catherine said, piercing a cube of boiled carrot with her fork, “she and Ren are together again. Given that Frederik has disappeared, Evelina gave them full right to do whatever they want.”

  Perhaps this was another argument in favor of seriously calculating the risks of saving Frederik.

  “By the way, Arta, I heard from Nova that she will receive permission from Evelina, that their union will be approved…” Catherine hesitated. “Maybe we should think in that direction too?”

  …Another micro-glitch occurred in my thought process. Had she really spoken to Nova about this? This was absolutely unacceptable.

  “Catherine, you and I are not a couple. And why do you even consider it acceptable to speak about this publicly?” I asked in a firm voice.

  Catherine closed her eyes; she was overcome by various emotions. I felt a slight “Itch” in my structure.

  “Arta…” she opened her eyes. “I understand what you mean. I wanted to talk to you about this personally, not here; the conversation just came up by accident.”

  “At least some rationality.” I shook my head.

  “I do not plan to talk to you rationally, Arta. Let’s go to Lake Gremlak right now, as soon as we finish eating, and talk calmly there, without unnecessary ears…”

  The rest of lunch passed in silence. Only when we returned to the room to grab our academic cloaks, and then headed toward the northern gates, did Catherine speak.

  “You know, Arta,” she said when no one was nearby, “I thought a lot about everything, and I promise, I will tell you everything that is on my soul and heart.”

  “I hope this will not be a repetition of that evening…?” I asked skeptically.

  “No. I saw how you perceived it all; I have never seen you so despondent.” She sighed sadly. “Perhaps I really rushed things, but I could no longer hold back that tension.” She looked into the distance, at the large lake spreading out beyond the firs and pines. “At least now I can honestly say that I love you, and it makes my soul feel warm.”

  The descent from the hill was long. When we reached Lake Gremlak, whose surface, revived after winter, reflected the young foliage of the coastal trees and rippled slightly from the cool breeze, she spoke.

  “Let’s go to those benches by the forest; usually everyone walks here, by the water,” she nodded at the students walking in the distance. “And there, no one will bother us.”

  While we walked to the bench, Catherine picked up a large pinecone from the damp earth and began to turn it in her hands, as if trying to find internal stability.

  When we sat on the bench, I placed my hands on my knees. She immediately covered my left hand with hers—a gesture violating my personal space, but one I did not resist. The “Itch” inside my structure would be the worse outcome. Nevertheless, my desire to restore structural freedom was too strong.

  “Please remove your hand. Other students walk here; I do not want them to think unnecessary things,” I said dryly.

  “Sorry… I just thought…” Catherine removed her hand and placed it on her knee. She turned and looked at me. “Basically, Arta, I don’t want to beat around the bush. I just want to explain a few things to you calmly, without emotions, without harsh statements—just to convey a clear and simple thought.” She sighed, gathering her strength. “Basically, Arta, I want to either be with you, or I will be alone for the rest of my days.”

  “That is a stupid decision, Catherine,” I commented, watching her shift her gaze to the smooth surface of the lake. “Almost anyone would be better than me.”

  Catherine chuckled.

  “Are you serious…?” she waited for my reaction, but none followed. “Arta, no one else will replace you. Only near you do I feel that I am alive… I don’t know, maybe it is more correct to call it something else, for example, that I am complete only near you?”

  “Call it whatever is convenient for you,” I replied coldly.

  “Fine… I will call it whatever I please… That is not the point, Arta…” She sighed and threw the pinecone into the distance. The pinecone flew and fell silently by the water’s edge. “I know that we are both noblewomen, and generally all this is wrong. Just tell me: do I have at least some, the very, very minimal chance? Let it be one in a hundred million.”

  Her desire to get an answer was outright manipulation. However, I remembered the Arbiter’s words. Nevertheless, I did not strive to succumb to such provocations, even if an unnecessary reaction would entail my internal instability.

  “Catherine. I have already answered this question for you. You know neither my country nor my obligations to my family.”

  “Arta, did I ask you about obligations and other excuses? I asked you directly: is there at least one minuscule chance that we will be together?”

  She was persistent. Reality, however, was different: we could be together only if it were required to resolve the anomaly. However, I intended to solve it in a completely different way, and Catherine was not in this equation. Nevertheless, perhaps I should not be too cruel. In reality, there are no zero chances.

  “There is always a chance. But in this case, it tends toward zero,” I replied coldly.

  Catherine smiled sadly.

  “If it exists, it means everything is not in vain.” A lonely tear rolled from her eye. “Listen, Arta, can you hold my hand, like back then in the carriage? Let’s go into the forest and just stand.” She looked at me. “Please!”

  I looked at her. Most likely, soon our paths would diverge forever, and refusing her this would be too wrong in relation to her structure.

  “Fine. But only for the last time,” I replied calmly.

  “Considering that you yourself said I have a chance, this cannot be the last time,” she shook her head, smiling sadly.

  “Let’s go, let’s not waste time.”

  We headed into the thick of the forest. When no one was nearby, I took her hand. The unexpected warmth of her skin, the fragile, barely perceptible pulse under my fingers. Physical contact was alive and absolutely irrational.

  She looked into my eyes and whispered:

  “Thank you,” and then closed her eyes.

  I looked at her and found in this my own, strange structural calm. But parallel to this, in the depths of my consciousness, cold, flawless blueprints of a new synthetic avatar were already being constructed. An instrument for the destruction of the pernicious history that had plunged this world into chaos.

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