Chapter 44
Hours Pass
Eilor looked up, surprised by the precision of the detail.
"Afterwards, the next octamana we had our first class," she continued, with an almost distracted air, as if reliving it came naturally to her.
Her voice softened for a moment, slipping through memories that seemed to want to come out on their own, unfiltered.
Eilor watched her in silence, noticing how the expression on her face changed slightly: a faint gleam in her eyes, a smile that was neither mockery nor coldness… but something closer to nostalgia.
But the moment was brief.
Eli returned to her more neutral tone, resting her elbows on the table.
"That was a long time ago," she added, as if putting a full stop to the topic before he could delve deeper.
Eilor raised his hand, stopping Eli with a firm but calm gesture.
"Wait," he murmured.
She fell silent instantly, watching him with a mix of curiosity and caution.
Eilor stretched out his arm, took the sheet that still remained on the table, and pulled it towards himself.
The paper had part of its edge crumpled from their earlier haste, but there was still space left.
With his other hand, he grabbed the bronze pen.
The metal reflected a faint glint as he twirled it between his fingers, preparing.
He carefully arranged the sheet, aligning it with the edge of the table, and rested his forearm, the tip of the pen barely grazing the paper.
"Continue," he said, still not looking at her.
She stayed still for a few seconds, surprised by Kaep's firm tone.
Then, a small smile appeared on her face —this time more genuine, less calculated— and she nodded slowly.
"Alright…" she murmured.
She straightened her posture and looked at the sheet in front of him, as if reading what he hadn't written yet.
"[First octamana]," she said at last, her voice clear, almost dictating.
"The first day we all introduced ourselves, one by one, after the professor entered in his black uniform with yellow stripes."
As she spoke, Eilor began to write.
The sound of the pen scratching against the paper filled the silence between them.
"I remember," Eli continued, leaning slightly forward, "that almost no one knew what to say. Everyone looked at their boots, or pretended to check their blank sheets."
"And you…" a light laugh escaped her, "you said your name and sat down without another word. Not a greeting, not a gesture."
Eilor looked up for an instant, arching an eyebrow.
"Really?" he said with a barely perceptible smile.
Eli nodded.
"Yes… it sounded more like you back then, and it still sounds like you now."
For a moment, both were silent.
The memory seemed to have softened something between them, but not enough to erase the tension still vibrating beneath the surface.
Eilor looked back at the sheet, ready to keep writing.
"Alright," he said quietly, "go on."
"Afterwards," Eli continued, her gaze somewhat lost as she searched her memory, "the professor asked another question.
He asked who had had their eye color changed."
Eilor paused the pen on the paper for a moment.
Eli noticed the gesture, but kept speaking.
"So you, and a few others, raised your hands," she said in a softer tone.
"I remember the silence that fell afterwards…"
She made a small pause, resting her elbows on the table and interlacing her fingers.
"There were few of you. Three, maybe four, including you. And the professor looked at each of you one by one, without saying anything for several seconds. Just… observed."
Eilor nodded, letting the tip of the pen mark a short line on the sheet.
"Yes…" he murmured, almost to himself. "I remember that."
Eli furrowed her brow a little, remembering something else.
"When you lowered your hand, you didn't say anything, but you were tense. You were barely breathing. I thought you were nervous, but… now that I think about it," she looked at him again, with some curiosity, "it was something else, wasn't it?"
Eilor looked up, meeting her gaze.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
He just held the pen suspended, his hand motionless over the paper.
"After," Eli continued, moving a hand as if she still saw the scene before her, "the professor asked us to move the benches and tables.
He organized us into groups, a ratio of one to three:
one with changed eyes and three with eyes still in their original colors."
She made a brief pause, glancing sideways at Eilor, who kept writing without looking up.
"And that lasted the entire first month," she added in a lower tone, as if she didn't much like remembering it.
Eilor nodded slowly.
He could almost smell the classroom air again, feel the grating of the wooden legs being dragged across the stone floor.
"One to three…" he repeated, writing the number on the sheet. "Basic."
Eli let out a faint, humorless laugh.
"'Basic classification,' that's what they called it, yes. But it was more of a way to get us used to the idea that eventually we would have them like that too, don't you think?"
Eilor stopped writing.
"And you?" he asked, looking up. "Where were you in that division?"
Eli looked him straight in the eyes.
She didn't answer immediately.
She just let the silence stretch, before sketching an almost imperceptible smile.
"Where I needed to be," she said finally.
---
"After that," Eli continued, in a more relaxed tone, "the rest of the month was quieter.
It alternated between tours of the academy's four buildings and introductions to the different professors."
Eilor noted down every word, while images formed in his mind.
The buildings of Takran:
the students walking from building to building, veteran adventurers coming and going from the buildings. Every now and then, one would take a marked individual or another student with them to train them in the world outside the academy; other times, an imperial soldier would do the same.
Eli kept speaking, with a hint of nostalgia.
"They showed us the classrooms, the practice yards, the dining hall… everything seemed huge at first. There was something new to learn every day."
She smiled faintly.
"And, of course, there were the surprise evaluations. Some professors enjoyed seeing us fail more than they admitted."
Eilor looked up for a moment, recognizing that half-smile.
"Yeah… I remember not all of them were exactly friendly," he said with a grimace that was almost a smile.
Eli nodded.
"That, and you earned your first sanction in the second week."
Eilor froze, pen in hand.
"Sanction?" he repeated.
She rested her elbow on the table, with a look that was both amused and accusatory.
"For arguing with Professor Daen in front of the whole class."
He blinked, surprised.
"...I don't remember that."
"I thought so," replied Eli, with a barely visible smile. "It was because you argued that a friend of your uncle's was better than him with a certain battle style, and you ended up making him duel the professor… and surprisingly, he won."
---
"—after that, among the most notable things…" Eli continued, letting her voice flow between memory and description— "must have been the gymnasium in the west building. That place left a lasting impression on me."
Eilor gave a slight nod, recognizing the name. Just hearing it brought a vague echo of metal, effort, and voices resonating against wide walls.
"After all," she went on, "they had a gymnasium that took up practically half the building.
A massive structure, with metal arches supporting the upper levels, and that constant air of sweat, energy, and discipline."
She ran a distracted finger along the edge of the table as she spoke, as if tracing the map of that place in the air.
"That half was divided into sections: the battle style gyms, where the instructors shouted relentlessly; the duel practice areas, with their floors marked by containment circles; and further back, the gyms with muscle precision machines, full of pulleys, weights, and structures of polished copper."
Eilor remembered the echo of impacts, the rhythmic sound of chains, the dry thud of practice dummies being thrown to the ground again and again.
"Yes…" he murmured, more to himself. "It was impossible to go in there and not feel… small."
Eli smiled faintly.
"Or motivated," she added. "Some were intimidated, others wanted to prove they belonged there. You were one of the latter."
Eilor turned his face towards her, arching an eyebrow.
"Oh, really?"
"Oh, yes," she replied with a slightly wider smile. "I remember it well. You almost broke your wrist in your first duel attempt."
Eilor let out a sigh mixed with a half-laugh.
"Definitely… that sounds like me."
"If I remember correctly," Eli continued, her tone more relaxed, almost nostalgic, "your uncle Laios used to go there often with his friends. They always occupied the same area of the gym, remember? The one near the columns on the west side, where the direct afternoon light came in."
Eilor tilted his head, thoughtful.
"Yes…" he said slowly. "The group that never seemed to get tired."
"Exactly," she replied, sketching a smile at the memory. "They took turns between the machines and the improvised duels. And you, every now and then, joined them. Sometimes to train, other times just to watch and pretend you were resting."
Eilor let out a short snort, with a slight, crooked smile.
"Pretended… but ended up more exhausted than them."
"I know," said Eli, both amused and condescending. "Laios used to say you were too stubborn for your own good."
"That sounds like him," Eilor replied, letting out a light laugh.
For a moment, the atmosphere softened. There was no tension, only the warm echo of shared memories.
Eli watched him out of the corner of her eye, her gaze more serene.
"He admired you, you know? Even though he never said it out loud."
Eilor raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"Laios? Admire me?"
"Yes," she said, shrugging. "He said that, unlike many, you didn't wait for anyone's permission to try. Besides, that since you were little you spent all your time training the North Star style."
Eilor lowered his gaze, twirling the pen between his fingers.
"I don't know if that was admiration or worry," he murmured, but there was a hint of gratitude in his voice that he couldn't hide.
"Oh!! Also, once your uncle told me," she continued, "that your father told him how you had a duel with an adventurer who claimed to use that style and that you started that duel because you insisted you were better than him at using it. And then, if I remember correctly, he started going to your house for private lessons from your father every other afternoon."
Eilor listened attentively, elbows on the table, body slightly leaning forward. Every now and then, without interrupting her, he moved the pen over the sheet, jotting down loose phrases, names, fragments he found relevant.
The lines were uneven, sometimes crooked, others barely legible, but he didn't seem to care. He wasn't writing to remember—he was writing to organize.
From time to time, he murmured to himself, as if trying to connect the pieces:
"West building… training sections… Uncle Laios… motivation…" he wrote in cramped handwriting at the edge of the sheet, filling the empty gaps.
Eli watched him for a moment without saying anything. There was something curious about seeing him like this: so immersed in the act of writing, so serious, almost mechanical.
The tapping of the bronze tip against the paper filled the small silence between them.
"You still take notes like before," she commented finally, quietly, almost with a smile.
Eilor looked up, just for a second.
"It's the only thing that keeps me sane when everything starts to blur together."
Eli nodded, understanding.
"Then keep going. There's a lot worth remembering… and some things you shouldn't forget."
Eilor didn't answer, but his fingers tightened around the pen before he continued writing.
But even so, Eilor enjoyed what Eli was telling him.
Not just for the content, but for how she did it. Her voice had that soft cadence that comes when someone remembers something fondly; a mix of nostalgia and genuine enjoyment.
Every time she mentioned a detail—a name, a scene, a lost laugh—her eyes seemed to shine a little, and for an instant, the weight of time vanished.
Eilor watched her while taking notes, but his thoughts began to drift.
He realized he was listening more to the tone than the words; it was as if the sound of her voice anchored him to something more human, more simple.
The atmosphere, once tense, had become lighter. And although he kept writing, he no longer did it just out of habit.
Eli smiled while remembering something about their classmates, laughing softly at a trivial anecdote, and he, without meaning to, felt a spark of warmth… a sensation he didn't know if it belonged to his own past or to Kaep's.
He watched her for a second more, and thought that perhaps—just perhaps—not everything left behind had to hurt.
What made him stop the pen mid-stroke.
If she enjoyed those memories so much… if she spoke of them with such warmth, then why had she seemed uncomfortable when he called her by her name?
The thought circled in his mind, slow, insistent.
" Did you really call me that? "
" It's been years since you called me that… "
The phrases echoed in his mind, each with a different weight. It wasn't just surprise; there was something more in her tone. A mix of restraint and reproach, almost as if the name itself had hurt.
Eilor lowered his gaze to the paper, but he no longer saw the words he had written. His mind slipped between the invisible lines of the unspoken.
How much time had passed for her?
What had happened between the two of them for her name to sound… wrong?
Eli kept talking, perhaps not noticing his silence, but he barely heard her now.
A part of him felt he was brushing against something important, something he didn't want to fully awaken.
The memory had sharp edges.
He took a breath and let it out slowly, placing the tip of the pen back on the paper, more to feign concentration than out of necessity.
But in his head, a single question spun with force:
What exactly had broken between them?
---
Eli continued speaking, threading memory after memory with the naturalness of someone reliving a story more than telling it.
Eilor listened, attentive, nodded now and then, and wrote a short phrase when something seemed relevant.
The hours dissolved without either of them fully noticing.
At first, the incoming light was faint and cold; then it gained clearer, warmer tones. Outside, the distant murmur of the wind changed direction and the air inside the room became lighter, more welcoming.
The rhythm of the conversation had also transformed. It was no longer just about reviewing facts: there were small laughs, long pauses, silences that weren't uncomfortable.
At times Eli leaned over the table, using her hands to shape something she was describing; other times, she spoke while staring into nothingness, as if still following scenes only she could see.
Eilor didn't interrupt. He kept taking notes, though his jottings were now more scattered, less organized. Sometimes just a word, or an unfinished line.
When he finally looked up, he noticed the tiredness in his own eyes, the slight tremor in his hand.
"How long have we been at this?" he asked quietly.
Eli smiled with a calm expression, resting her chin on her hand.
"I don't know. A while, I guess. But..." she glanced at him sideways, with a tired but kind gleam in her eyes, "it feels like we've only just begun."
Eilor let out a soft sigh, between tiredness and something akin to relief.
"Yes…" he murmured, letting the pen fall onto the table. "I suppose so."
As time passed, the soft murmur of voices began to mix with the creaking of benches and the scrape of boots on the floor.
Some of those sleeping nearby began to stretch and others to wake up, changing the guard shift or simply looking to move a bit after so many hours still.
Noticing Eilor and Eli talking in front of the table, several approached with curiosity.
First one, then another, and soon there were quite a few hovering nearby, asking what they were doing so concentrated.
The answers were simple, almost offhand:
"Just remembering old times," Eli would say, with a half-smile.
"Gathering information," Eilor would add, lifting the couple of sheets slightly.
Hearing that, some would smile and leave without another word, returning to their blankets. But others—tired of sleeping or wanting to kill boredom—stayed. And little by little, the table became a small circle of stories.
The younger ones like them listened attentively as the veterans told anecdotes from their academy days.
Some, from different generations, spoke of field adventures, travels, strange creatures, and absurd accidents. Others shared quieter memories: lost comrades, eccentric professors, traditions that no longer existed.
Laughter began to mix with the tales. Sometimes they interrupted to add details or correct versions. Other times, a brief silence would take hold of the group when someone touched upon a heavier memory.
Eilor watched them while taking more spaced-out notes, this time without the initial urgency. It was no longer just information he was collecting: it was the human weight of the voices, the gestures, the faces sharing a common history.
Eli, for her part, smiled in the shadows of the dim lamp, enjoying that small chaos that had been born almost unintentionally.
For the first time in a long while, the room didn't seem like a place of waiting or confinement.
It seemed… alive.