"Chaos has its own structure. Even in the seemingly senseless movement of particles, there are patterns. My task is not to stop it, but to calculate its trajectories and make preemptive decisions."
2nd Day of the Veytra of Harvestor
I awoke before the first light touched the spires of the Academy. It was a habit that required no effort. The silence in the room was nearly absolute, broken only by the even breathing of Catherine. My gaze fixed on her. She slept on her side, facing the wall, but her posture was unnatural. Her body was slightly curved to relieve the tension on her left hip, which evidently bore the main load of the day. One leg, covered by the blanket, was bent, and the empty space to her right created an asymmetry, a disturbance of equilibrium even in sleep. Her crutches stood by the bed like two silent sentinels, indicators of her daily compromise. This was not a posture of rest. It was a posture of adaptation. An inefficient, energy-intensive structure, forced to exist in a constant compromise.
I turned to the window. Beyond it, a new day was beginning. The first morning at the Academy began with a muffled hum. It was not noise, but a vibration—the energy of hundreds of young lives trying to find their place in a new, strictly defined system. The ten days before the start of classes were allotted for adaptation: choosing courses, signing up for clubs, receiving academic materials.
I watched this "white noise" from our window. The girls, both first-years and the more settled upperclassmen, scurried along the park paths, laughed by the fountain, and crowded around the notice board in the main hall. Their emotions—joy, anxiety, curiosity—created a dense, almost tangible background that I analyzed but did not feel. My own schedule had been set on the day of the entrance exams. Back then, feigning the part of a lost first-year, I stood by the notice board in the central building with the schedule for all courses, pretending to choose classes, when in reality, I was observing Reina and Nova's choices. The data collection was too simple; they were carelessly discussing their own class selections. I built a perfect grid of intersections, allowing me to intercept their paths before, after, and even during some lessons. Everything here was calculated with mathematical precision. Magical theory, fencing, and even etiquette were, for some, just subjects; for me, they were vectors for observing my targets.
Catherine, unlike the other students, did not participate in this chaotic bustle. Methodically, with the same concentration with which she read books, she studied the charter and the pre-written list of available courses. Her choices were pragmatic: she avoided disciplines requiring rapid changes of position or long periods of standing, focusing instead on theoretical and magical subjects. There was no self-pity in her actions—only cold calculation and adaptation to the given conditions.
***
3rd Day of the Veytra of Harvestor
Today, in the main hall of the academic building, was the sign-up for extracurricular clubs. Another form of structured chaos. Tables representing various societies—from the "Society of Strategic Games and Debates" and the "Herbarium and Floristry Club" to the equestrian section and the silver-thread embroidery circle—were surrounded by crowds of students. The air buzzed with excited voices and laughter, echoing off the high vaulted ceilings.
I stood by one of the cool marble columns, observing. I had hoped to see Reina or Nova here, to record their choices, but they never appeared. My attention was drawn to Catherine. She sat on one of the chairs against the wall, as walking for long periods on crutches between the tables was tiring for her. A shy first-year with dark chestnut hair approached her and, with a smile, handed her several brochures she had collected from the tables. Catherine nodded gratefully. After studying the parchments, she stopped at the table for the "Society of Strategic Games and Debates," thought for a moment, and then confidently wrote her name on the list. It was a pragmatic choice for her situation—the development of the mind, not the body.
I had no intention of signing up for anything. My time was scheduled, and spending it on amateur gatherings was inefficient. I was about to leave when a short girl with large, enthusiastic brown eyes and a shock of unruly chestnut hair approached me.
"Hi! You're Artalis Nox, right?" her voice was as bright as a plucked string. "I saw you at the ceremony. You looked so… so composed!"
I nodded silently.
"My name is Eloisa," she continued, undeterred by my silence. "I'm signing up for the music circle. And I noticed your hands…" her gaze slid to my palms, which I held loosely at my sides. "You have such long, slender fingers… like a pianist's!"
I looked at my hands. The nails were cut short but were cared for with a precision bordering on geometry —a perfect shape, flawlessly manicured cuticles. They combined the practicality necessary for wielding a weapon with a restrained femininity.
"Don't you want to join us?" Eloisa asked hopefully. "With hands like those, you must play beautifully!"
"I appreciate music, but I prefer to listen, not to perform," I replied indifferently.
Eloisa froze for a moment, her enthusiastic expression replaced by bewilderment. She clearly had not expected such a response. "Oh… well… alright," she stammered and, embarrassed, walked back to her table. She was excess noise. An emotional burst that carried no informational load and disrupted data collection. In my system, such noise required immediate elimination.
At that moment, Catherine approached me, leaning on her crutches.
"I see you're attracting attention," she remarked with a slight smirk. "I've signed up for the debate club. And you?"
"I have other tasks. I prefer to dedicate my free time to the independent practice of Order magic."
It was a convenient lie. My real tasks extended far beyond the walls of this academy, but mentioning a rare form of magic was the best way to cut off further questions.
"Order magic?" Catherine raised an eyebrow in surprise. "But they say only a few can wield it."
"That is precisely why it requires constant concentration and additional practice, which the Academy cannot provide," I replied evenly, tilting my head slightly to show my "sincerity."
Her surprise regarding Order magic was a predictable reaction, based on publicly available information. It was a weakness, a logical boundary she had yet to overcome. She looked at me, then at the retreating figure of Eloisa. In her gaze, there was no judgment, only a growing understanding that I operated by laws that were, for now, beyond her reach. She sighed, but saying nothing, with a blank expression, she headed toward the girl who had helped her earlier. Perhaps, in such a narrow-minded view, she would not be interested in what I was really doing for a long time, which would certainly play to my advantage; however, perhaps I should choose a completely different tactic towards her.
***
4th Day of the Veytra of Harvestor
Today was the day for a general cleaning of the rooms before the start of the academic year. Through the open windows, the morning chill and the smell of wet grass drifted into the corridors. A ritual designed to instill order even in those accustomed to the services of servants. Catherine set to her half of the room with the same persistence she applied to everything else. She refused the help of the maids thoughtfully sent by the administration.
I watched as she, leaning with one hand on a crutch and the other on the back of a chair, tried to wipe the dust from the top bookshelf hanging over her desk. The movement was clumsy—risky. Her body tensed to maintain balance, her face concentrated to the point of pain. She managed it. But it took her three times longer than it would have taken an able-bodied person.
When it came time to wash the floor, she knelt on one knee, placing her crutches against the wall. She moved slowly, methodically, wiping each tile, but she had to constantly shift, supporting herself with her hands to reach the corners. I saw the muscles in her back strain, saw beads of sweat form on her temples.
I finished my half of the room quickly and effortlessly. Then, without a word, I took a bucket of clean water and a cloth and began to wash her part of the floor—the part she had not yet reached.
She froze, her hand with the cloth suspended in mid-air.
"I can manage on my own," she said. Her voice was quiet, but it held her characteristic firmness. It was not gratitude, but a defense of her territory, her independence.
"I have no doubt," I replied, not ceasing my movements. "But this will be faster. And time is a resource that should not be wasted on proving the obvious."
She said nothing. Only watched as I finished the work. There was no resentment in her gaze. There was something else—a mixture of stubbornness, fatigue, and a barely perceptible acknowledgment. When I was done, I just as silently took the heavy bucket and carried it away, giving her no chance to object.
We did not speak for the rest of the day. But the structure of our relationship had changed. I had recorded her limit. And she, perhaps for the first time, had allowed someone to cross it without a fight. In her gaze, which that morning had been full of only cold calculation, something new appeared: an involuntary acknowledgment of another's effectiveness. Her pride had, it appeared, faltered for the first time in the face of my undeniable logic.
***
5th Day of the Veytra of Harvestor
In the morning, I made my way to the hippodrome, located on the western edge of the academy grounds. A large open field, enclosed by a white wooden fence, stables of dark wood. The air was cool and smelled of damp earth and hay. I took a seat on the top bench of the empty stands, opening a useless treatise on alchemical ingredients.
Soon, Reina and Nova appeared at the hippodrome. Nova led two horses by the reins: a black stallion for herself and a calm bay mare for Reina. Nova moved with confidence, her aristocratic training evident in every gesture. Reina, on the other hand, looked a little uncertain, but her eyes burned with excitement.
Nova helped her into the saddle. "Don't be afraid," I heard her calm voice, fragments of which drifted to me. "Just trust her. And me."
She started with the basics: how to hold the reins, how to use your body. Reina was a diligent but clumsy student. She would pull the reins too sharply or lose her balance. Nova was patient. She rode beside her, correcting her, her voice remaining even and encouraging.
At one point, when Reina nearly lost her balance again, Nova dismounted, walked over, and stood beside her horse. She placed her hands over Reina's on the reins. "Like this," she whispered, her face very close to Reina's. "Do you feel it? It's not force. It's… a dialogue with the horse. Be calm, and she will respond in kind." I watched this as a demonstration of the tactile reinforcement of their anomalous bond. Their physical closeness, the trust, the transfer of control—all were ideal conditions for the influence of Chaotic Light to grow, an energy I felt all around. I saw Reina's cheeks flush, her breathing become ragged.
Encouraged, Reina tried to urge the horse into a light trot. For a moment, she succeeded, but then she lost control again, and the horse reared. Reina cried out, but Nova was there. Her reaction was instantaneous—she grabbed the reins, calmed the horse, and helped Reina stay in the saddle.
They laughed, their faces very close... Their proximity made further observation inexpedient. I closed my book and rose silently to leave.
As I was nearing the exit of the stands, I felt a heavy, icy stare on my back. I did not turn around. It was definitely not Reina—her chaotic energy was completely focused on the object of her adoration. But Nova... she was too attentive and cautious. She had noticed me, her 'Aristocratic Observation' was nearly perfect. This was a curious sign and, undoubtedly, required a change in my future observation tactics.
***
6th Day of the Veytra of Harvestor
A new day brought a new plan. Direct observation had become risky, so I switched to tracking trajectories. Strolling unhurriedly through the academy grounds and studying the environment, I again noticed them together. Their eyes were full of passion and, perhaps, desire. Turning off the main park alley, they headed towards the conservatory, which was likely an ideal place for such "romantic encounters."
Following them, I entered the conservatory from the opposite side. It had to be noted, this was one of the few places where the chaos of nature was contained within the strict geometry of glass walls and measured paths. The air here was warm and humid, smelling of wet earth and exotic flowers. An ideal place for concentration, and for other, less meaningful activities.
Walking forward, I took a seat on a stone bench at the far end of the conservatory and began to listen to their voices, which, despite the large distance between us, were quiet but quite distinct. They sat at the opposite end of the conservatory, behind the thick foliage of a moon fern, near a small white marble fountain. Reina and Nova. They did not see me, but I could observe and, most importantly, hear them.
"…Sometimes I think our life is like a novel from Anix, where girls have to prove to the whole world that their love is possible," Reina was saying, her voice full of passion and a strange, almost painful nostalgia. "I remember it as if it were now: a girl from an ancient line, on whose shoulders lay an endless burden of responsibility, and another who appeared suddenly in her life, who reminded her that the heart is more important than vows."
Nova was silent for a moment, her fingers gently touching the petal of a white orchid. "And how did that story end?" she asked, quieter but firm.
"I won't tell," Reina chuckled. "Otherwise, it wouldn't be interesting. But I know we can write our own ending. A better one than in that book."
"I've already started writing it," Nova interrupted her softly. "Over the holidays, I spoke with Evelina. She… understands. She promised that when she ascends the throne, our union will be recognized. No one will dare go against the word of the queen."
Reina froze, her eyes widening. "Really? Nova, this… this changes everything!"
"No," Nova replied. "It only confirms what I have always felt. We will stay here. And we will change the rules of this game."
I listened to their dialogue as one listens to a report on a chemical reaction. Their "love" was for me merely a manifestation of the anomaly, an unstable element saturated with the energy of Chaotic Light. Their words, their vows—nothing more than data, variables in an equation I had to solve. I was moved by neither sympathy nor judgment, only cold analysis.
***
7th Day of the Veytra of Harvestor
In the evening, I was returning to my room after a short walk in the park. The second-floor corridor was almost empty. Dull light from the sunset pierced through the high windows, casting long shadows on the stone floor. Passing Nova's room, number "225," I noticed that the door was not locked, and then her roommate, a plump girl with a face full of freckles, came out. She was holding a book with a bright cover.
"You have to read it, you'll love it!" came Reina's cheerful voice from the room. "And then you can tell me what you think!" The girl nodded and hurried down to the common hall. Reina peeked into the corridor and, not seeing me, began to close the door. But whether from haste or carelessness, she did not close it completely and did not latch it, leaving a tiny, almost invisible crack in the doorway. To most, this would mean nothing, but for me, it was a window for observation.
I stopped not out of curiosity, but to gather new data for analysis. I moved to the large arched window at the end of the corridor, which overlooked the still-green park of the dormitories, and stood so that I could see the reflection of the door in the dark glass. Muffled whispers came from behind the door.
In the reflection, I saw Reina turn to Nova, her playfulness completely gone, replaced by a deep, almost painful tenderness. She ran her hand along Nova's cheek, and Nova, closing her eyes, leaned into her touch. Then their lips met in a kiss that was more an act of merging and desperation, as if crying out to the world that their love had a right to exist. But their love had no right. However they strained against the world, their hopes would sooner or later break upon the shadow of reality already creeping toward them.
For me, there was no romance in their actions, only confirmation of their anomaly, amplified by the energy of Chaotic Light, which had condensed around them and become almost tangible.
"I can't do this anymore," Reina whispered when they pulled apart. "Hiding, catching glances… I want to be with you. Always."
"Just a little longer, my love," Nova replied, her voice full of confidence. "Evelina will keep her word. We just have to wait."
Reina nodded in response and gently took her hand. "I wait for it every single day!" Reina whispered, and their lips met again in a kiss.
Suddenly, at the end of the corridor, a characteristic, rhythmic tapping sounded. It was the sound of crutches. Catherine was returning to our room, slowly but inevitably. I froze. If she realized what I was doing, questions might arise. Overly irrational and all-too-human questions, on which I would have to waste my precious time. Observation had to be terminated.
I silently moved away from the window and walked at a steady pace towards Catherine, meeting her exactly halfway to our room. She suspected nothing and merely nodded in return when I held the door for her.
***
8th Day of the Veytra of Harvestor
Another day at the academy passed at a leisurely pace, and I, in an attempt to gather more data on my observation targets, headed to Reina's room to find out why she preferred spending more time in someone else's room than her own.
In the evening, I went up to the third floor. My goal was not just to walk by, but to gather information about Reina's potential vulnerability. The door to room 313 was closed, but muffled, angry voices could be heard from behind it. I stopped to listen carefully to the emotional conversation.
"…I can't take it anymore!" hissed one of the voices. "She scatters her stupid books everywhere! Those novels from Anix, about… about perverted love between women!" another voice complained. "For pity's sake, of all the girls in the academy, why was I assigned to her this year!" the girl continued her monologue.
"Isolde, calm down," replied a second, calmer voice, likely her friend's. "You know who's backing her."
Isolde Veyne—Reina's roommate, and it was obvious they had a long history of interaction, fragments of which had so conveniently fallen into my field of observation.
"I know!" Isolde's voice trembled with suppressed rage. "That precious Nova Cross of hers! Her unyielding hound! The moment I so much as look crookedly at that red-headed pervert, Nova appears out of nowhere with her icy glare. I'm scared of her, understand? But I hate them both! How I wish they'd both be expelled!"
"You know Evelina is behind Nova, it's useless," said another, rougher voice that had been silent until now.
"I know, Brina! Shut up already! How I hate them," Isolde continued to fume.
"Strength and fortitude to you, Isolde," a girl with a calm voice said jokingly. "We, unlike you, live in the poorer dorms, with three roommates each."
Isolde growled. "Yes, I know, Maelys! You're all such role models! The most restrained girls in the Academy!"
They all laughed together, after which I decided to cease my observation and draw my conclusions: Isolde Veyne: a potential catalyst for conflict. She has a very high level of instability and a personal animosity toward Reina and Nova. Brina provides the physical enforcement. Maelys generates the narrative noise. This alliance could be used later if necessary.
***
9th Day of the Veytra of Harvestor
I was sitting in one of the armchairs in the main hall of the prestigious dormitory building, pretending to read a book on the theory of the elements. The crackle of logs in the fireplace was the only loud sound in the quiet hall. In reality, my attention was focused on Reina and Nova, who were talking quietly by the fireplace. I wasn't eavesdropping, only observing how Nova's expression changed when Reina laughed. How Reina unconsciously reached for her hand. The tension that hung around them like an invisible force field, and even the chaotic energy that flared in red flashes, invisible to other observers.
Unlike Reina, Nova had become more observant since my observation at the hippodrome. She turned around several times, her gray eyes trying to meet mine, but I always managed to lower my gaze to the pages of the book. Today, her patience had evidently run out, and her internal pressure reached a critical point.
She said something quietly to Reina and strode purposefully toward me. Her steps were quick and almost silent. She stopped directly in front of me, blocking the light from the fireplace.
"What the hell are you staring at us for?" her voice was low and full of icy rage. "Who do you think you are, spying on us, you shadow from Tarvar?"
I slowly raised my eyes from the book. "I am observing. It is not forbidden by the academy's charter." I set the book aside and stood to my full height.
"I don't care about the charter!" Nova hissed, staring into my eyes. Her face was inches from mine. "You look at her as if she's some exhibit in a museum. Stop it. Immediately!"
"Your emotional displays are somewhat surprising to me, and as far as I know, such behavior is not approved of by the academy's rules," I replied evenly, without changing my intonation.
That was the last straw. Her hand clenched into a fist. The other shot forward, intending to grab me by the collar of my tunic. "I said, stop it, you upstart!"
Her movement was fast, but mine was faster. I did not block her hand, only met it at the most opportune moment. My fingers closed around her wrist at the very instant she expected resistance. Using her own momentum, I smoothly turned her hand and gently guided it aside, causing her to lose her balance and take a step forward to keep from falling. It all happened in a fraction of a second; there was no noise, no struggle, only a demonstration of absolute control for which she was unprepared.
She froze, breathing heavily, her eyes wide with shock. My grip was firm but did not cause her pain.
"Physical force is an inefficient method of dialogue," I said in the same calm voice. "And a risky one. You do not know what I am capable of. And do not meddle where your aristocratic pride carries no weight."
I released her wrist. Nova stumbled back a step, rubbing her hand. Humiliation and anger fought on her face. She was about to launch another attack, but her gaze suddenly froze, fixed on something behind me, toward the entrance of the hall. The fury on her face was replaced by surprise, and then by restrained reverence. A tall girl with dark hair gathered in a strict bun and a posture that bespoke innate authority had entered the hall.
Without another word, Nova spun around and returned to the fireplace, taking her place beside a concerned Reina.
I followed her gaze. The girl who had entered was unfamiliar to me, but the aura of power surrounding her was unmistakable. She was likely the heir of Valtheim, the subject of the first-years' whispers.
I sat back in the armchair and returned to my feigned reading, as if nothing had happened. Nova had likely marked me, and next time she would be ready to try something more serious than an ineffective physical assault.
***
10th Day of the Veytra of Harvestor
As I expected, after yesterday's confrontation, the trajectories of Reina and Nova changed. They began to actively avoid places of my supposed presence. They had gone to ground, and direct observation of them became temporarily ineffective. However, this did not mean I would sit idly by. I switched my focus to the secondary, but potentially useful variable: Isolde Veyne.
I headed to the adjacent dormitory buildings, designated for students from less noble or impoverished families. I was not looking for her specifically; I was merely analyzing the habitat of her friends. The architecture here was simpler: less decoration on the building, narrower corridors, plain wooden doors instead of carved. Inside the dormitories, it was noisier; the rooms here were designed for three, sometimes four girls, and from ajar doors came laughter, snippets of arguments, and the clumsy music of stringed instruments brought to the academy.
Passing along the second floor, I saw a group of girls coming out of one of the rooms. Among them, I immediately recognized Isolde Veyne. Beside her were her two likely constant companions: a tall, broad-shouldered blonde named Brina and a small, nimble brunette, Maelys. They were laughing loudly as they headed for the stairs.
"Look, another one," Maelys hissed, nodding at a first-year running past them. "Just like a scared rabbit."
Brina, without slowing her pace, deliberately bumped the girl with her shoulder. The girl cried out and dropped a stack of books. The parchments scattered across the floor.
"Oh, how clumsy," Maelys threw over her shoulder with a laugh.
Isolde did not even turn her head. She only remarked to the space with a cold smirk: "Pay it no mind. The trash will pick itself up."
I did not intervene; there was no need. However, I could not help but note the fact: Isolde Veyne was surrounded not just by friends, but by an entourage that operated by her personal rules. Brina—physical force, Maelys—informational noise. An inefficient but predictable alliance, based on a primitive hierarchy.
***
11th Day of the Veytra of Harvestor, Entris-day.
The morning bell rang at precisely seven. Its sound was low, drawn out; it did not awaken—it stated the beginning of a new academic period. For me, however, it also marked the completion of my primary data collection phase. Today, the first classes began, or rather, the ceremonial events dedicated to the first day of school, and my actions would again be adjusted. Catherine had risen before the signal to leisurely dress in her academic uniform; her movements were full of a hard-won deliberation, but I pretended to be asleep so as not to embarrass her.
After changing from my nightgown into the academy uniform, I went to the main square, where all the students, from first-years to graduates, had gathered in front of the central academic building. I stood slightly apart from the main body of students, by one of the covered galleries connecting the buildings. From here, I had a full view of this inefficient but manageable gathering of people. My quick count recorded 821 students present.
The architecture of the Academy was a clear demonstration of its history. The central building, before which we stood, was the oldest—massive, almost fortress-like, of dark beige stone, with narrow, high windows. The side wings, added later, were more elegant, with wide arched openings and stained-glass windows that reflected the morning light.
On the steps of the central building, a choir of fifty selected first-years had already formed. As a foreigner, I was not included in this "spectacle," which was predictable and convenient. Rector Geranira Evenclod ascended the upper steps of the staircase leading to the entrance of the academic building, and the hum in the square instantly died down.
At her signal, the choir began to sing. Their voices, young and pure, merged into the single anthem of the Academy.
Two shadows on stone, two hearts in one,
Two lives that became a sacred flame.
So the light would not fade in a web of tears,
They offered themselves as a sacrifice to the stars.
Two flames in a chalice, a single crown,
The beginning of time and the end of suffering.
We are their daughters, we are heirs to their vows,
Our duty is the shield that will protect from the reaping.
I listened to this ode to irrationality. The words of sacrifice, duty, legacy—all were just beautiful wrappings for a simple idea: senseless servitude to tradition. Efficient for control, but fatal for progress.
When the anthem ended, all the students proceeded in an organized manner to the ceremonial hall for final instructions. The atmosphere changed instantly: the morning excitement was replaced by a strict, almost military discipline. Rector Geranira Evenclod ascended the podium and addressed all present.
"Preparations for the new semester are complete," her voice was dry and official. "I address all of you—from the first-years just beginning this path to the graduates standing at its threshold. Remember where you have come from. These walls," she swept her hand around the hall, "were not always a temple of knowledge. A thousand years ago, before the founding of Valtheim, the main building was a fortress, the last bastion against the mad lunatics enslaved by the Gods of Dreams. Only after the twin queens sacrificed themselves was this citadel rebuilt into a modest school for the daughters of Valtheim. The one you see now is the result of centuries of labor and faith. Next year, the Academy will celebrate its thousand-year anniversary. I expect full dedication from each of you, respect for the charter, and diligence in your studies. Remember why you are here."
She paused, sweeping the hall with a heavy gaze.
"I hope this year you will learn much that is new, gain useful knowledge, and deepen your understanding of what it means to be a true woman of Valtheim."
Amid a roar of applause, she departed, marking the end of the Ten Days of Chaos. Now, a new life had begun at the academy, one that would mark the end of the year 1748 and the beginning of 1749, according to the local calendar.