"Trauma, pain, suffering—all of it matters only as long as the structure is stable. But once the cause is eliminated, a person changes so much that they no longer understand who they were yesterday."
The carriage rolled steadily along the hard-packed road, leaving two dark, damp tracks on the frozen ground. The snow on the roadsides, clean and untouched, lay in heavy, loose caps on the branches of the fir trees, not yet having darkened from the city's breath. The landscape outside the windows changed slowly, almost hypnotically—snow-covered forests gave way to sparse hamlets, from whose chimneys thin, gray wisps of smoke curled, dissolving into the leaden sky. The transition from the suburbs to the city was gradual, without sharp boundaries, and in this fluidity, there was no hint of haste.
Heinrich sat opposite me. He wore a warm winter cloak with a high collar and thick leather gloves. He was not dozing, but he was not speaking either, just staring resignedly out of the window, like a man returning to a place where his punishment continues. Not from guilt, but from duty.
Catherine, like Heinrich, also looked out the window. Today she wore a loose traveling dress of dark blue wool with long sleeves, and over it, a warm cape, with small leather boots on her feet. Sometimes her fingers, almost unconsciously, would reach for the folds of the hem, crumpling the material in impulsive, mechanical movements—a sure sign of an inner anxiety whose causes I could only infer. I observed this gesture, the way the light from the window fell on her fair hair, gathered in a simple knot, and perceived it as another variable in the complex equation of her soul.
The stone under the wheels gave way to cobblestones, the sound became duller, and the carriage began to shake noticeably. We had entered Liranis, and the city greeted us with the smell of cold stone, coal, and a faint metallic tang of magic. The streets were narrow, winding between houses of dark, as if oiled, slate, with high, pointed roofs. Simple signs carved from wood, shuttered windows, a few passersby in heavy cloaks hurrying about their business—everything here spoke of a restraint that the southern provinces of Valtheim lacked.
The carriage stopped at a side entrance to a small building of light stone. No flag. No guards. Only a bronze plaque, darkened by time: "Hospital: New Hope" and engraved beneath it, a symbol—a ring, broken at one point and intersected by a vertical line. Presumably, beneath the "hope" within these walls lay resignation and the acceptance of consequences. The name and the symbol were in stark contrast.
From the outside, the hospital seemed a grim monument, a peculiar symbol of the local society's powerlessness. It did not tower over the other houses but extended deep into the grounds, far toward a park that was apparently intended for patients' walks.
"I'll be in for an hour. You can take a walk," Heinrich said, gesturing toward the entrance. Catherine said nothing. She only looked—not at the building, but at his back as he approached the door. Only a quiet sigh could betray the depth of her emotions connected to this place.
Before entering, Heinrich turned, looked at Catherine and me once more, then smiled sadly, opened the door, and disappeared into the gloom of the establishment.
For some time, we stood silently at the hospital entrance. Catherine slowly clenched and unclenched her left hand and looked with slight disappointment at the closed door.
"He still blames himself. Even after all these years," her voice was tired.
"Have you forgiven him?" I clarified, not out of curiosity, but only to check how much she had outgrown this incident.
She sighed, and a cloud of steam mixed with the frosty air.
"I suppose I stopped being angry with him the moment I stopped being afraid of myself. And that only happened after… you know what." She smiled guilelessly. "But now everything is different, and there's no longer any point in blaming him."
Catherine turned to me and looked me directly in the eye, as if awaiting my reaction to her last remark.
"Does that mean that if you didn't have the prosthesis, you would never have forgiven him?" I asked her, considering such a question most appropriate.
"I don't know… Honestly. Perhaps, if what my brother had said came true, I would have forgiven him just like that." She took a deep breath. "But, I suppose, it doesn't matter anymore. I've changed too much."
"And what did Heinrich say before?" I inquired, to keep the conversation going. She rolled her eyes, and in this gesture, there was more weariness than irritation.
"Do you really want me to quote him word for word?!"
"You don't have to say. I'm not insisting," I said and blinked slowly, demonstrating my indifference to the matter.
"No, since you asked, I will quote him verbatim: 'Cat, don't despair, you'll find your love even despite the injury.'" She shook her head and addressed me, "Satisfied? Now you've heard exactly what you wanted to?"
The instillation of hope, even when there is none, is a foolish way for mortals to prove their non-involvement to themselves. This conclusion was especially foolish in light of the crumbs of information I had managed to gather and decipher due to the anomaly of Chaotic Light over Illumora: in every life, Catherine had entered into a marriage of convenience, and I do not think anything will change for her in this cycle. Except that she will be able to choose for herself, and choice is one of the most valuable resources in the universe. My participation in this is only to ensure that she is independent and does not let her life go off the rails.
"Thank you, Catherine. I am sure you yourself know how far you have come from who you were. I believe you are strong enough not to be dependent on others' expectations. Your future is open—in every sense."
Catherine narrowed her eyes, as if she had not heard what she wanted to, and then, with a sigh, said, "Alright, let's go for a walk around the city while Heinrich is busy with his affairs."
We moved along the street. Liranis did not seem hostile. It was unwelcoming, but honest. The narrow streets wound between the houses like the beds of dried-up rivers. The closer we got to the city center, the more it came alive: merchants with guttural cries set out rough ceramics, yellowed books, scrolls with runes, and unadorned magical utensils on wooden stalls. The smell of roasted meat and spilled ale wafted from the open doors of taverns. Visitors from Tarvar were not uncommon here; they could always be recognized by their insulated and utilitarian clothing, but it seemed no one paid them any attention, as if it were meant to be.
Passing by the shop windows, Catherine suddenly stopped at one where, in the gloom of a shop smelling of dust and dried herbs, some magical trinkets were being sold. She was quick to comment.
"Look…" she pulled me by the elbow. Her touch was warm, alive; it violated the cold geometry of my personal space. "These are floral scrolls from Arzanir. They're handmade from magical paper that retains the warmth of a touch. In childhood, before the injury, my father and mother often bought me one…" She fell silent for a second, then continued, "I think the crescent moon would suit you. Its petals hold their shape longer than the others. And the color… it's like your eyes at dusk. Even when it fades, the scroll will still remind you of this place."
I looked at the scroll. Nothing interesting. A symmetrical composition, an unassuming color. I wondered what would happen if I refused it. After all, for me, it was a completely unnecessary token. Fearing the appearance of a new "itch," I still said, "I suppose that's unnecessary. One shouldn't spend money on non-functional acquisitions."
"Are you sure you don't want such a scroll? It doesn't take up much space," she said in a thoughtful voice.
I shook my head.
"Thank you, Catherine, it is unnecessary. If you want to give me something, think of something I could use," I replied calmly.
Catherine was not offended, only thoughtful, but she did not back down.
"Alright, but mark my words: the next gift I choose for you, you won't be allowed to refuse." She smiled slightly, like a person who is pleased not only that they have been heard, but also with a well-placed condition.
We walked on unhurriedly. Catherine walked beside me, at a distance where you no longer notice whether it is close or not.
Gradually, the cold smell of the city was replaced by the warm aroma of a bakery. Yeast, cinnamon, and burnt sugar. The light from its windows fell on the wet cobblestones in golden, warm patches. Yes, perhaps I had begun to pay too much attention to the smells of mortals? A strange feeling for my nature, and I could not help but associate my state with its primary cause, who was walking beside me.
"This way," Catherine suddenly nodded, pointing toward a side street leading to the market.
The market stalls were already full. Stalls with herbs, honey, lamps, woolen shawls, and woven trinkets. It smelled of wet wool, wax, and spices. Everything—handmade, but, as before, nothing truly worthwhile.
"I've always liked it here," Catherine said, as if anticipating what I was thinking. "Nothing here is done 'impressively.' Only—honestly."
"I suppose if you and I were to go to Sumerenn, you would also be surprised that there is nothing impressive there."
"Really???" Catherine was surprised. "I'm willing to bet I would find something to surprise both myself and you," she replied, narrowing her eyes slightly.
"Perhaps you are right, Catherine. You are very unpredictable," I remarked dryly.
"I hope in a good way?" she clarified with a smile.
"In an 'unpredictable' way—that can be both good and bad," I replied and looked at the sky, overcast with gray clouds.
"Is that so. In that case, I want to be an unpredictability that brings only 'good.'" She smiled and, with a wave of her hand, suggested we go on to see the other parts of the market stalls.
We stopped only at a display with books. Catherine reached for a collection of fairy tales—a leather binding, hand-drawn symbols. She opened one of the pages. There was a colored silhouette of a girl with a sword and a dog made of light.
"I read one like this as a child," she said. "Only… then it was a simple thin book, and now there's a whole collection of fairy tales in a leather binding." She looked at me. "Although, actually, that's not even the point. Look at the illustration. Do you see the symbolism?"
I nodded, for the artist's intention was primitively clear to me.
"Light magic. Not something that impresses me, to be honest," I answered directly.
"I'm not surprised. But, to be honest, something else surprises me, Arta." Her tone changed abruptly, and she looked at me with a serious gaze full of hidden questions. "Why, with the appearance of the prosthesis, have my abilities for Light and Chaos magic almost completely disappeared?"
"And did you have them?" I clarified, pretending not to understand where the conversation was leading. This was a permissible ruse that would not allow me to attract the attention of CL.
"Well, not that they were strong, but they were there. And now…" she looked at me with a gaze full of suspicion.
I decided to play along so that she could finish her line of accusations.
"Arta, I know that you do not possess Light and Chaos magic. Tell me honestly and don't beat around the bush. Is this connected to your magic, from which the prosthesis is created?"
"Most likely," I nodded. I still could not talk to her about such topics safely.
"Now it's clear, so it's a direct connection." Catherine sighed. "You know, now it's not so important. Maybe that makes us a pair of rare birds." She smiled.
"Catherine, I did not want you to feel like a white crow," I said, trying to apologize in some way.
"The point is not that I have become a white crow, much more important is that you are also a white crow." She smiled mischievously. "Alright, let's go on already, no need to linger here."
We passed two more market rows until Catherine lingered at a display with gloves. She took one off and held it to her hand, then—silently held it to mine. Her fingers lightly touched my palm, and I registered this fleeting contact, the warmth of her skin contrasting with the coolness of the air. The touch was almost ritualistic.
"They would suit you. This shade. It emphasizes… distance," she said with a smirk.
"Don't tell me you want to give me gloves," I said, looking her in the eye.
"Oh, no!" She laughed without challenge. "You can buy such a trifle for yourself in Eldenbridge. I just wanted to show you that this color suits you. Alright, let's go on, Arta!" she exclaimed and took a few steps forward.
"Wait, Catherine, the hour is almost up. We need to go back," I said calmly, but so that she would hear.
She turned around. In her gaze was a slight regret—like someone who has stepped out of bounds and is in no hurry to return.
"So soon…" she said. Quietly, almost to herself. Then she exhaled, as if she were about to say more but didn't. "Alright. Let's go get my brother." She smirked and came closer to me.
I nodded, and we headed back to the hospital. On the way, I could not help but note that something in her had changed—not radically, not symbolically, but something that did not fit into her previous rhythm.
***
Heinrich came out of the hospital not quickly, but without fatigue. His step was clear, with a slight inertia, like a man accustomed to returning from a place where no one is waiting.
"And I thought you would be delayed," he said, and in his voice were notes of deep thoughtfulness.
"Perhaps we would have been, if not for Arta. She's our own personal clock," Catherine replied ironically to her brother's remark.
"I suppose that's not so bad, especially considering that Arta is your roommate," he replied, smiling with the corner of his right lip. "Alright, let's go. I suggest we go to Lake R'gartis together. It's beautiful there even in winter."
"I remember you often took me there when I was coming to my senses…" Catherine fell silent. She did not want to talk on this topic yet.
Heinrich lowered his gaze.
"Yes, I know. But that doesn't make this place any less beautiful."
"I suggest we go to the lake after all, if it is really so beautiful there," I intervened, recognising that indecision was the least efficient outcome.
Catherine smiled.
"Alright. But then you follow me." She looked at me and Heinrich with a slight challenge. "I've never been there on my own two feet before." With these words, she moved sharply forward, making it clear that she did not intend to bargain.
"Lake R'gartis is about a half-hour walk away," Heinrich said quietly, watching Catherine walk confidently ahead.
I did not answer this comment, just watched as carriages passed along the streets and local residents walked unhurriedly. Soon we turned into a dense residential quarter with identical stone houses and dark tiled roofs and a small garden, intended more to not leave the public space empty.
There were more residents here, and unlike us, they tried to move cautiously so as not to accidentally slip on the ice, dusted with a layer of packed snow.
Suddenly Catherine stopped, turned to us, and looked intently at her brother.
"How are things at the hospital?" she asked, as if trying to start a conversation.
Heinrich did not answer immediately.
"Two new cases this week. One—a failed ritual with Chaos magic. The second… just a boy, frostbite, lost a hand," he spoke dryly, but his breath betrayed his tension.
"You still take on too much. I never asked you to take this path," her voice was not judgmental, but she clearly made her position known to him.
"Catherine, it doesn't matter anymore. This is my path, my burden, and I carry it voluntarily," he paused. "Even if you say it makes no sense, I will still continue to do it."
"Alright, alright," she answered sadly. "Just, please, don't kill yourself over it. I don't want you to live life as a shadow."
Heinrich remained silent, but in his gaze was an unsaid something that spoke volumes.
We walked the rest of the way in silence, and only at the crossroads did Catherine slow her pace slightly, turning again to address, but this time, me:
"Arta, are you cold?" she asked, almost casually, adjusting her cape.
"No, everything is fine," I objected. "I am dressed warmly and comfortably. We already discussed the issue of functionality when we were leaving the academy."
Catherine shook her head and smiled slightly.
"That's not the answer I was expecting to hear," she smirked and, without waiting for permission, took two steps toward me and lightly touched my hand at the wrist, as if to check if I was cold. Her touch was warm, insistent. I felt her fingers lightly squeeze my skin before I instinctively pulled my hand away.
"I told you, everything is fine," I replied, deliberately raising my voice slightly.
"Still, it's important for me to make sure," her voice remained soft. "You always meet all adversities in silence, but you even walk without gloves."
"By the way," Heinrich suddenly intervened, as if defending her position, "that boy who lost his hand also liked to walk without gloves."
At that moment, fear appeared in Catherine's eyes. She clearly took her brother's irony too seriously. It was obvious that she was still tormented by thoughts of the fact of loss and did not want a repetition of such a fate for anyone. The trace in her memory was too deep, even if there were no more visible problems.
Understanding that I had to intervene urgently, I shook my head.
"Unlike you southerners, I am resistant to such insignificant temperatures." I deliberately paused. "Therefore, unnecessary concern only causes me misunderstanding and embarrassment," I said, hoping that we would close this question.
Catherine wanted to object but stopped herself, and Heinrich simply looked away, letting it be known that the topic was exhausted. A couple of moments later, we silently walked on, toward the lake. After passing a few more turns between the houses, Heinrich said in a quiet and measured voice, "The lake will be around the next bend."
"You could have not said," Catherine muttered with slight indignation. "We could have surprised Arta."
"Well, I'm sorry. I didn't think the location of the lake had suddenly become a surprise," Heinrich replied ironically to Catherine's comment.
Catherine sighed with slight disappointment, and we slowly set off.
***
Soon we reached the lake. It lay in a hollow, like a shard of frozen sky set in the dark frame of the forest, hidden under a white crust of silence. To the south, the shore sloped gently into a thin layer of ice, cracked in places by the first light. Nature was not trying to be beautiful; it simply was, without the need for an audience.
We walked to the pier in silence. Catherine stopped first, turning to the water. Her hand slid over her cape—as if she were about to say something but changed her mind. Heinrich had fallen a little behind but soon caught up.
"I didn't think I'd come back here," she said. Her voice was even, but it held an uncertainty.
"I didn't think you'd agree either," Heinrich replied. His intonation was neutral, but in his eyes was a restrained gratitude.
"There was too much here…" Catherine did not finish. "I remember, then I asked you to stay for at least a couple of hours."
"I couldn't. They were waiting for me at the hospital," he responded, not trying to make excuses.
"Yes, I understand," she grunted, as if replaying the events of that day over and over.
Heinrich smiled faintly, his gaze sliding along the horizon.
"We have all changed. And perhaps that is a good thing."
Catherine said nothing. Only exhaled—not tiredly, but as if letting go.
Understanding that I seemed superfluous in this conversation, I moved a few steps to the side, giving them room to communicate. However, as soon as I moved, Catherine asked in a displeased voice, "Arta, where are you going?!"
"I suppose you have something to talk about. Perhaps I am in the way?" I clarified, understanding that Catherine's reaction needed to be neutralized in advance.
"No, it's alright. It's just… memories," Catherine said and looked at her brother. Heinrich glanced at her, then at me.
"Let's walk to that copse over there. In the spring, birds sing there. And now—you can just walk in silence."
"A good idea," Catherine said. She looked at me, as if awaiting silent agreement.
I nodded. Words were not needed here. We walked along the shore. The snow crunched softly; the air was still.
As I approached the first trees, the light crunch of snow under my boots echoed. The branches of an old tree, overhanging from the southeast side, could not bear their own weight: a thin crack, and a crumb of ice fell down. Snow crumbled onto my shoulder and collar—insignificantly, but enough to disrupt the symmetry. I did not falter, but I felt the need to stop to put my appearance in order.
Catherine stepped closer. Her fingers touched my collar—quickly, precisely, not wastefully.
"Wait."
"It's alright," I responded.
"I know. I just don't like it when there's something extra on you," she said. As if she were not talking about the snow.
I did not object. I only gave her a look—empty, like the surface of the frozen lake. And in this emptiness, she may have seen something more than simple indifference.
The next ten minutes passed in silence. But at some point, Heinrich gathered his strength and spoke, "Did you really… forgive me?" he looked at the ice, as if the answer could be read in it.
Catherine exhaled slowly.
"To be honest, Heinrich, I have forgiven you. But not because I have forgotten. But because Arta gave me back the part of me I had lost. Now I do not feel broken. And if I am not broken—why hold a grudge against you?"
"That is fair," he nodded. "But I am still afraid of making a mistake."
"You mean—to let me down again?" she asked.
"No. To let you down. And… her," he nodded in my direction. "Though, perhaps, I know her less than anyone. Or more than you think."
Catherine flinched slightly—not with her body, but with her attention. As if she had been waiting for this phrase, but later. Or never.
"We have already talked about this," she said dryly.
"We have. But not everything is decided by words. Sometimes—by who is near. And for how long."
I did not interfere. Their dialogue did not require my participation. It was a matter between a brother and a sister. And it remained open. We continued to walk along the shore. The silence returned and left, like breathing. I just walked beside them in their rhythm, rarely shifting my gaze from Heinrich to Catherine. Their relationship was finally beginning to mend, and even I could not help but notice such changes.
Soon we decided to leave the lake, and half an hour later, we reached the city center. Liranis was just as cold, but welcoming. Heinrich found a driver, and we drove back to the Holu estate. The entire way, their glances, gestures, and conversations indicated that for them, this trip had become a new turn in their relationship, and for me, it was just observation. And nothing more.