"Sometimes, unrelated events are only unrelated at first glance. The truth, however, is that nothing is random, and behind the events lies the ugly signature of Chaos."
The days at the Holu estate flowed with the monotony characteristic of the place, weaving into a monotonous tapestry of predictability. Sword training with Catherine, her evening visits filled with chatter about trifles that I had learned to perceive as necessary background noise. Celeste and Edward seemed to have resigned themselves to my presence, their polite indifference becoming almost comfortable. Only Heinrich continued his silent observation, his gaze drilling into my mask, trying to assemble from the fragments a complete image that was inaccessible to him.
The relationship between brother and sister had noticeably warmed after our trip to Liranis. They communicated carefree, sharing thoughts as if trying to relive the ten years of emptiness that had driven them so far apart.
Yesterday, Catherine did not come. And only when a persistent knock sounded at my door with the first rays of dawn did I realize that her absence was not a coincidence, but part of a carefully thought-out plan.
Wrapping myself in a cloak, I opened the door. Behind it, as I expected, stood Catherine, in a traveling cloak, her hair gathered in a neat ponytail. Her gaze was fixed directly on my face, as if she were trying to read my hidden reactions before they even appeared.
"Arta, good morning!" She took a half-step forward and smiled conspiratorially.
"Good morning, Catherine."
"So…" she began, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, "last night I was thinking about where we should go, and I finally chose the perfect place. And believe me, it's not just some banal place!" she finished with admiration.
"And what is it?" I asked without interest, although I could already feel her enthusiasm beginning to disturb my morning calm.
"In Liranis, there's an old part of the city. Before, even before the founding of Valtheim, Liranis was not just a city, but the capital of a small northern kingdom—Brirosin. Have you heard of it?"
"I have," I replied, trying to understand where she was leading.
"Well, in the old city, besides the royal fortress-palace of Briro, there is the Great Clock Tower, and that's exactly where we're going," she concluded cheerfully.
"And what is the point of our trip there, specifically?" I clarified, still not seeing the logic in this venture.
"Well, firstly, it's interesting. And secondly…" she lowered her voice, as if sharing a secret, "the clock mechanism itself is made using a long-lost technology of compressed aether. Moreover, the clock face itself is the pinnacle of runic magic. The gears of this clock don't just move; they are synchronized with the Aether Veytra itself. They measure not just time, but the very pulse of the world!" She looked at me, awaiting a reaction, but since I gave none, she added with a note of pleading, "Come on, Arta, get ready! It's pure mechanics, a perfect structure. No unnecessary frills, just how you like it."
The desire to refuse was great. The technology of compressed aether was not lost to me; I could have written an exhaustive treatise on the subject for Catherine right now. However, my intention to say "no" immediately ran into the familiar internal itch. But now it was not connected to her emotional state. It was something immeasurably deeper, a resonance in my very essence. Perhaps an unwillingness to disappoint her? Or was something else involved? I could not provide a definitive answer to this question even to myself.
"Alright," I nodded reluctantly. "I'll get changed now. Will you wait?"
"Of course! I'll go and ask the servants to prepare a light breakfast so we don't suffer on the way." With these words, Catherine slipped out of the room, carefully closing the door behind her.
All that was left for me was to resign myself to this decision and start changing into my traveling clothes.
Catherine and I met only at breakfast and, after eating a plate of pancakes with milk and honey, we set off for Liranis.
***
The carriage stopped on the approach to the old part of the city; further travel was forbidden. Along the narrow streets stood soldiers in the insulated uniform of the kingdom, their breath turning to warm steam in the frosty air.
Catherine was the first to jump out of the carriage and extend her hand to me. I reluctantly took it and followed, feeling the cold air touch my face.
"Well, we've arrived," Catherine said, slipping the driver two silver coins. "By the way, Arta, do you know why this part of the city is closed to carriage traffic?"
"Perhaps it's because the streets are too narrow and would create problems for the movement of carriages?" I clarified, analyzing the architecture of this part of the city, where the houses seemed to huddle together like old conspirators.
"Well, that can be called one of the reasons, but the main one is not that," she began, trying to interest me. "The main reason is that the Aether Veytra runs under the old city, and, according to old traditions, ancient stabilizers are installed under the cobblestones so that the aetheric flows do not break out and destroy everything around." She looked carefully along the street. "And yes, frequent passage of carriages can lead to the wear of these mechanisms."
"I understand," I replied. The technologies of Liranis were surprisingly effective for the society of Valtheim and only indicated that masters of their craft had lived in Brirosin.
We walked slowly through the streets of the old city, where at this hour there were not many people. The narrow streets, paved with massive cobblestones, rose upward and led to the fortress-palace, and Catherine and I walked, only occasionally looking around and observing the few residents who passed by us on the well-cleared streets.
"Catherine," I began, trying to maintain the conversation. "Why are there so few people here? It's not early morning."
"Uh-huh, not early," Catherine nodded, "but, you know, it's not that important. Very few people live here in general. Most of the houses only have restored facades, and inside they are ruins." Catherine pointed to a door closed with a heavy padlock. "And it's like this in almost all the houses. From the outside, everything is fine, but you can't live in them."
"Wait, and why don't they want to restore this part of the city in full?" I clarified, understanding that something more complex than a matter of money was hidden behind this.
"Ugh, Arta!" Catherine smiled. "You're so curious! You know, it's a rarity… to see you like this. Usually, you seem like a know-it-all." She shifted her gaze to the house we were passing. "To understand why, you need to know the story of why the capital of the kingdom of Brirosin went to Valtheim, when the rest of the state, except perhaps for the cities of Alterd and Safran, went to Arzanir."
I looked at Catherine intently. The interest in hearing the story from her lips outweighed the need to analyze the information flows of Illumora, which were not subject to the anomaly of Chaotic Light.
"So what was the essence of this story?"
Catherine fell silent and looked around cautiously, as if afraid the very stones could overhear.
"Actually, it's not something people talk about, Arta. Moreover, there are almost no official sources left; the Gods of Dreams wiped all the information after them, but something remains. The Briro fortress-palace itself is the architecture of another pantheon of gods who were at war with the Gods of Dreams." She looked up the street.
"And what happened to the other pantheon of gods?" I clarified.
"I don't know, Arta, it's all complicated. It's important to understand the chronology of events. Before the sacrifice of the twin queens, the Gods of Dreams were constantly at war with another pantheon, and they were not interested in the affairs of mortals. But as soon as the other pantheon was defeated or disappeared, the Gods of Dreams turned to us, simple mortals," Catherine sighed, and the steam of her breath dissolved in the frosty air.
"But wait, Catherine, what happened to the old cities of Brirosin?" I clarified, fitting the puzzle into the overall mosaic.
"My assumption, which is not confirmed by anyone, is that there was an explosion of the Aether Veytra, as a result of which most of the cities were destroyed. Although officially they say that they were simply captured by Arzanir." She paused briefly. "And this part of Liranis remained because there were stabilizers here."
"Let's assume so, but that doesn't explain why the houses are not restored on the inside," I objected.
"That's true," Catherine sighed with disappointment. "But I really don't know why the houses aren't restored. Many centuries have passed, and only the facades have been restored."
I looked at the houses; all of this seemed subjective and irrational. To spend money to restore the facades but not to settle people sounded too atypical. I began to analyze, and one of the first logically permissible versions, which I almost immediately dismissed, was that the local Mayor feared a repeat of the catastrophe due to the flow of people on the streets. However, travelers, and local residents, would still want to see the history of the city. That is why the explosion of unstable aether would be inevitable. Moreover, this plan required the actions not only of one Mayor but of hundreds of different people who had changed here over the last thousand years. However, the second logical option implicated a different causal chain entirely. A strong influence of Aether is capable of thinning matter, and therefore, if the web of nightmares really exists, Liranis is one of the thinnest points of rupture. However, this in no way explains the reasons why, in the absence of knowledge, the local authorities are so afraid to restore the old city completely.
"Listen, Catherine, do you know anything about the husband of the twin queens?" I asked Catherine, trying to connect the two lines into one.
"Well, who doesn't know that legend," she smiled. "The other question is, you're not asking about him, are you?" She looked at me intently. "I don't believe you would just switch to another question like that."
I nodded.
She gently took me by the elbow and, rising slightly on her tiptoes, whispered in my ear, "Arta, it's better not to talk about the husband of the twin queens here. They say the Ilarion family—the Duke who owns these lands—is directly connected to those fanatics from the capital." Catherine moved away from me, her gaze sharp and attentive.
"And has the Ilarion family ruled these parts for a long time?" I clarified the last question.
"As long as I can remember, they have ruled. They have always been in good standing with the Valtheims," Catherine replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if they've been here since the sacrifice of the twin queens."
"I see. What I am about to tell you will sound insane, but I see no other reason why the old part of the city is not being restored."
Catherine swallowed.
"And what is that?"
"If you have studied the theory of aether in detail, you know that aether, in addition to its magical properties, can be the cause of thinned matter."
"Wait…" Catherine's eyes widened. "Are you saying… that…" she covered her mouth with her hand when she realized it.
"Uh-huh. If the Gods of Dreams return, Liranis will become one of the main points where the nightmare will begin to gain strength. And probably someone has already calculated this long ago and does not even want hypothetical victims among the civilians."
Catherine shook her head.
"This is terrible!" she exclaimed, and her echo rolled through the half-empty street.
"Perhaps the Ilarion family knows more than is actually known, and that is why the old city is not being restored as a precautionary measure," I replied in a half-whisper.
Catherine nodded in understanding, and we walked on down the street in a silence that now seemed heavy and ringing.
***
The Briro fortress-palace, an almost monolithic structure of gray stone and black metal, rose on a hill like a fundamental monument to a long-gone kingdom and the unseen hand of a departed pantheon of gods.
We unhurriedly reached the square where, unlike the other streets of the old city, there was a large crowd of onlookers. On boxes stacked one on top of the other stood a man with a short-cropped beard in a fur hat and a brown coat, and a crowd had gathered around him.
"I'm telling you! The end is near! I saw it all with my own eyes!" the old man was almost shouting.
"You've had too much to drink, old man," said one of the onlookers.
"No! I haven't had too much to drink! I saw it all with my own eyes! I swear by the twin queens! The Gods of Dreams are already here! I was personally in Arzanir and saw it! A red sky and a huge eye in the sky that looks right into your soul!"
Catherine looked at me and said in a half-whisper, "Well, well! We were just talking about the Gods of Dreams…"
I took a few steps forward to listen, but suddenly a tall, stooped man appeared in the square, wrapped in a heavy, worn traveling cloak of a dirty color with a hood. His eyes were hidden under a dark silk blindfold, as if he were blind. On his hands were heavy metal shackles without chains; his hands were missing altogether. My analysis of his condition led to the conclusion that he had likely escaped captivity by severing his own hands. However, his companion, who walked obediently beside him, looked more dangerous. It was a huge, silent wolfhound of an ashen color, whose eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly light.
Seeing such a huge dog, Catherine slowed her pace and grabbed my sleeve.
"Arta, I don't feel like going there anymore," she said in a firm voice.
"Let's listen to what the conversation will be about," I replied, stopping but not ceasing to listen.
Meanwhile, the old man continued, "I'm telling you, the Gods of Dreams are already near!"
"Old man, are you delirious?" the stooped man rasped. "The Gods of Dreams are a myth; let them remain a myth," he said in an unnaturally cold tone.
"It's not a myth! I personally saw the Eye!" the old man exclaimed indignantly.
"And what can you prove, other than empty words?!" the man laughed hoarsely.
"Is my word not enough?! I have no reason to lie!"
"Yeah, and we have no reason to believe your damned nonsense!" the man replied. "Alright, you do what you want, you can listen to this old man's ravings, but here's the main thing: the Eye of the Gods of Dreams cannot physically appear if you believe the legends that the twin queens sealed them away." He shook his head, like a man who knew more than he was saying. "Do what you want, but I don't recommend listening to fools. There are too many of them as it is." The stooped man grunted and, leaving the crowd, headed in our direction.
Catherine almost pressed herself against me as the man passed by, and I noticed that he seemed to be watching us even through the impenetrable blindfold.
People began to gradually disperse, and Catherine, shocked, it seemed, more by the man with the wolfhound than by the story of the Gods of Dreams, pulled me by the sleeve away from the crowd.
We had to walk a few more streets before we reached the place we were originally heading for.
***
The Great Clock Tower was a huge structure with an aetherial clock face at the top, which gleamed dully in the city, shrouded in low winter clouds.
After paying for two tickets, we entered the tower. Inside, we were met by a resonant, cool silence. It was like a cathedral dedicated not to gods, but to time. The air vibrated, pierced by the low, resonant hum of the slow, powerful movement of giant gears of dark metal. Aetheric flows, like a pearlescent, swirling energy, streamed from the very earth, setting the mechanism in motion every second, and dust motes danced in the slanting rays of light penetrating through the high, narrow windows.
"We need to take the spiral staircase!" Catherine pointed to the steep staircase and offered me her hand. "Look, be careful, don't trip. It will be a painful fall."
I reluctantly took her hand, and we began to ascend. When we were at the very top, almost next to the aetherial clock face, Catherine, not letting go of my hand, pointed to the glowing purple, copper, silver, and gold clock face, which seemed to measure time itself.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Catherine whispered. "Notice that before in Illumora there were 26 hours, can you imagine?"
The change of hours was not a rarity for different worlds, but I did not want to break the character of an ordinary student.
"Yes, an extra two hours of time could have been spent usefully."
Catherine squeezed my hand.
"Don't tell me you would have made me train for two more hours!" she said in an indignant voice.
"Maybe, who knows." I allowed myself a soft smile.
"Oh, Arta!" she released my hand in disappointment.
We stood in the tower for some time longer. I studied the synchronization of the Aether Veytra and the data of these clocks in detail and came to the conclusion that in the event of an aetheric discharge, this tower should have been destroyed first, but there was no visible damage here. This indicated that either the stabilizers were too reliable, or the old city had been destroyed by a different incident.
When we left the tower, twilight was already beginning to fall over Liranis. Aetherial lamps had been lit on the streets, which were only in the old part of the city; they were probably also powered by magic directly from the Aether Veytra. But before we went on, Catherine stopped at one of the shops.
"Wait a minute," she said. "You do remember that you promised not to refuse the next gift, don't you?" And she, without saying another word, entered the shop.
She returned only ten minutes later with a small, velvet-covered box.
"This is not a trinket," she said, handing it to me. "It's a functional gift."
"May I open it?" I asked.
"Of course, it's a gift!" Catherine said with a mischievous smile.
I opened the box. Inside lay a silver pocket watch on a thin silver chain. The clock face shared the same design as the one in the clock tower, except that it had only twenty-four marks.
"An aetherial mechanism, wound only by aether magic," Catherine answered seriously. "I know you have no problems with this magic, which is why I bought it. It's not the technology of compressed aether, of course, but still," she paused, carefully studying my reaction.
I looked at her, then back at the watch, and the incomprehensible "itch" returned to me again. But it was different—calm and understanding. It was not just an invasion of chaos, but a strange feeling of rightness and necessity of what had happened, and this sharply contrasted with my usual internal rhythm.
"Thank you, Catherine," I said, and my voice sounded quieter than usual. "This is an expensive gift."
"You're welcome, Arta!" she replied, and her smile became even wider. She seemed to be genuinely pleased with my reaction.
After her words, the "itch" disappeared, as if it had never been. My state was indeed becoming more and more unpredictable each time, and the gift lying in the box on the velvet was another point that would forever be associated with this trip.
"Alright, Arta, let's go home," she said, looking at me. "It's already late, and after that incident at the tavern, I don't really feel like walking around at night. At least for now."
I nodded, and we set off toward the new part of the city to find a driver. Catherine walked silently beside me. She did not know that this day for me was just another stage in the study of my own anomalous vulnerability, but it seemed she did not care, and she was thinking about something of her own, occasionally casting warm, thoughtful glances at me.