Chapter 20 – The Mirror of the Fragmented Soul

The morning sun cast golden rays through the large windows of the magical training room. The air was charged with a subtle energy, the low murmur of Dalia's preparatory incantations echoing through the stone walls. In the center of the room, Elyandra remained in posture, her eyes fixed on the precise movements of the tutor. Dalia had begun an exercise in elemental control, small spheres of violet shadow dancing around her hands, now converging, now moving away in a hypnotic ballet.

"Concentrate, Lady Elyandra," Dahlia instructed, her voice firm, not looking away from the spheres. "Feel the flow of energy within you. Imagine it as a river, finding its way through its limbs, at your command.

Elyandra narrowed her eyes, trying to follow the instructions. A faint golden aura began to envelop his hands, wobbly and unsteady. One of Dalia's spheres approached, pulsing gently.

"Now, try to lure her to you." Not with brute force, but with intention. Visualize it as an extension of your own will.

As the violet sphere approached Elyandra's golden aura, Dalia intensified the exercise, the spheres around her gaining a more intense luminosity. And then, unexpectedly, his voice changed, abandoning the neutral tone of instruction for a direct, incisive attack.

"Do you remember the blood on your hands, Lady Elyandra?" The fleeting warmth of life slipping away?

Elyandra's eyes opened sharply, her concentration shattering. The golden aura around his hands swayed violently. The image of the dark night, the inert body of man, the dark stain spreading across the floor... invaded his mind with brutal clarity. She staggered backwards, as if she had taken a physical blow.

"Than... What are you talking about? He hissed, his voice breaking.

Dalia kept her composure, the spheres of light now spinning at a slower pace, watching Elyandra's reaction with a piercing gaze.

"Siris is gone, Lady Elyandra. Forever. And the reason, as indirect as it is, lies in his actions that night. You took too long to act, you took a life. A man, however despicable, breathed his last for his sake. Did you even allow yourself to remember this fact?

Dalia's words were like sharp blades cutting through the veil of mourning and self-pity that enveloped Elyandra. The truth, naked and cruel, hit her with the force of a punch in the stomach. She had focused so much on her own loss, on her grief over the absence of Siris, that the direct consequence of her actions—the death of another human being—had remained in the shadows of her consciousness.

Tears welled up in Elyandra's eyes, but this time they weren't just tears of sadness for the loss. There was shock, horror and a rising tide of malaise.

"I... I killed a person... how could I forget that... I took a person's life."

"I... I didn't think... I just... I was afraid...

"Fear does not justify blindness, Lady Elyandra," Dahlia countered, her voice implacable. "Magic amplifies the truth. Feel the energy around you. It echoes every action, every consequence. Can you feel the weight of life that's gone because of you?

Dalia moved one of the shadow spheres towards Elyandra. As it approached, the sphere seemed to vibrate with a cold and accusing energy. Elyandra stepped back, her body trembling.

"No... Stop... I don't want to feel... None of that...

"You need it, Lady Elyandra," Dalia insisted, her voice now carrying a stern tone, but with a subtle tinge of urgency. "The pain of loss is yours, but the weight of the life you took also belongs to you. Running away from this truth will only weaken it. Magic requires responsibility, a deep understanding of the consequences of your actions. Face your demons, Lady Elyandra.

Dalia intensified the shadows of the spheres around her, creating an oppressive and revealing environment. The shadows danced on the walls, echoing the darkness that Elyandra tried to avoid inside. This was not just a magic practice; It was a brutal confrontation with the truth, a forced plunge into the murky waters of his own soul fragmented by loss and guilt. Elyandra's journey to control her magic had become inseparable from the need to confront death – that of Siris and the one she herself had caused.

Dalia's sphere of shadow rushed forward, enveloping Elyandra in a halo of dancing shadows and distorted lights. Darkness seemed to creep under the young noblewoman's skin, entering her wide eyes. For an instant, the figure of Dalia was lost in the visual turmoil, replaced by the vivid and searing memory of the dark night. The face covered by the mask appeared before Elyandra, and then, repeatedly, it exploded into a rain of blood and fragments, each repetition a brutal blow to her psyche.

Voices whispered in his mind, distorted echoes of his fears and his guilt. Murderess... She killed a person... A Saint killed... Elyandra shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face.

"No... No... I didn't want to... I didn't want to kill anyone...

In an act of desperation and self-defense, the latent magic within Elyandra began to awaken with overwhelming intensity. His veins glistened under his skin, golden, glowing streaks snaking all over his body. Her eyes, welled with tears, radiated a turbulent golden light, a vortex of pure energy that began to extinguish the corrupted shadows of Dalia's magic. The tutor observed, for the first time with a genuine expression of surprise, the wave of power emanating from the little noblewoman. Elyandra's magic exploded into a purifying wave, dispelling the darkness and leaving the air in the room vibrant and clean. Elyandra staggered, panting but standing up in front of Dalia.

The owner approached, her posture once tense now slightly softer. He knelt before Elyandra, his dark eyes fixed on the golden and still trembling of the girl.

"What you have done, Lady Elyandra, is not wrong," said Dalia, her voice now devoid of any harshness. "You defended yourself. That's all that matters.

She paused briefly, her gaze conveying a cold, pragmatic conviction.

"This is the natural order of things. Self-preservation is the primordial instinct. Don't blame yourself, or carry the weight of those who have fallen. Close or strangers, they were victims of circumstances.

"That's cruel!" Elyandra countered, her voice choked with emotion. "People shouldn't be like this...

"People have always been like this, Lady Elyandra," Dalia pointed out, her voice firm but without a trace of cynicism. "But that doesn't mean you have to be like them." The weight of our actions will accompany us for the rest of our lives, this is inevitable. But we are not to blame for them, and we should not cling to their shadow. Learn from them, Lady Elyandra, and move on.

Elyandra's eyes had a faint clarity in the shadows. It didn't mean that she had understood that she should forget and sweep away those feelings, it wasn't a glow of ethereal beauty, but rather a spark of newfound determination, an austere and pragmatic inspiration. She had grasped the essence of Dalia's message: the acceptance of raw reality and the need to move forward despite the weight of the past. With a firm gesture, he wiped away the tears that still stained his face.

"We must continue, Dalia," Elyandra said, her voice now firmer, imbued with a youthful but undeniable resolve.

Dalia sighed, her posture unshakeable

"We will continue." Now, we'll explore the nature of its magic.

She held out a hand, and dense, flowing shadows emerged from her palm, dancing and writhing around her like a dark mist. However, unlike the shadow magic that Elyandra had witnessed in Siris, Dalia's demonstrated precise and structured control. The shadows formed sharp geometric patterns, moving with an almost mathematical discipline.

"My affinity lies in shadow control," Dalia explained, her voice calm but authoritative. more refined, say, of the skill that Siris possessed. But understand, Lady Elyandra, controlling the shadows is not intrinsically different from controlling the light. Both are manifestations of energy, specters on opposite sides of the same coin. The key lies in your intention, in your will to shape them.

Dalia's words echoed in Elyandra's mind. "Shaping the light... how to shape the darkness..." An inner monologue began to form, a mental exploration of possibilities. "If shadow can be precisely controlled, light, my own inner light... It can also be directed, focused, used to my advantage. Not as an instinctive explosion, but as a well-calibrated instrument." The image of Dalia's shadow spheres, dancing with order, fixed itself in her mind.

Dalia continued, her hand now moving the shadows into complex shapes.

"Magic in this world responds to your visualization and your intention. It is not enough to wish for something to happen. You must see the energy shaping up, feel your will imbued in it. To control the shadows, I see them as malleable threads, extensions of my own mind. I feel its texture, its density, and direct them with the same precision with which I would guide my own hand. Your inner light... visualize it in the same way, Lady Elyandra. Not like a wild fire, but like concentrated rays, like a multifaceted crystal that you can clearly target.

Without warning, Dalia pulled out a small, sharp dagger from her boot and, with a quick, dry motion, made a shallow cut in her own hand. The bright red blood sprang up immediately, staining his skin. She held out her injured hand to Elyandra. Dalia's bloody hand remained outstretched, the crimson drop glistening in the light of the training room. His dark eyes fixed on Elyandra's, cold and incisive, devoid of any trace of pain or hesitation.

"Divine magic, Lady Elyandra," Dalia said, her voice carrying a didactic but austere tone, "transcends mundane logic. Don't get caught up in complex philosophies, it governs logic. Saints or Priestesses are the very heart of the Divinity, the purest channel for shaping the good... or use it. The choice lies entirely with you. Show that your mind is capable of comprehending this higher order. Heal my hand.

The sight of the cut and blood made Elyandra instinctively retreat, her eyes wide. The intense red color evoked painful memories, the blood dripping from Siris' wounds as she helplessly tried to heal her, the frustration and despair of that night coming back to the surface in full force. A chill ran through his body, and the determination that had just blossomed wavered for an instant.

"I... I don't know if I can," Elyandra murmured, her eyes fixed on the blood dripping from Dalia's hand, the memory of Siris's injuries still fresh and painful.

Dalia noticed the hesitation, the shadow of trauma hanging over the girl's resolve. A slight, almost imperceptible, softening came in his cold expression.

"I understand, Lady Elyandra. Maybe I got too hasty, skipping fundamental lessons. I apologize for that. To take care of others, it is imperative to first take care of yourself, to find your own strength. But remember—the rigidity returned to your voice, firm as steel—it was you who asked for more arduous training. And I will not go back on my word now.

Elyandra looked up, surprised by the owner's brief show of consideration and relentless reassurance. She watched, still puzzled, as Dalia held her own injured hand, the blood dripping and dripping onto the stone floor. The scene was disconcerting, Dalia's calm in the face of her own wound was disturbing. Before Elyandra could ask any questions, the dagger flashed again in Dalia's hand. With the same impressive speed with which she had cut herself, Dalia hit the palm of Elyandra's hand, a quick cut, but enough to make the blood well up on the young noblewoman's soft skin. The sharp, sudden pain made Elyandra let out a small cry and retreat sharply.

A stabbing pain ran through Elyandra's hand, an unprecedented sensation that paralyzed her for an instant. The warm, sticky blood gushed from the palm, dripping down his fingers and dripping in red drops onto the cold stone floor. His eyes fixed on the open cut, the broken skin revealing the pink flesh, and a cold dread settled in his chest, silencing any sound that might come out of his throat.

Dalia approached, her expression unalterable. With the same hand that had cut herself moments before, she held Elyandra's injured hand. The blood of both mixed, uniting in the drops that fell, a silent pact of pain and learning. Elyandra raised her desperate eyes to Dalia, seeking some comfort or explanation in that stoic face.

The tutor extended her other hand, the one that remained intact, and brought it gently to the noblewoman's face, an unexpected touch of physical contact.

"Memorize this pain, Lady Elyandra," Dalia said, her voice firm but with a new layer of urgency. "Now, remember the flow of your mana. Feel the energy pulsing within you. Transmute this mana into divine magic, visualize it as a golden and healing light. Focus that light on your wound, with the clear and unwavering intention of healing it. Shape your magic with the force of your imagination, see the skin regenerating, the blood stagnating, the pain diminishing. You have the power within you, Lady Elyandra. Use it. Heal your hand.

Elyandra's eyes stared at her own hand, now bathed in a vivid, pulsating red. The sight unleashed a whirlwind of dark memories: the man's inert body on the ground, Siris' blank gaze draining, the blood... so much blood. The memories of that fateful night assaulted his mind, fragmenting his concentration, the throbbing pain in his palm mingling with the searing pain of loss.

"Elyandra!" Dalia's firm, authoritative voice echoed in her consciousness, cutting off the flow of painful memories. "Don't close your eyes." This is the reality now. In the real world, Lady Elyandra, we don't have the luxury of hiding from pain, of blinding ourselves to problems. Face your hand. Face the wound. And heal it.

Shaking from head to toe, her face pale and constricted with pain, Elyandra obeyed. His eyes remained fixed on the bloody cut, his mind in a state of almost numbing shock. "Blood... just like his... just like Siris... I can't... I can't..." But Dalia's command resonated within, an anchor in the midst of emotional chaos.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to isolate the physical pain from the whirlwind of memories. "My sister... the light... Dalia said... visualize..." In his mind, the image of his mana surged like a golden river, pulsing through his veins. "Bring it to your hand... the wound..." The pain throbbed, each pulse a brutal reminder of the cut. "Don't deviate... View... the light healing..."

With immense effort, she tried to shape this golden energy, imagining it as threads of light weaving the broken skin. But the image trembled, distorted by fear and the memory of blood. "Stop... Scar... close..." The pain persisted, sharp and relentless. "I need... I need to concentrate... Dalia... the order...".

Slowly, with an excruciating internal struggle, the image began to stabilize. She visualized the golden light bathing her palm, penetrating the open wound. A tingling warm sensation began to emanate from his hand. "Close... the edges... unite..." The pain did not disappear immediately, but gradually subsided, as if an invisible balm were being applied.

Gradually, with an almost agonizing slowness, the cut began to close. First, the edges of the skin moved closer together, hesitantly. The bleeding subsided, becoming a thin thread before it stopped completely. The pain, once excruciating, has become a deaf and distant discomfort. Finally, the skin came together, leaving only a reddened, sensitive line.

Elyandra opened her eyes, incredulous. The pain was gone. His fingers touched his palm, the smooth skin under his fingers, just a reddish remnant marking the cut site. A flickering glimmer of joy appeared in his golden eyes. She shook her hand, still in disbelief of what had just happened.

"This... That was... scary..." he whispered, his voice choked by a trembling sigh and the hesitation of someone who had just confronted his greatest fears and survived.

"I'm proud, Lady Elyandra," Dalia said, a subtle note of approval tinging her usually neutral voice. She stood up, her mind already focused on the next stage of training, seemingly oblivious to the superficial cut on her own hand. She turned to move away, but was stopped by a soft but firm touch on her arm.

Elyandra held his severed hand. The noblewoman's small hand wrapped around her tutor's, and Dalia noticed, with restrained surprise, a warm, golden glow emanating from the contact. Her eyes turned to Elyandra, who stared at her with a face still marked by uncertainty, but with a new determination flickering in her golden eyes.

"Your methods are... "Scary, Dalia," Elyandra said, her voice still a little shaky, but gaining steadfastness with each word. "Not cozy at all. If I had to define it in a few words, I'd say you're like a neutral Doberman, ready to bite the neck of anyone who steps out of line.

A brief silence hung between the two, broken only by the soft golden glow that enveloped their joined hands.

"Since the beginning of this training..." Elyandra continued, her voice now charged with an honest vulnerability, "I thought about giving up so many times. I just wanted to go back to my room and hide under the blankets, like a frightened child. But then... I remembered Siris. She woke me up every morning with the same serene smile... His voice choked for a moment, the sadness still present, but now mixed with a stubborn resolution. "Knowing that I won't see that smile anymore... Hurts. But Siris... She wouldn't like to see me downcast, isolated. Therefore... I continued. Even though I wanted to give up, even though I didn't think I was capable... I continued.

Elyandra's small hands shook Dalia's injured hand, and the golden light intensified, pulsing softly.

"I'll keep moving forward, Dalia. I understand... a little now. I will not stop. No matter how difficult it is, I will run over any problem that prews in front of me. Because I'm not weak. I'm not fragile. I am a Valemortis.

The glow emanating from Elyandra's joined hands suddenly intensified, becoming so dazzling that Dalia instinctively raised an arm to shield her eyes. The golden light pulsed with overwhelming energy, filling the room with an almost blinding flash. In the same instant, the searing pain that Dalia had ignored until then disappeared completely, evaporating at an alarming rate, as if it had never existed.

When the glow subsided, revealing a panting Elyandra but with a firm look of expectation, Dalia lowered her arm slowly and turned her eyes to her own hand. The cut that moments before had bled profusely was completely gone. There was no scar, no redness, no trace of the wound he had opened so easily. The skin of his hand was smooth and intact, as if it had never been injured.

A brief moment of silence followed, broken only by Elyandra's heavy breathing. Finally, Dalia's stoic expression shifted slightly, her lips moving to utter a single word, charged with a cold and reserved admiration:

"Impressive.