Chapter 3: Seeds of Order

“Sometimes an investment is the minimum required to pursue—and achieve—one’s goals.“

The day of Eltar arrived as abruptly as the bell that chimed at precisely seven in the morning, heralding another day of observation and tedious classes at the Academy of Duality after a brief weekend.

The sun had barely pierced through the heavy curtains when I changed into my academic uniform. Catherine had risen even before the signal, eager to prepare for her lessons, gather her textbooks, and neatly make her bed.

She moved quietly, trying not to wake me, though I was merely feigning sleep, having awoken a little before she opened her eyes. Her motivation spoke of an inner order and a drive to overcome any difficulty—an admirable aspiration given her limitations, and I could not help but appreciate it.

My schedule, drafted during the initial “ten days of chaos,” was flexible. The academy allowed students to choose their own classes, but there were exceptions—required subjects for each year. For first-years, these included magical theory, physical education, fencing with the épée, practical magic, and etiquette. These disciplines formed the core of our education, regardless of our lineage.

For me, my studies were merely a backdrop for my continued observation of Reina and Nova. All I needed was to gather sufficient data on their behavior, interests, and potential weaknesses that could be exploited if necessary. This was complicated by the fact that Nova had become more cautious since our last conflict, and we rarely crossed paths outside of class. However, I regularly sensed the faint energy of Chaotic Light, which, like a true connoisseur, fed on their emotions.

***

The lessons dragged on, day after day, filling my mind with meaningless information from instructors—information that had to be known but not truly absorbed, as most of it was either flawed or incomplete.

For me, attending classes was simply a means of maintaining the guise of a perfect student. Still, I understood the importance of some of them. Physical education, for instance, helped keep my body in the required condition, so I always attended the large training grounds west of the main academy buildings with enthusiasm. It was there I first realized that the girl to whom Nova had reacted so strongly was none other than Evelina Valtheim, the future queen. She was a fascinating individual who inspired awe in the other students by her mere presence. This was to be expected; the name Valtheim itself was a symbol of power and a silent reminder that the academy was under the royal family’s patronage.

The rest of my classes were just necessary noise.

Magical theory was painfully dull and predictable. The instructor made errors in the most elementary explanations of magical laws, which was expected, as this was how they were recorded in the local textbooks. Despite this, most of the students, save for the laziest, listened with interest while I merely feigned attention. The only benefit of attending such lectures was the fact that immediately after the first-years’ lessons concluded, a class on Light magic for the second-years—attended by Reina and Nova—began in the adjacent hall, taught by my “favorite” magister at the academy. My observations led me to conclude that all the second-years were aware of the special and perverse bond between the two girls.

Practical magic lessons were slightly more interesting than magical theory; here, one could demonstrate the difference in levels of magical proficiency. Most of the students were far from perfect, but their enthusiasm compensated for their lack of skill, and persistence is the first sign of mastery. Unfortunately, their “enthusiasm” was also turned against me when it came to using Light and Chaos magic. They would smile smugly, and some would even laugh openly at my inability to use these types of magic, in which they themselves achieved good results. Their laughter was just another attempt at self-assertion, which never surprised me in undeveloped minds.

Perhaps the worst of all my classes was fencing. It was believed that girls should wield the épée with the same perfection as the twin queens, who had defeated countless enemies using this type of weapon. The adaptation of the legend seemed dubious; the épée was a highly inefficient weapon. However, only graduating students were permitted to fence with the rapier, which was, in fact, the true weapon of the twin queens. In any case, both the rapier and the épée were imperfect weapons. In a world of magic, such choices should be based on capabilities, not tradition. Yes, female bodies are weaker than male ones, but what prevents one from strengthening the body with magic and wielding a sword instead of an épée or rapier? This ritual seemed a waste of time, but I endured it, for it was here that I could openly observe Reina and Nova, as the second-year classes were held at the same time as the first-years’. Their interactions during training were particularly revealing. Reina, a novice, tried to imitate Nova, who already handled her weapon with confidence, her movements showing experience gained before the academy. Their bond, by my observation, manifested even in such subtleties as the synchronicity of their movements when they sparred with each other.

A particularly significant place in the academy was the dining hall, where students had their breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Only here could I openly and in sufficient detail observe the chaos of Reina and Nova’s actions in their natural environment. They always sat together, discussing something in quiet voices. Sometimes their eyes would meet, and in that moment, I would feel a slight tension in the air—a consequence of their bond. However, it was still too early for any overt action against them; I needed to gather more information before undertaking anything significant.

Another point for data collection was the library. It was located in the central academic building, a vast, echoing space with high, vaulted ceilings where dust seemed as integral an element as the books themselves. For the students, it was a temple of knowledge; for me, it was merely an inefficient repository of fragmented data. Endless rows of dark wood shelves receded into the gloom, creating a labyrinth in which it was easy to get lost—or, conversely, to remain unnoticed. In contrast to the maze of bookshelves, the reading room was an open space where one could observe the students, which I did successfully while pretending to read another magical treatise. The silence in the library was not peaceful but oppressive, saturated with the smell of old paper and bookbinding glue. I came here not to read—all the information contained in these volumes was but a pale shadow of what was stored in my memory. I came for the rare moments when I wanted to be alone or to observe which books Nova chose (treatises on combat magic and history), which novels Reina secretly read, and how their paths sometimes intersected in the silence between the shelves.

Finishing another day, I would, as usual, return to my room, where Catherine would typically be, deeply engrossed in her homework. She always sat at her desk, intently flipping through the pages of books and sorting through scrolls. Her diligence commanded respect, yet it seemed strange. How convenient that I did not have to spend as much time on it as she did, for I already knew all the answers. But her industriousness was commendable; not every first-year possessed her dedication.

***

Each new day at the academy was like the one before. Before classes began, there were always short, five-minute assemblies on the main square in honor of “Asceticism, Devotion, and Sacrifice,” to which the first-years were summoned, forcing us to listen to the rector’s explanations of the values required in Valtheim. These were acts of hypocrisy and systemic propaganda that I calmly let pass through my ears.

Although Catherine and I lived in the same room, our relationship remained one of mutual observation. She watched me with interest, and I pretended not to notice, trying to avoid unnecessary questions. Yet something about her sparked a particular interest in me that I could not logically rationalize. Her determination, her willpower, seemed unusual even for this world.

One evening, after we had both returned to our room from classes, I decided, quite suddenly to her, to start a conversation. The moment was perfect: she was sitting on a chair by the window, a book in her hands, but her gaze was fixed on the distance, as if she were contemplating something deep and far beyond this life.

“Have you ever thought about how you might change your life?” I asked, trying to make my tone sound casual.

Catherine turned her head slightly toward the doorway where I stood, clearly surprised by my question.

“Change my life?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged, as if I myself didn’t attach much importance to it.

“Well, for example… you can’t participate in sports or fencing on the same level as the others. Has that never bothered you?”

Her brow furrowed slightly. She set her book aside and looked at me intently.

“Of course, it’s bothered me,” she said in an even tone. “But I’ve learned to adapt.”

“Adapting is one thing,” I replied, maintaining my composure. “But why should you accept limitations if they can be overcome?”

Catherine narrowed her eyes, as if trying to discern where I was leading her thoughts.

“And how, in your opinion, can I overcome them?” she asked with a hint of irony.

“With magic, for example,” I answered, looking her straight in the eye. “A magical prosthesis could make you… free.”

She froze for a moment, her fingers involuntarily tightening on the edge of the book.

“You’re talking about the impossible,” she said. “Such things require a vast amount of money. Even the academy can’t afford such expenses,” she said flatly, as if stating an axiom.

“Not everything impossible remains so,” I replied, offering a slight, disarming smile. “Especially if you know how to seize opportunities.”

Catherine fell into thought. Her gaze grew sharper, as if she were trying to see something beyond my words.

“Why did you suddenly bring this up?” she asked. “You didn’t start this conversation just for the sake of it.”

I shrugged, maintaining a casual tone.

“Just curious. Sometimes people only need a little help to understand what they truly want.”

She fell silent again, her fingers nervously tracing the pages of her book.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said at last. “But not all decisions can be made lightly. Especially when they concern who you are.”

We fell silent. I felt that her thoughts were now focused on something greater than a simple conversation.

Somewhere in the depths of my consciousness, a new thought began to form. Catherine was ready for a change. But she needed time to accept it. And I could wait, to guide those expectations in the right direction.

***

A little over a week had passed since our last conversation. I was walking at my usual measured pace toward the dining hall after classes when I heard loud voices from one of the side corridors of the east wing. Something serious was clearly happening; the atmosphere was tense, and someone was shouting. I slowed my pace and turned the corner to analyze the situation.

Around the corner, I saw the familiar group of second-years led by Isolde. They had cornered the first-year who had helped Catherine with the club forms. The girl stood with her back against the wall, her face pale with fear. Brina was holding her magical theory textbook high above her head, mocking her victim.

“Well, little one?” Maelys sneered. “Want it back? Then try and get it. Brina’s holding it so low, I’m sure you can reach!”

The girl tried to jump, but Isolde held her by the shoulder, making any attempt pathetic and provoking laughter from her friends.

Suddenly, Catherine appeared from around another corner. She approached the oblivious group at a deliberate pace, but her gaze was as sharp as a blade.

“This is wrong,” she said, her voice quiet but loud enough for everyone to hear.

Isolde turned, her lips twisting into an aggressive smirk.

“And who are you?” she asked, looking Catherine up and down. “Oh, you’re that one-legged girl. Decided to be a hero, have you?”

Catherine didn’t answer. Instead, she took a step forward, trying to position herself between Brina and the first-year.

“Give her back the book,” she said confidently.

Brina laughed.

“And what are you going to do? Hit me with your crutches?”

“No, more like she’ll just cry and crawl away,” Maelys added with a sneer.

Seeing her friends’ reaction, Isolde walked up to Catherine and, with a sharp movement, kicked one of her crutches. The crutch flew from her grasp, and Catherine lost her balance, falling to the floor, her face contorted with pain and humiliation.

The first-year cried out, trying to rush to Catherine’s aid, but Brina grabbed her arm in an iron grip.

“Let her go!” Catherine shouted, struggling to get up. But without her crutches, she could only watch helplessly as the situation spiraled out of control.

At that moment, I felt a surge of unstable magic emanating from the girl, an impulse that was all too familiar to me. There was no time for analysis; I had to act to prevent a much greater tragedy.

I stepped forward.

“Let them go. Both of them,” I said in an even, firm tone. My expression remained calm, but my voice held a confidence that made them freeze.

The second-years turned to me, their smirks vanishing as they saw my face.

“Or what?!” Isolde demanded, looking at me as if I were her next victim. “You’ll go crying to your mommy?!”

The second-years laughed.

I took another step forward, and the air around me began to vibrate with magical energy. Chains of Order coalesced above them, ready to pin them to the floor. My eyes filled with the golden magic of Order, and everyone around felt the unseen threat hanging over them.

“Do you really want to find out? Or do you think I’ll play with you the way you play with the weak?” I said, my voice as piercing as an icy wind.

The group of second-years froze, clearly unprepared for a serious conflict. Their confidence began to melt away, and a primal fear appeared in their eyes.

“Perhaps you’ve had enough of your foolish games?!” I addressed them again, taking another step forward. My voice was quieter, but that only made it seem more menacing.

They hesitated for only a second, but it was enough. The first-year seized the moment and snatched her book back. However, instead of thanking Catherine or me, she just grabbed the textbook and fled without a backward glance, her unstable magic seemingly having taken complete control of her mind, requiring a respite.

The second-years, realizing the situation was out of their control, snorted in frustration and quickly retreated. Their steps were hurried, and Maelys even cast a glance over her shoulder, as if afraid I might follow them.

I walked over to Catherine. She was still on the floor, supporting herself with her hands. Her face was pale, but her eyes still held their determination.

“Give me your hand,” I said, extending mine. My tone was calm, without excessive emotion, but with a slight hint of support—just enough for her to understand that I was here to help her up.

She hesitated for a moment, then accepted my help. I helped her to her feet, then picked up her crutch and handed it to her.

“Are you alright?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. My voice was even and concerned enough to match the situation.

She nodded, but her gaze was fixed on the floor.

We returned to our room in silence. Catherine immediately sat by the window and picked up a book, her fingers nervously turning page after page. She was emotionally crushed but tried to maintain her dignity despite being at her most vulnerable.

Something about her fall, her helplessness, the way she tried to protect the first-year despite her own limitations, stirred strange feelings within me, most likely the same pity I felt for CO and LD.

My intuition told me that if I made an investment in her development soon, it could pay off handsomely in a short amount of time. I would not only gain a loyal ally but also a reliable instrument that I could skillfully control.

A prosthesis—a rational investment in her future, for which she would repay me in full when the time came.

***

The academy night was quiet, but I did not sleep. Movere necesse est. I needed to act to carry out my plans before dawn. Two moons shone over the academy, as if searching for their third companion, who was somewhere else entirely tonight.

I left the room, leaving Catherine asleep in her bed. Her breathing was even, her fingers twitching slightly in her sleep—as if even in her unconscious state, she continued to fight her fate.

Carefully bypassing any observers and pretending to just be going to the lavatory, I slipped into an unused storage room on the ground floor of the dormitory. Students rarely came here, and the staff were not present at night. The heavy lock on the door was a simple obstacle that I opened with a mere wave of my hand. Here, surrounded by shelves, boxes, and dust, I could create the perfect artifact without rush or prying eyes.

Fiat forma. I began to create. The air around me grew thick, like a fog filled with the cold of Order and Darkness. Forma et substantia. My eyes glowed with a soft golden light, reflecting the energy of Order mixed with a deep, almost tangible Darkness. I raised my hands, and the space before me began to warp. Black and golden threads of energy wove into an intricate pattern, forming what was to become the perfect replacement for Catherine’s lost leg. An instrumentum perfectum.

In the process of creating this artifact, I became so engrossed in the details and functionality that I decided to weave a particle of myself into it. Pars essentiae meae. Now, this great artifact was not just a prosthesis; it was a fragment of my essence, imbued with the energy of Darkness and Order. It would be perfect, stronger than any bone, lighter than air, and capable of adapting to any change in her body. This masterpiece was better than a real leg; it was like a second skin. A secunda natura. It could conform to her movements, strengthen her, and even protect her if needed. It was an investment worthy of a king, a donum regale, and I planned to gift it to a girl in whom I saw a potential ally.

Creating such an artifact took almost the entire night, and only as morning approached did I finish my work. Opus magnum. It was a pity my power was so limited; otherwise, I could have created such a masterpiece in less than a millisecond.

When the work was done, the prosthesis materialized before me. It looked like an exquisitely forged object of black metal with golden patterns. It was a work of art—a fusion of technology and magic that no one in this world had ever seen.

Carefully packing the prosthesis in an empty box, I bypassed all possible obstacles and returned to our room, placing it behind a bookshelf.

Sitting down at the desk, I wrote a letter from my parents. Understanding that Catherine might have questions about how a package from Tarvar had arrived so quickly, I decided to disclose all the details in a thorough letter.

“Dearest daughter,

We were very impressed by the story of your friend, and your father and I decided to buy a very expensive prosthesis for her so she could live like a normal person.

Please give our regards to your friend Catherine.

With all our love, Mother and Father.

P.S. We were delayed in Sumerenn on your father’s business matters, but we plan to return to Troysk soon.”

Placing the note in the box, I changed and lay down in bed, waiting for my roommate to finally wake up.

Time passed slowly, but today was a day off, and there was no need to hurry. Realizing her sleep would last too long, I got up again, changed into my academy uniform, and sat at the desk, pretending to write a reply to my parents.

As soon as I heard Catherine stir, I greeted her.

“Good morning,” I said without looking up, continuing to write the letter I would never send.

“Morning…” Catherine replied, stretching in bed. Her voice was slightly hoarse from sleep.

I smiled slightly, watching her luxuriate in bed, and trying to sound as natural as possible, I said, “By the way, a package arrived this morning. For you.”

She froze, her hand hovering over the bed.

“For me? From where?”

“It seems to be from my parents,” I replied, pointing to the box. “I wrote to them after our conversation about… well, you know. About how life could be different. In the Tarvarian Empire, there are excellent artisans who can make such things.”

Catherine frowned, her brows knitting together.

“Your parents? And why, and most importantly, what did they send me?” she asked, still not understanding what was happening.

“Well, I just told them about you,” I lied, maintaining an innocent tone. “About how strong and determined you are, despite your limitations. They decided to give you a gift.”

I took the box and brought it to her bed, watching her reaction. She carefully opened the lid, and her breath seemed to catch for a moment.

“This… This is…” her voice trembled, and she fell silent, unable to finish the sentence.

The prosthesis lay inside, its black metal with golden patterns seeming to call out to her.

“It seems they decided to give you a gift,” I repeated, feigning joy. “Try it on. It’s the finest work of my country’s artisans.”

“Arta…” she stammered. “I’m sorry, but this is too expensive. I can’t accept such a gift.” She tried with all her might to refuse, though her eyes were glued to the prosthesis.

“It is not polite to refuse gifts given with good intentions,” I countered.

“Umm…” she tried to object but couldn't utter another word.

Catherine silently took out the prosthesis and examined it closely. Her fingers trembled as she ran them over the smooth metal surface.

“But this is impossible… I’ve seen prostheses like this, but this one… It seems to be worth a fortune…” She tried to rationalize what she was seeing. “Maybe… maybe it’s just a normal prosthesis?” she asked, trying to doubt, though deep down she already knew it wasn’t. “I’ve tried wearing similar ones, but they were of no use beyond aesthetics.”

“Well, I didn’t ask my parents to send a normal prosthesis,” I lied again. “And they are very generous and wealthy; I don’t think it was any problem for them.”

“Really…? That’s incredible generosity if it’s true…” Catherine’s mouth fell open in admiration, but her eyes still held a look of disbelief.

“Just try it on already,” I said impatiently, waiting for her to equip my gift.

Catherine hesitantly began to try on the prosthesis, but then, when it was almost next to her amputated leg, it literally grew into her skin, causing her to cry out. For a moment, she was gripped by terror, but it was immediately replaced by astonishment when she felt not pain, but completeness. As if a lost part of her soul had returned to its place, bringing with it a warmth and strength she had never dreamed of.

“It’s Order magic,” I said, to steady her. “The prosthesis has recognized its new owner and is now permanently fused with her as a single entity.”

Catherine’s eyes were still filled with fear, but when she moved the prosthesis, her eyes widened in surprise. She uncertainly stood up from the bed and then stammered, “I… I can feel…” she fell silent, her voice trembling. “It’s… It’s as if it’s my own leg. I can even feel its touch on surfaces! Is that even possible?! I’ve never heard of such technology!”

I watched her, analyzing her reaction. The prosthesis didn’t just compensate for her loss—it enhanced her movements, making them more precise and confident. This was noticeable even in her simple walking.

“How does it work?” she asked, taking another step.

“I don’t know,” I lied again. “It must be some kind of magical technology, a secret passed down through generations of artisans.”

Catherine took a few more steps, and her face lit up with a smile. Then she suddenly stopped, as if realizing the magnitude of what had happened.

“I can walk…” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Without crutches.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she clenched her fists, as if afraid the moment would vanish if she relaxed.

“You see,” I said, smiling. “Sometimes all you need is a little help.”

She turned to me, her eyes shining with tears.

“Arta… I… I don’t know how to thank you. If it weren’t for you…”

I just shrugged, trying to maintain an air of indifference.

“No thanks are necessary. Just be happy. This prosthesis was made only for you. Use it and be yourself.”

Catherine took a few more steps, her movements becoming more confident. She walked to the window and looked out at the street, as if seeing the world for the first time in a new way.

“This… This is incredible,” she said, her voice full of delight. “I feel… free… whole…”

Catherine took a few more steps, this time faster, as if testing her new capabilities. Then she suddenly jumped—cautiously at first, then again, more confidently. Her face broke into a wide smile, and a childish delight appeared in her eyes.

“I can jump…” she whispered, as if not believing it herself.

She began to move around the room, performing increasingly complex movements: steps with just the prosthesis, then turns, as if dancing. Her movements were clumsy but full of enthusiasm.

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long…” she said, looking at me. “To dance. Just to dance.”

Her body began to move to a rhythm she created herself. Slowly at first, then faster. She spun around, her hair flying, and the prosthesis worked flawlessly, as if it had always been a part of her body.

At one point, she stopped, breathing heavily, but her smile was so wide that I couldn’t even imagine how a person could be capable of such a sincere smile.

“This… This is more than I could have hoped for,” she said, sinking onto the bed. “I don’t even know how it’s possible. But… thank you, Arta!”

I shrugged, maintaining my mask of indifference.

“As I said, just be happy.”

Catherine fell silent, her expression becoming thoughtful. She looked at her prosthesis, running her fingers over its surface.

“You know,” she said at last, “I’ve never told anyone about this. About how I lost my leg.”

I turned to her, surprised that she chose to share this now.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to,” I replied, trying to sound casual and a little indifferent.

“No, I want to,” she said, shaking her head. “You helped me. You deserve to know the truth.”

She took a deep breath, as if gathering her thoughts.

“It happened when I was little. I was only seven. My older brother… He was a gifted mage. Very talented, but… too curious. He was experimenting with Chaos magic.”

Catherine fell silent, her fingers clenching on the edge of the bed.

“He didn’t mean to cause harm. He was just… experimenting. But something went wrong. The magic got out of control. I was nearby. I tried to stop him, but… it all happened too fast.”

Her voice trembled, and she paused for a few seconds before continuing.

“When it was over, I woke up in the hospital. My leg was gone. My parents tried to hide the truth from me, but I knew. I remember that day. The flash of light. The pain. And his scream.”

She looked up, and in her eyes was the pain she had carried with her all these years.

“After that incident, he completely gave up magic. Not a single spell. Not one. He doesn't even allow himself to think about it. Since then, he has dedicated himself to serving people—he works in one of the hospitals for those injured in magical accidents.”

Catherine fell silent, her gaze falling back to the prosthesis.

“Sometimes I think… If I could have done something different then. If I could have prevented it. But now… Now I feel like I can start all over again!” She smiled, though tears still stood in her eyes. “Thank you, Arta. For everything.”

I just nodded, maintaining a neutral expression.

“No thanks are necessary. You’ve earned it.”

Catherine sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers still touching the cold metal of the prosthesis. She thoughtfully ran her fingertips over it, as if to confirm its existence. Her lips parted slightly, and she began to speak again, more to herself than to me.

“You know…” she said quietly, almost in a whisper, “I’ve always dreamed of wielding an épée as masterfully as the twin queens. Their story seems so… romantic.”

What a naive fascination, I noted to myself. She’s no different from the majority in that respect. Besides, the twin queens themselves were the ones who romanticized that image, and they are too closely tied to Valtheim’s history.

“As a child, I read books about them. It was said they trained every day, even when their strength was at its limit. They say their bond was so strong they could fight as one. A single swing of an épée by one was complemented by the other’s lunge. It was… beautiful.”

It’s unbearable to listen to these musings on the ‘beauty’ of combat, the thought flashed through my mind, but aloud I said, “Beautiful? Yes, perhaps. But beauty is rarely practical. If you want to learn to protect yourself or others, you need a tool that actually works. And the épée…” I paused, pretending to choose my words, “is a romanticized weapon. In a real fight, it would snap like a toothpick. In other words, Catherine, it’s nothing more than a toy—a tribute to tradition.”

Catherine turned to me, her eyes flashing with indignation.

“So you think their sacrifice was in vain? That their mastery meant nothing?”

Their ‘sacrifice’ was merely a consequence of the accepted rules of the game, but again, I didn’t say it, not wanting to seem so contemptuous of their primitive traditions.

“No,” I replied calmly, but with a slight emphasis in my voice. “I’m just saying that if you truly want to become stronger, you should choose a weapon that suits your goals. A sword, for example. It’s stronger, more versatile, and far more effective in real combat.”

She fell into thought, her expression pensive. It seemed she had never considered this possibility.

“But… there’s no one here who teaches how to wield a sword. Everyone is focused on épées, or rapiers for the graduating students, because of the academy’s traditions.”

This was the perfect opportunity for me to take control of her training.

“Then we’ll have to find someone who knows more about it than others. My father, for example. He taught me a few techniques when I was little. Of course, they were just the basics, but they’ll help you get started.”

Fed Nox had indeed shown me a few moves in my childhood. But even without him, I knew every technique, for I was no mere mortal, but Order-Darkness. My gift was perfect control over everything that required structure and discipline.

“Could you train me?” Catherine asked uncertainly.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” I countered, pretending to doubt her ability to master the technique. “A sword is not just a weapon. It’s an extension of your will. If you’re not prepared to fully dedicate yourself to training, you’d better give up now.”

Catherine straightened, her eyes burning with determination.

“I’m ready. If you agree to help me, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

I nodded, maintaining an outward calm.

“Very well. The first lesson will be next week after classes. I’ll find some wooden swords and show you how to properly hold this weapon, feel its weight, and make it serve you.”

This was the ideal solution. Through the sword, she would become stronger, and her potential would be fully unlocked. And her gratitude would make her a useful ally in my mission, fully justifying my investment in her development.

Catherine smiled, and her smile was full of gratitude and excitement. She was already picturing herself with a sword in her hands, and the thought clearly inspired her.

“Thank you, Arta,” she said, her voice firmer than before. “I won’t let you down.”

I just shrugged, hiding my true satisfaction.

“We’ll see. But remember: I won’t be lenient. If you’ve decided to walk this path, be prepared for difficulties.”

Catherine nodded, her gaze falling back to the prosthesis. Now, it held not only gratitude but also resolve. She knew this step would be the beginning of something bigger. And I knew this choice would make her a useful ally in my mission.

We fell silent, but a new tension hung in the room—the tension of impending change. The first investment was made; now I would watch the asset grow.