Chapter 16, part 1: The Last Duality Ball

“The traditions of mortals are fragile,” Order-Light once remarked. “They crumble faster than one can register the crack. In eternity, any of their rituals is but a brief flash in the void. That is why true rituals are built on faith and sacrifice, and are governed through analogous mechanisms.”

The final Veytra before the ball flowed along a predictable, calibrated course. The academic mechanism worked without failure, beating out the rhythm of the days with the precision of a metronome: the same lectures, whose words settled in my memory like dry ash; the same grueling training sessions; the same meaningless music course, which to my structure was merely a set of harmonic noises. Even Eloisa’s predictable raptures—“You are so talented, Arta!”—merged into a single, gray, monotonous drone, from which one could be shielded by an invisible wall of absolute indifference. However, in this monotonous structure, there was one exception, and that exception bore a very specific human name—Catherine Holu.

Day after day passed in a natural rhythm. Classes, training, personal conversations with Catherine in which topics leaped chaotically from simple questions to the meaning of life, became for me a kind of laboratory for studying my own internal anomaly. For the first time in my existence, I was faced with a question that went beyond familiar reasoning and caused a cascade of errors in my flawless calculations. Although I had previously rejected the idea that I was being influenced by my own particle within Catherine’s prosthesis, it was the only logical explanation for what was happening. Nevertheless, something inside me spoke of something else, and this “something” evoked a vague but chilling horror that pierced to the very foundation of my structure—a horror of an unknown variable in a perfect equation.

Outside the window, snow fell silently. Large, heavy flakes lazily circled in the light of the magical lamp, their slow, hypnotic fall creating the illusion of stopped time. It seemed as if the world itself had frozen in anticipation of my conclusions, cloaking itself in a white shroud. I sat silently at the table with an open book, but I was not reading it, only imitating the process for Catherine, occasionally and monotonously turning the pages. The magical lamp on the table, like a crystal monolith, emitted a cold, muted light that brought no warmth, but only cast deep, jagged shadows on the walls, emphasizing the wavering silhouette of Catherine as she spun before the mirror.

There was very little time left before the Duality Ball, and Catherine was once again trying to manage her evening gown. With her every movement, the silver embroidery on the black fabric shimmered like freshly fallen frost under the moonlight, creating living, running patterns.

“It looks terrible on me,” she muttered, tugging at an unruly fold on her shoulder. “Or is it alright? Arta, say something.” She looked at me with a question that held something more than a simple reproach—a desperate need for another’s opinion.

“You chose this dress yourself,” I remarked coldly. “Besides, it reflects your nature well: a little impulsive, a little proper. Just like you.”

Catherine snorted, but in the reflection, I caught a shadow of a smile, quickly extinguished by doubt.

“Was that a compliment?” she asked with a smirk. “And anyway, Arta, don’t you want to try on your dress too? I haven’t seen you in it.”

“It was a simple statement of fact,” I corrected her, returning my gaze to the meaningless lines. “As for the dress, it looks decent enough to attend a ball in.”

“What do you mean, ‘decent enough’?” Catherine tensed. “I promised Eloisa you would look flawless!”

I shook my head; the conversation was again heading toward a dead end.

“You saw the fabric of the dress. Do you really think I should pose in it for you?” I asked ironically.

“You don’t have to, Arta,” she replied, “but what if I ask you to? Or do you think it’s right to go to a ball in a less-than-perfect dress?”

“I do not think so. The dress is comfortable and fits well. That is sufficient. You will see me at the ball soon enough,” I answered, turning to look her directly in the eye.

Catherine sighed heavily.

“Arta, why is it always so difficult with you?” She shook her head. “Look, I’m trying on my dress now. Why do you think I’m doing this?”

“To be sure you’ll look good in it,” I replied with an intentional smile.

“No!” Catherine objected firmly. “I’m trying it on to feel the atmosphere of the approaching holiday, to feel my heart skip a beat in anticipation, to enjoy the moment!” She furrowed her brows and looked at me. “Don’t you want something like that?”

“No, I do not,” I shook my head again. “You may consider me heartless.”

“Oh, no!” Catherine smiled. “You definitely can’t be called heartless.” She looked at me with a hint of hidden tenderness. “By the way, Arta,”—her internal rhythm suddenly changed, and she came closer—“I wanted to tell you that the twenty-first of Nocturne, the day of the ball… is not only the day of the twin queens’ sacrifice, but also my birthday.” She froze, like a statue, awaiting my reaction.

“So soon?” I asked, trying to feign sincerity. “I have not yet prepared a gift,” I added, carefully considering the possible directions of the conversation.

“Well…” Catherine shrugged. “A gift isn’t that important. Especially since with such a holiday, my birthday is always forgotten.” Her voice was light, almost carefree, but I saw deeper. There, in the shadow of her words, stirred a long-standing loneliness—a phantom pain left over from the time when she had lost not only her leg but a part of her world.

“Catherine, I will think of something for you, considering there is not much time left,” I replied with an uncharacteristic sincerity.

“I’m not expecting any gifts, Arta.” She shook her head. “Don’t trouble yourself, you’ve already done so much for me and continue to do so.” She relaxed her jaw slightly, and our gazes met. “There’s a certain style to it, isn’t there?” She smiled bitterly.

I did not answer immediately. I just looked at her, fixing this brief moment of sincerity.

“Style,” I repeated, “does not speak of indifference.”

Catherine smirked and, coming closer, leaned on the table to once again breach my personal boundaries.

“Oh, Arta, you should write books. With your phrases, you could found a whole cult.”

“If I ever write something, you will be the first to know,” I responded coldly. “By the way, since you brought up birthdays, and it is important to you, my birthday is on the thirty-third of Ordonis.”

Catherine straightened up sharply, and the words escaped her lips, “What?!” Her eyes widened with astonishment, and a hurricane of incomprehensible emotions churned within them. “But that was a Veytra and a half ago, Arta!”

“Yes, a Veytra and a half ago.”

“Gods, what a fool I am.” She shook her head in disappointment. “So that magical lamp was a birthday gift to you from your parents?”

I nodded, and Catherine exhaled.

“Arta, why didn’t you tell me?!” she asked with a challenge.

“Because my style speaks of indifference,” I answered impassively.

She pressed both palms to her face to hide from me, then, without taking her hands away, said, “Arta, please, promise me that we will spend your next birthday together,” she managed to say with difficulty.

“Alright, Catherine, and you, in that case, promise me that you will not mask your state with empty words.”

She removed her hands and nodded.

A birthday was just a small moment for mortals—an internal timekeeping, unimportant to the universe, but so important for their own fragile lives. I looked at Catherine again, then at her hair, and the idea formed on its own—simple, elegant, and correct, like a closed spiral of eternity.

***

Deep night had frozen in the windows in a silvery haze. Catherine was asleep, her breathing even and calm, almost inaudible. I quietly rose from the bed and, stepping behind the screen so as not to disturb her sleep, extended my hand. From the tips of my fingers, a golden thread, thin as a spider’s web, began to emerge, illuminating the room with soft, even flashes.

I acted without haste. The goal was not the creation of a graceful artifact, but the materialization of pure order—a hairpin that would warm her hands with every touch. Concentrated magic, layer by layer, built the outlines of the future form, obedient to my will. With my other hand, I drew two smooth lines, spirally intertwined, and fixed the final form. It was a symbol of eternity and duality in my understanding—a duality not connected with sacrifice, but only with being and soul.

When the work was finished, I carefully examined the resulting structure. The golden hairpin gleamed dully in the semi-darkness, having neither superfluous lines nor defects. This trinket was the perfect embodiment of the nature of Order, and I sincerely hoped that Catherine would like it.

I went to the table, opened a drawer, and carefully placed the hairpin in a velvet pouch, in which the academic earrings already lay. I looked at Catherine again, who was probably having another dream, then shifted my gaze to the dark night sky, and only after that did I go to my bed.

***

The morning of the ball was cold, with a clear sky and crystalline light refracting on the frost crystals outside the windows. Catherine was still asleep, her breathing mingling with the crunch of snow outside. Rising from the bed, I threw on a black academic robe. The cold mirror reflected my severe silhouette and dark hair, cascading down my back to my hips like a frozen river of darkness. Without any extra gestures, I separated the top part of my hair, twisted it tightly into a bun, and secured it with two straight golden pins at the base of my nape. The rest of my hair flowed down in a straight, heavy stream.

Catherine stirred in her bed, sleepily muttering, “You’re already up?… Is it really possible to be so punctual even today…”

“True order knows no weekends,” I replied calmly.

“And apparently, your order knows no rest either,” she groaned, hiding under the blanket.

“At least I am about to put on my dress, and you will have the opportunity to make sure that my appearance will be perfect,” I replied, looking at the “ball” hidden under the snow-white blanket.

Catherine reluctantly climbed out from under the blanket.

“So it’s time to get up…” she answered with a reproach to herself. “And mind you, if the dress isn’t perfect, next time you’ll only be choosing such things under my supervision.”

“Weren’t you there when I chose the fabric?” I remarked ironically.

Catherine jumped out of bed in just her nightgown.

“Arta! Next time, you’ll try the dress on in front of me if it’s not perfect now!” she exclaimed and took a few barefoot steps toward me.

“Don’t walk barefoot, put on your slippers, and I’ll change in the meantime,” I replied and went behind the screen with the dress.

A couple of minutes later, I was standing opposite her in the black dress. A simple black silhouette with light gold embroidery on the cuffs and belt. Nothing superfluous or eye-catching, just a strict line. Catherine looked at me, then walked a few circles around me.

“You know, this really suits you,” she answered with a nod. “But if you think you won’t stand out in such a dress, you’re mistaken. It emphasizes your figure well.” Smiling, she answered and stood opposite me.

“Those were the rules you yourself heard,” I replied coldly. “So, do you like it or not in the end?”

“Oh, Arta, since when did you become interested in whether I like something or not?” she smirked mysteriously. “I like it, of course.”

I nodded my head.

“In that case, I will change again now, and we will go have breakfast, and after that, we will get ready for the ball for good.”

“Uh-huh, food is what my stomach needs at this hour,” Catherine said with a smile.

I went to the table, took the prepared gift from the drawer, and handed it to Catherine.

“Happy birthday, Catherine,” I said, smiling softly especially for her.

“This… you made it, didn’t you?” She looked at the hairpin and gently touched it with her finger, then closed her eyes and smiled. “It’s so warm and calm…”

“I am sorry for such a modest gift. Perhaps next time I will think of something more practical,” I replied calmly, indirectly confirming her question.

“You do understand that such small things are far more important than expensive gifts, don’t you?” She took the hairpin from my hands. “By the way, Arta, is this gold?”

“Yes, it is golden, but it is not a precious metal. It is the magical gold of Order, woven from threads of energy. In other words, if you think I’m going to start minting bags of gold in the basement, you are mistaken. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I see, thank you for explaining, Arta. And thank you… Thank you for the gift.” She went in for a hug. I did not resist; after all, it was her celebration.

***

Later, closer to noon, we began to prepare for the ball and change. Catherine struggled for a long time with the lacing on the back of her dress and, finally, with a sigh, looked at me with an expression of a mute plea.

“Arta, please help,” she said in a slightly vulnerable voice. “Or I’ll end up looking, as you put it, impulsive again.”

I just smiled ironically, stood behind her, and, gently touching the lacing, felt her warm skin with my fingertips. I carefully took the lacing and, with deft movements of my fingers, tightened it as if I had been doing it my whole life. Catherine turned to me in surprise.

“You did that in literally ten seconds!” she exclaimed in amazement.

“Sleight of hand and nothing more,” I remarked and removed my hands from her back, which I had perhaps held for an unjustifiably long time.

Catherine spun around in front of the mirror and smiled with satisfaction, then fastened the hairpin I had gifted her into her hair, which perfectly completed her look. The black dress with silver embroidery fit her perfectly and emphasized the slenderness of her figure.

“Well?” she asked me with a faint smile.

I paused for a moment before answering, assessing the combination of the fabric with the color of her eyes and hair.

“You look… harmonious,” I replied, having completed my analysis.

“You too, Arta,” she remarked ironically. “Though you could wear a potato sack and still look as if it were meant to be.”

“Do not exaggerate, Catherine,” I replied, shaking my head.

“I’m not exaggerating. Have you even seen yourself in the mirror—perfect proportions?” she answered with a sigh.

“You also have harmonious proportions, Catherine. To be honest, you are a true beauty,” I replied, although the concept of “beauty” for me was not what people usually understand.

“R-really?” she answered, stammering and blushing.

“Really. You are perfect and calibrated, like a blade,” I added.

Catherine narrowed her eyes.

“So that’s what you mean…” She shook her head in disappointment.

“The beauty of lines, Catherine, is not something that can be achieved,” I objected, understanding that she had not understood my compliment.

She smiled.

“You’re at it again! If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were mad!” She laughed.

I said nothing and just shrugged, allowing her to experience this moment.

Soon our preparations were finished, and, throwing long and warm academic-style capes over our shoulders, we went out into the corridors. The atmosphere in the Academy was unusual: lively voices, the light rustle of dresses, and hurried steps could be heard everywhere. Girls in groups descended the stairs, heading toward the ceremonial building.

“Nervous?” Catherine asked me, holding the hem of her dress.

“No,” I answered honestly. “One only gets nervous from powerlessness.”

“An interesting philosophy. I wish I had your composure,” she muttered. “It is all achievable. By training with me every evening, you are moving step by step toward this goal. Composure is just practice and the correct adjustment of perception.”

Catherine smirked.

“You should definitely write a book about it someday. Something like: ‘Discover the secret meanings embedded in you by nature.’ I’ll be the first to buy it.”

I allowed myself to smile back at her joke.

We walked in the general stream of students. The academic courtyard was already filled with the silhouettes of students in black and white dresses, who glided over the frozen cobblestones, and only the breath of people drew ghostly clouds in the air. The road to the ceremonial building, like a palace with columns, decorated this time with silver signs of the Academy and burning twin-flame lamps at the entrance, was not long. But against the backdrop of the winter landscape, everything looked too bright and yet too cold, like a frozen fragment of the past.

Catherine walked beside me, holding her cape tighter.

“Everything will change soon, won’t it?” she asked quietly, watching the rows of students enter the ceremonial building.

“Yes,” I responded calmly. “And these changes did not begin today, so they are irreversible.”

She clutched the edge of her cape tighter.

“Then let’s at least remember what the Academy was like. Before… all this.”

I looked ahead, to where the entrance to the hall loomed between the lamps.

“We will remember,” I said. “It is not difficult.”