Chapter 17, epilogue vol 1: Shards in the Mirror

“The most dangerous mirror for Order is a soul in which it sees not chaos, but its own frighteningly alive reflection.”

Snow was falling outside the window—slowly, silently, blanketing the earth in a white shroud. Each flake was a perfect, symmetrical structure, born of cold and emptiness. It was like the silence that had fallen after the Duality Ball. The hall had emptied, the music had ceased, the masks had been cast aside, and in my room with Catherine, only the resonant echo of others’ emotions and my own frighteningly precise calculations remained.

I stood at the window, pressing my forehead against the cold glass—a foolish gesture I had learned from mortals, one that allowed me to feel the cold that this shell sometimes so desperately needed. The glass instantly drew away the heat, grounding me, returning me to the physical reality I was accustomed to analyzing, but not feeling. The air in the room was warm, smelling of old wood, the wax of burnt-down candles, and the faint scent of ozone—a residual echo of the magic Catherine had practiced before sleep.

Catherine sat quietly at her desk, carefully turning the pages of a book. For the first time in a long while, she was reading something for herself—“The History of the Rise of the Tarvarian Empire.” Her finger slid slowly along the lines, and the light from the magical lamp on her desk cast warm, living reflections on her focused face, creating an island of coziness in the cool twilight of the room. I, meanwhile, was slowly contemplating the fact that she had passed all her exams with scores of 90+ and that now I had to fulfill my promise—to go to her home. This paradoxical journey sent a cold shiver through my physical body, one unrelated to the temperature outside.

I, the architect of equilibrium, was not just about to immerse myself in the irrational life of an ordinary girl. I was about to confront the flaw within my own structure... Yet, paradoxically, it was this very flaw that was granting me a new, terrifying form of stability.

“Arta…” Catherine’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible over the whisper of the falling snow.

I did not turn, continuing to watch the flawless geometry of the snowflakes, each one a fleeting masterpiece of Order, doomed to destruction.

Catherine came and stood beside me. Not too close, but enough for her warmth to disrupt the sterile coolness of my space. She too looked out the window, and for a moment, her breath left a light, misty trace on the glass, which vanished instantly.

“You’re thinking about something distant again, aren’t you?” she asked cautiously. “Don’t you want to share it with me?”

I remained silent. She did not know, no, she felt that something was wrong with me. She suspected that her presence was becoming the very resonance within my system that changed its entire sound. However, she did not understand one thing: she remained an investment, a useful asset that I would use when the time came.

“Nothing serious,” I replied, understanding that the silence could last forever. “Just analyzing past events. The end of the semester, plans for the holidays. The usual.”

“I understand,” she answered gently. Her voice was soft, devoid of any pressure. “By the way, I was just thinking, why did you agree to play at the ball at all? Don’t tell me it was Eloisa and I who convinced you.”

I slowly turned my head. Her face in the lamplight seemed softer, her features finer. In her blue eyes was not just interest, but a deep, almost painful attempt to understand the true reason. She was not just asking a question; she was searching for a key. The key to the part of me that I concealed even from myself.

“It is difficult for me to give a rational answer,” I said quietly. “To be honest, I myself do not know the reasons why it happened.” This was a half-truth, for I could not tell her about my experiment and its deplorable results for me.

Catherine smirked. Quietly, but without mirth.

“You’re building walls again, Arta. Even when there’s no need for them.” She took a step closer, and I felt her shadow fall upon mine. “You can deceive anyone. Evelina, Nova, even Ren. But me… you can’t deceive me anymore. I can feel it.”

Her hand gently touched my shoulder. It was not a gesture of support, but another act of invasion. Her fingers were warm, and that warmth penetrated through the dense fabric of my academic uniform like a poison, slowly spreading through my veins. The internal dissonance, that same “itch” that I had so diligently suppressed, subsided for a moment, replaced by a sense of peace. It was unbearable.

“Tell me honestly, why did you agree? Please, don’t hide the truth. I won’t be offended,” she whispered.

“It does not matter, Catherine. The only thing that matters is now,” I replied calmly, trying to close the subject. My analytical apparatus, capable of calculating the fates of galaxies, had once again failed. Thousands of possible answers flashed through my mind, and each of them was a lie. And the truth… the truth was a weapon I could not use. To admit my dependence would be to cede control. To hand her the key to my own internal structure.

“Does it?” She sighed. “You know, I just thought that…” she paused. “Oh, never mind.” She waved her free hand and removed the other from my shoulder.

“To be honest, some things are still difficult for me to understand myself, let alone share them with you,” I said, trying to restore trust.

“I understand you like no one else. It’s the same for me,” she smiled ironically.

“Is it?” I asked her, trying to understand what was troubling her.

“Uh-huh, but, like you, I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Forgive me,” she said with a smile and moved to her bed, sitting on the edge.

“So we both have secrets?” I asked ironically.

“Perhaps,” she answered mysteriously. “Perhaps someday we will learn each other’s secrets.”

“Perhaps…” I repeated, understanding that it would most likely not happen.

Silence once again enveloped the room, but now it was different. Not empty, but filled with the unsaid, with expectation. Catherine ran a hand over her prosthesis, her fingers sliding over the cold metal, which was almost invisible under her dress.

“By the way…” she began, changing the subject. “Are you ready to go to Liranis?”

“Yes, I am ready. I promised you, after all,” I answered quietly, understanding the hopelessness of my situation.

“The fact that you keep your promises is very pleasant,” she began in a quiet voice. “But I would…” her voice trembled. “I would like… for you to go with me not as a roommate, not as my teacher, but as…” she stopped.

“As who, Catherine?” I clarified.

“Just as Arta,” she answered in a calm tone. “I want you to stop being a mage-guardian, a student, the ‘Shadow from Tarvar,’” she paused. “Perhaps there, for a moment, you will be yourself.” She looked up at me, and in her eyes was a desperate, almost childlike hope. “I want to introduce you to my family. To my brother. I want to show you the lake I told you about. I want… you to see my world. The one that was before you. And the one that came after.”

I looked at her—and saw not just a mortal girl. I saw a mirror in which my own, chaos-distorted face was reflected. She was not just a variable. She had become the center of the equation.

Perhaps, to understand the nature of the virus, one must study it in its habitat. To learn to control the anomaly, one must approach it at an extremely close distance. And then, perhaps, I could understand what lies behind all of this.

“Alright,” I said, and my voice sounded quieter than usual, almost human. “I will be just Arta. No roles, no academy. Just an ordinary girl from a neighboring country.” I smiled.

Disbelief flickered across her face, replaced by a pure, unclouded joy. The very joy that had now become for me both a cure and a poison.

I turned back to the window, hiding my gaze from her. The snowflakes continued their silent dance, and each one, touching the glass, melted, leaving a tiny, almost invisible drop of water—the trace of a perfect structure, destroyed by contact with another’s warmth.

The trip to the Holu estate was no longer a friendly visit for the holidays. It was an expedition into the very heart of my own corruption. A scientific mission to dissect my own soul.

And I had a frightening premonition that I might not return from this expedition as I was.