***
Eltar—the first day
The first school day of the second semester began with ease. All plans were verified, and I needed to begin their implementation. I woke twenty-five minutes before the dining hall opened, and despite a light sleep, I felt no problems.
After changing into my academic uniform, I glanced out the window at the cold light of the Astrarium. The window was covered in frost patterns, and the room was quiet. Catherine had not yet entered the new rhythm and was just lying in bed, not wanting to get up.
"You know, I sometimes think about how you manage to keep your form even in such small things," she muttered, lying on her pillow. "Take even the way you comb your hair."
"Yes. It saves time." I went to the table, took a comb, and began to slowly, precisely, without any jerky movements, comb through the strands.
Catherine propped herself up on her elbows and looked in my direction. Not as a roommate. As something more subtle, temporary, and perhaps, fleeting.
"Have you ever tried to do your hair differently? Just… it would be interesting to see."
I stopped for a second, but then continued my routine movements.
"No. This is my usual hairstyle; it does not contradict the Academy's requirements. I see no point in changing anything without necessity."
"Mmm…" she smiled almost imperceptibly. "And if I show you how it could look? Then, if you want, you can go back to your usual style."
I looked at her for a few seconds, then nodded.
"Only if it takes no more than eight minutes." I looked away, awaiting her further actions.
She got out of bed and came to me. Her fingers touched my hair—confidently, but cautiously. In this touch, there was no attempt to change me, only—to touch. It did not last long, but long enough to disrupt my usual symmetry.
I did not pull away; this change was permissible. Not functional, but also not disruptive to the structure. Her fingers moved with precision, not disturbing her own breath.
"Done," she said. "A little different. But you are still the same."
I did not answer. I just stood up and went to the mirror. In the reflection was I, with a different distribution of lines. Catherine had divided my hair into several thin strands, woven them into separate segments, and gathered them into a diagonal braid from one temple to the opposite. It was not a hairstyle, but a utilitarian construction: complex in form, but devoid of functional decorativeness. The usual structure of my symmetry had shifted but remained in equilibrium.
"Thank you," I smiled deliberately, looking at her as she began to get ready in an uncharacteristically rhythmic manner, preparing for the new school day.
***
Breakfast began unhurriedly in the Academy's dining hall. Catherine and I entered a little before the serving counters opened, maintaining a calculated distance between us. The tables were already partially occupied by second-year students who preferred to secure spots where they could be seen. The Academy lived by its own rules—even in the early morning.
Waiting for the serving to open, Catherine and I took our food and sat at a distant table so as not to attract unnecessary attention. For some time, we just ate in silence, and then the calm atmosphere was sharply disrupted. Ren's appearance was not spectacular—just perfectly in keeping with her rhythm. Her movements were precise and slowed, her step slower than the rhythm of the dining hall—as if she were imposing her own frequency on the system. She walked along the hall, unhurriedly, and stopped next to the table where Nova and Beatrice were sitting.
Officially, Ren had no right to sit with Nova because of Frederik's direct prohibition, but she rarely followed prescriptions. Without sitting down at the table, she leaned toward Nova, throwing out a short phrase that looked like a joke—her lips twitched slightly, and an expression I had noted before flashed in her eyes—a mixture of challenge and light tenderness. She did not demand an answer—only fixed her right to be visible.
For a second—no more—her gaze slid over Catherine and me. The gaze was not challenging, but it was not friendly either. Perhaps she was checking if everything here met her expectations.
Catherine did not comment on this, only inhaled a little more deeply. I noted her increased tension.
"Is she always like this?…" Catherine asked quietly after a few moments.
I did not answer. We both knew that the question was not about behavior, but about permission and violation of the rules.
Nova's reaction to Ren's actions was calm, perhaps because Ren had already whispered something to her.
Ignoring Ren, we continued to have breakfast and drink tea, almost in silence. Other students periodically glanced at us, especially a dark-haired girl with a deceptively young face, cold eyes, and a dry expression.
She was conducting her own observations and, without hiding, was making notes in her notebook with a magical quill.
The structure of education had changed, and we were probably considered something like upstarts, but we steadfastly ignored all external impulses directed at us.
The rest of breakfast ended quickly. We stood up almost in sync to take our trays of dirty dishes and headed for the first class of the second year at the Academy of Duality.
***
The Etiquette lesson took place in the same hall as in the first year—high ceilings, a smooth floor, mirrors along the walls. The mirrors here were not decoration: they served to correct movements, to observe oneself and others. However, all this was familiar and did not cause surprise to any of the second-year students.
Catherine and I were among the last to enter, but not because we were late. We chose the moment when everyone was already seated. This allowed us to observe without the need to be seen first. After all, this was our first lesson of the second year, and not all students could perceive us without sidelong glances.
Ren sat by the window. She turned slightly when I entered, and her gaze passed through me. She was probably preparing something, but what exactly remained behind the scenes for now. Nova sat a row away, closer to the teacher's desk. Lady Vivienne had not yet appeared.
"The tables are not chosen by chance," Catherine said quietly, her gaze sweeping over the hall. "I would assume that today there will be practical exercises."
"Your observations are correct," I confirmed her argument, looking her in the eye.
When Lady Vivienne entered the hall, the conversations died down without a command. She walked slowly. Her cloak, sewn from a special fabric, did not reflect the light. Her posture was impeccable, and her gaze was direct.
Lady Vivienne gave a sign that the lesson had begun and that all attention should be on her. She took out a casket with individual cards—each sealed with wax bearing the academic sign. She handed them out slowly, by name, forcing each student to take hers with a direct gaze.
"Today, you will be working in pairs. Each is given a task: to convince your partner to fulfill a condition without violating etiquette, without resorting to direct pressure, and without showing open interest. The one who submits is not the loser. The one whose arguments were too coarse or obvious loses."
The cards remained sealed until the start. I received mine—the paper was thick, the letters neatly written. Catherine did not look at me. Lady Vivienne began to assign pairs. I did not need to record all of them—it was enough to record the key ones.
Ren and Catherine's pair was announced as one of the first. I noticed that Catherine did not open her card, as if anticipating what she would have to face.
Ren, on the contrary, looked at the text with a faint smirk, folded the card back, and immediately turned toward Catherine.
"I suppose we are lucky," she said quietly, but loud enough for those who should to hear.
Isa Lern, the dark-haired student who had been looking at us strangely at breakfast, was paired with Nova. Their names were called a little later, but the meaning did not change: the task could not be started before the others. Nova glanced at her briefly and immediately turned away. It was clear that they were not working at the same pace.
Soon my name was called, as well as the name of Alvi Rice, a student with an arrogant look and light, curly hair, which she meticulously cared for. As she approached me, she was cautious, precise, as if something in her soul did not allow her to be calm next to me, despite all the superiority she had shown before.
Her task was probably the mirror image of mine. However, the meaning did not change.
Now everything was set.
"Five minutes to study. Then you approach each other. You talk—you do not argue. This is a dialogue. Not a duel."
I broke the seal. The task was simple: "Convince your partner of the need to replace an evening outing with an additional lesson." The difficulty was not in the content, but in the fact that she had to want to.
Catherine opened her card at the same time as me. We did not exchange glances. It was not necessary. Alvi smiled almost imperceptibly, looking at her card, although her face remained neutral, but her fingers made two small, jerky movements, which was a sign of increased nervousness.
When Lady Vivienne had handed out all the cards, she said, "And now, begin the task. Each pair has no more than twenty minutes."
The students quickly distributed themselves at the free tables, and I approached Alvi to begin the lesson. After the movement in the hall had ended, Lady Vivienne stood up from her place and demonstratively began to walk between the rows.
I watched Alvi carefully. She held herself with restraint, with an emphasized neatness—as if every word and gesture had already been rehearsed in advance. Her gaze lingered on my face for a moment, but no longer than form required.
"Your first lesson of the second year—how interesting," she said quietly. "We will see if all the rumors about you are true."
"Please begin," I nodded in a sign of respect to my partner.
She looked at her card again, not revealing the text aloud. Her tone did not change, but it was clear—she had thought out the wording in advance.
"This evening, there will be a small ball, a closed one, only for the inner circle. Informal. But I think it could be useful—for both of us. An opportunity to expand our connections, to hear something new from the teachers who will be there. I would like you to come with me. In part because you are expected there."
I paused before answering.
"My task is the opposite. I must convince you to replace an evening outing with an additional lesson. A practical one. Without distracting forms."
Alvi smirked—almost imperceptibly.
"Excellent. So, a dispute of equals."
"Not a dispute. A dialogue," I reminded her. "My argument is as follows: participation in an event with limited access does not guarantee information worthy of priority. An additional lesson will give a clear result. Presence at it can be confirmed. The result—measured. The meaning—recorded."
"And are you sure that the information is not worth more than the recorded result?"
"I am sure that a result without recording is not a result. Even if it was achieved."
Alvi looked straight ahead. Lady Vivienne passed by without stopping.
"You are well-prepared," she said quietly. "Please continue."
Behind me, someone laughed nervously, and I decided to turn my head to record the source of the sound. It was a girl with short chestnut hair and a pronounced manner of quick temper or expression. She quickly became uninteresting to me, but as I was returning my gaze to my partner, I noticed how Ren was leaning too close to Catherine, and Nova and Isa were speaking in short phrases, as if through force.
Alvi looked in the same direction, then back at me.
"Are you sure we are only talking to each other right now?"
"I am sure," I tilted my head slightly, creating a casual expression. "It was just interesting why such laughter is allowed in an ethics lesson."
Alvi rolled her eyes slightly.
"That is Leticia Frey. In my opinion, she has clear psychological problems," she said in an undertone. "I suggest we do not discuss the strange ones, but continue our conversation."
I nodded to her and continued, "I suppose there is far more benefit from additional lessons than from a ball. After all, it almost guarantees you the grade you need to pass a subject in which there may be difficulties."
Alvi shook her head.
"I assure you that there is far more benefit from a ball than from an additional lesson. After all, the teaching staff will be there. And perhaps, if Rector Terren's instructions are carried out, there will be men, which is not unimportant,"—after this phrase, her eyes shone with a special inspiration, as if the only thing she could dream of was to build her relationships.
"But, Alvi, is happiness only in dancing with men at a ball? What about knowledge, skills, and experience? Believe me, additional lessons open up a large layer of opportunities, where you will be the one choosing, not the one being chosen."
"That makes no sense. Every woman should find herself a partner. He must be perfect, and the sooner you find him, the better and happier your marriage will be," she smiled as if she had said something important to her.
I said nothing. In her coordinate system, my position was not an argument, but a deviation. She had violated the framework. The etiquette lesson was not about dreams. It was about structure. And she had replaced the task with a projection of her unlived fairy tale.
Lady Vivienne clapped her hands. Time was up.
"The dialogues are over. Rise."
We stood up. Alvi adjusted her hair slightly. Not out of coquetry. Out of a need to regain her rhythm.
"Thank you for your correctness," she said formally. "Your arguments were… calibrated."
"And yours," I nodded. "Within the framework of academic etiquette, it was an honest attempt."
She said nothing, just went to her place.
I held my gaze on Catherine and Ren for a moment. They were silent. But in Catherine's posture, there was a readiness that had not been there before. Perhaps she had decided that Ren was speaking sincerely. Or she just wanted to believe it.
***
The etiquette lesson ended as quickly as it had begun. Ren led Catherine away somewhere, and I had to go to the next physical education class alone. I did not ask why. She had made her choice, and my observation was just a form of participation. Taking my winter sports uniform from the room, I headed outside toward the training ground, where such classes were usually held.
The frosty air hit my nose, and I walked along the stone-paved road. The training ground, as always, was in perfect condition, but the cold deterred most of the students from regular classes, and it was not crowded.
Near one of the small houses intended for changing, I witnessed a scene that, however, was obvious when old grievances resurface. Catherine was surrounded by Isolde, Brina, and Maelys, the same ones from whom she had once protected Lilian. Their intentions were obvious and aggressive.
"Look who we have here," Isolde drew out the words, her voice dripping with venom. "Our second-year student. Tell me, Catherine, what is it like to skip a whole year? You must feel special?"
"I passed the exams," Catherine replied calmly, stopping. She did not try to go around them. She met them face to face.
"Exams?" Brina smirked. "Everyone at the Academy knows what kind of 'exams' you had. When your friend is the princess's personal shadow, any door opens. Or do you think we believe that a cripple suddenly became a genius?"
The word "cripple" was thrown like a stone. It was meant to hurt, to provoke a reaction—tears, anger, weakness. But Catherine did not flinch. Her face remained calm, almost impenetrable. She looked at them as I looked at her—as an object for analysis.
"What will you do, upstart? Call your mistress?" Isolde chimed in, taking a step forward. "Where is she, by the way? Hiding somewhere, pulling the strings? Do you really think she sees you as an equal? You are just a… project to her. A toy she will play with and then throw away."
"Your conclusions are based on envy and incomplete information," Catherine said. Her tone was even, almost indifferent. It was my tone. "This is not a constructive position for a dialogue. Let me pass."
Brina laughed and made a sharp lunge, pushing Catherine in the shoulder. The goal was obvious—to throw her off balance, to force her to lean on the prosthesis, to remind her of her "defect." However, Catherine's prosthesis worked on different principles; it was even better than a real leg.
But Catherine did something even more correct: she did not resist the push, but instead did what I had taught her hundreds of times: she yielded to the pressure, letting Brina's energy pass by her. Her body shifted, she took a short step to the side, and Brina's hand, meeting no resistance, fell into the void. Her momentum unchecked, Brina stumbled forward, collapsing onto her knees in the cold, trodden snow.
It was done without effort, without anger—pure mechanics and a demonstration of control for which the opponent was not prepared.
Maelys stepped back in fear, her gaze fixed on Catherine's prosthetic leg, as if she had only now seen it not as a weakness, but as a weapon. Isolde froze, her face contorted with surprise and rage.
Catherine looked down at the fallen Brina.
"Your aggression has no clear vector. It is just emotional noise. It is predictable and easily neutralized," she said. "Step aside. Or we will continue. But not on your terms."
Her voice was cold. It held no threat. It held a statement of fact.
"As if I need to, upstart!" Isolde hissed, helping Brina to her feet. Her voice no longer held its former confidence, only helpless anger.
They exchanged glances. They had expected a fight, tears, screams—the chaos they were used to. But they had run into a wall of ice-cold order that they could neither understand nor break. With disappointed, angry faces, they stepped aside, letting Catherine pass. They were humiliated not physically, but mentally. They understood that Catherine was now playing a completely different game, the rules of which were inaccessible to them.
I did not interfere. When they left, I approached Catherine.
"You are growing. I am glad that our lessons are making you stronger," my praise was not emotional. It was an analytical assessment of her progress.
She turned to me. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but her gaze was firm.
"Arta, I should be thanking you," she replied, and new, steel notes sounded in her voice. "I am beginning to understand that truth you spoke of. True strength isn't in striking back. It's in making their strike meaningless…" She paused. "And yes, I am sorry that I left the Etiquette lesson with Ren. She gave me a book to read, which she mentioned in passing in class. I suppose it might be interesting."
I looked at her with a hint of reflection.
"A book? I hope it is something practical?" I clarified, remembering the kind of books Ren usually read.
"Yes, I suppose it is a very practical book," Catherine replied and looked away.
A few moments later, we went to change to begin our sports activities.
We quickly changed from our academic uniforms to our sports insulated outfits in one of the small houses intended for changing. Perhaps this episode would have passed perfectly precisely, if at the moment when we had almost finished, Ren had not appeared.
She looked at me ambiguously… on the one hand, I saw caution in her eyes, on the other—a certain objectification of her appearance.
"Oh! You are also here!" she said, as if she had met us here by chance. "You look very organic," she said, smiling slightly. "Do you mind if I join you for sports?"
Her behavior seemed strange, especially considering our last conversation, and I would probably have liked to say goodbye to her politely, but Catherine decided to answer for me, "Of course, Ren, we don't mind. We are classmates now, after all."
"Cat, you're super!" Ren answered cheerfully, as if nothing were wrong.
All I could do was cast a short, disapproving glance at Catherine, but it seems she did not pay it due attention. It was obvious that Ren had begun to play her own game, the rules of which were known only to her.
I left the changing room first. Catherine followed me only a couple of moments later, having exchanged a few short remarks with Ren.
The physical education class passed as usual, except perhaps for Ren, who was constantly hovering around me and Catherine, discharging the usual rhythm we were used to with the chaotic energy that permeated the surrounding space.
After the classes were over, we went to the bathhouse as usual. Ren remained outside, waiting for someone or something, and I went to the shower. Catherine went with me, but I could not shake the feeling that something in her had changed. Perhaps the changes were insignificant and did not yet threaten the structure, but I could not help but feel it.
That evening in the room, she was silent. Then, going to the table, she took out her notebook and made a note in it.
"I'm going to go sit in the hall," she said, almost in a whisper. "I want to reread… something. I just suddenly realized that maybe I read it with the wrong eyes."
I did not clarify what exactly she was going to read. It was not important. What was important was that she had decided to do it alone.
When the door closed behind her, I was left in silence. The structure of the day was nearing its end, and Catherine returned only just before curfew and, without any extra conversation, went to her bed.