"A game of chess is the ideal strategic duel between two opponents. However, if there are more than two players, the game can descend into uncontrollable chaos."
Miren-day
The day began just as the previous one had. The light of the Astrarium had not yet cut through the upper edges of the academy's buildings, but it was already seeping into the room—not in rays, but as a presence: cold, deliberate, and predictable. The air today was in equilibrium, the temperature within normal limits. The day was beginning, as usual, correctly.
Catherine was not asleep. She lay staring at the ceiling—not as an observer, and not as someone just awakened from sleep. Rather, as someone who had forgotten when they fell asleep and now did not know how to return.
Her gaze was unfocused—a rare combination of stillness and internal searching. Traces of insomnia were evident in the broken rhythm of her breathing, in the residual tension of her shoulder muscles that held even in rest. She moved like someone who had crossed a line without realising where it had been drawn. I registered a shift in her inner rhythm, an almost imperceptible but steady change. The cause had not yet been put into words, but it already existed as an indisputable fact, one that was changing the very atmosphere of the room.
"Good morning," I said, maintaining the tonality of the morning persona.
Catherine blinked. Not immediately.
"Morning," she responded. There was a micro-shift in the timbre of her voice, characteristic of those who have not yet emerged from their internal space.
I sat on the edge of the bed. My hair fell down my back—a straight line, broken in two places. The braid from the previous day retained only fragments of its initial design: a strand had escaped at the temple, the central axis had twisted at the nape. It was no longer a coherent structure, merely the memory of one.
I removed the pin and undid the braid. My fingers met no resistance: the hold had been sufficient, but not calculated for a night.
For a moment—no longer—I looked at Catherine. Not as a source, but as a trace of the changes that had occurred. Yesterday she had acted with confidence, and today she was simply drowning in silence. However, this silence was not passive, but rather observant and aggressive, carrying a hidden internal task.
I took the comb. And began the ritual familiar to this body: a slow, smooth, confident gesture, necessary to maintain my social mask. Some strands required a second pass: they had lost their linearity overnight, but not their structure. Nevertheless, all of this still took time that could have been spent on more productive matters.
Catherine, meanwhile, was in no hurry to get up. She did not move, did not speak, but she watched. Not at my hair, not at my hands, but simply at me, trying to find something that, perhaps, had never been in me.
I made no comment and continued combing until it was finished. Now that my hair lay in its basic form, I could calmly finish my preparations. Standing up, I went to the wardrobe and opened the door.
Catherine continued to watch me without looking away: without action, without a signal, but with a confident presence. Today she offered nothing, but in this "nothing" there was a change that spoke more than a thousand words.
Dressed in the academy uniform, I waited for her to finish her preparations, after which we went out into the corridor, maintaining the usual distance between us.
The corridors were sparsely populated: some students had not yet left their rooms, the rest were already scattered across the floors. We moved at an even pace. Several groups of second-year students, sitting by the window, fell silent as we approached.
The speech did not stop completely—it only shifted to a whisper. I did not record the phrases verbatim—it was pointless. But the context was clear. The transfer of Catherine and me to the second year without completing the full certification cycle was causing increasing irritation among them, even though we had passed all the necessary qualifying tests with high marks. They likely saw this as a precedent of privilege, and the very fact of it touched them too intensely. They knew who had signed the order—Evelina Valtheim, which meant their dissatisfaction was masked with caution. And only a few, like Isolde yesterday, dared to speak of it louder than a whisper.
Breakfast passed without any particular events, but after its completion, we met Ren. She was definitely waiting for us at the exit of the dining hall, in the zone where the flows intersected. In this way, she was likely simulating randomness, similar to the chaotic eddies in the universe. She stood leaning against a column, looking as if she were waiting for nothing, and it was precisely in this that her main deviation from the norm lay.
"Good morning," she said, pushing off slightly from the wall. Her voice was even, but with a shadow of inner excitement. "You two are always together!" She tried to look calm, but her intonation was half a tone higher than normal. Such a register is often used when feigning spontaneity, especially when everything has been planned long in advance.
"Good morning, Ren!" Catherine responded. "Oh, I'm afraid with our new schedule it won't be easy, we hardly ever cross paths."
Catherine's response was too good-natured—a tactical vulnerability. I did not intervene. She must learn to be not only strong, but autonomous.
Ren tilted her head slightly to the side, making it look completely unnatural.
"No problem!" She smiled. "Friendship is also a choice, especially for... a pair like yours. Nevertheless, I suggest we think about where we could cross paths, maybe at breakfast?"
The word "pairs" was pronounced with a theatrical imprecision—too light an emphasis on belonging, too incomplete a smile.
"Perhaps, Ren, let's discuss this in the evening? I would like to discuss a few questions with you."
"Of course, Cat! I am always at your service. How could one refuse such a charming and attractive girl as you!" She smiled wider than was necessary.
"Thank you, Ren, and now we must go, I'm sorry," Catherine replied calmly.
"Of course, of course! I'll get out of the way." She laughed. "By the way, Arta, I preferred yesterday's braid. It softened you. You looked almost cute." The word "cute" reminded me too much of Chaotic Light's remarks; it was obvious that there were common patterns in their behavior. "See you at the next lesson. I saw that you signed up for Aether magic, and I decided to follow your example, and, can you imagine, my application was approved!" she winked at us.
"Wow, good for you, Ren. Then we'll see you in class," Catherine replied calmly.
Ren looked at us for a little while, and then, with a slight smile and a theatrical bow, she set off for her classes. We, after lingering in the dining hall for a bit to let her go ahead, were finally able to go to ours in peace.
***
We received the invitation to the Aether magic classes, Catherine and I, for our excellent performance on the transfer exams. The hall designated for these classes was on the lower level of the central academic building—marked as minus one. The temperature was below normal, the humidity elevated. The walls were stone, with patches of dampness, despite the climate control system. Light came from pulsating magical spheres—not bright, but stable. The space had no windows, only a closed geometry. All this was not surprising, as the central building had previously been a fortress, and this level had been intended for storing provisions and ammunition.
Catherine and I took a place in the second row—a side zone, with direct access to the runic grid. Nova sat closer to the center, but not next to Ren. Between them—one empty row and two second-year students, diligently pretending not to notice the awkwardness.
The professor entered exactly on the signal and, noticing new faces in the hall, nodded with displeasure and introduced herself: "Magister of the third circle—Ilentia Licion." Her voice sounded confident and without complex turns of phrase.
"Aether is not just magical energy. It is the medium of the elements. You will not wield it directly; you will act as its conduits. And the most important quality of control is observation," was her first phrase, before she began to meticulously draw an aetherial diagram and basic magical waves on the board with chalk.
The lecture began. Its main features were a slow rhythm of explanation, clear articulation, and neat demonstrations and sketches of aetherial waves, glitches, lines of resonance, and the Aether Veytra. I already knew everything presented, save for the permissible human deviations from aether's precise magical laws. It required no further explanation.
Catherine at first carefully took notes on the lecture, but soon switched to listening. Not because she gave up, but because she understood: the material could not be retained by hand. Only by mental control and attention.
At some point, I caught a movement in the adjacent rows. It was Nova, she was looking at Ren. Her glance was quick and cautious, but slow enough for me to register it. Nova's eyes were full of weariness and questions she clearly wanted to ask her "partner."
Ren, in response, did not look. But later, when Magister Ilentia was describing the form of aether's decay, she cast a glance toward Catherine and me. There was no message in this glance, but there was interest. As in a game of chess, where the pieces are already set, and all that remains is to understand—who is playing white.
The magister continued to speak, and I just listened. Thus, in explanations, minute after minute passed until the logical end of the lesson, bringing nothing significant for me. The students began to leave the hall one by one, and while I was just planning to leave the auditorium, Nova approached me. Catherine cast a glance at me, but Nova addressed her, "Catherine, I'll just keep her for a couple of minutes, she'll catch up."
Catherine nodded and left without asking questions. Her footsteps faded in the academy corridors. Nova waited until the others had finally left the hall, and only then did she speak. Her voice was quieter than usual.
"I need you to help. Not as Evelina's mage-guardian. Not as a student. Just as… someone who agreed to be my friend."
I did not answer, only nodded, inviting her to continue.
"I cannot see Reina directly. Neither in the Academy nor outside it. Frederik's decree is still in force, and I am being watched. However, there is one 'but' in all this…" She paused.
I maintained my silence; her request had not yet been formulated. Only outlined in rough strokes.
"If we are somewhere… together, not just the two of us, but in a group, then it will no longer be a violation of the rule, but just informal communication between students." She looked me in the eye. "I want you to…" she paused, "just be there. Sometimes. During breaks. In the common area. At lunch. Maybe on walks. If you are there with Catherine—it will be even more convenient."
"And why don't you turn to Beatrice? She is your roommate, can she not provide you with such company?" I asked, to fully understand her motivation.
"You see, Beatrice is too good a friend of Ren's, and you are not. The reaction of others will be completely different," Nova replied calmly. "I understand that this is not interesting to you." She looked me in the eye. "But please, help me. I have no one else to turn to. I will not be intrusive, just at least sometimes… I will be very grateful."
There was no threat in her words. Only a clear logic.
"Alright," I nodded slowly. "But only if it does not interfere with classes. No extra meetings."
"Believe me, that is more than enough," she replied. "Thank you."
"By the way, how is Evelina?" I inquired of her, to conclude our conversation.
Nova shook her head.
"A little better, but still bad. I don't think she will have any assignments for you in the near future," she answered in a calm and almost imperceptibly sad voice. "Alright, Arta, I'm sorry, I have to go. We will definitely talk again." She added nothing extra. Only inclined her head slightly—in a sign of acknowledgment—and left the hall.
When the hall was empty, I lingered, formally—to check that I had not forgotten anything. But in reality, I needed a moment of silence to record my own decision and recalculate my future plans.
Observation as part of a group provided greater accuracy than allowing them to meet outside my observation. If the simulation is already running, it is better to be inside the model.
This was not a compromise, but control.
***
I headed for the next lesson—an alchemy class. It took place in a separate wing of the eastern building. There were fewer students than in other disciplines; the group here was not even half full. The atmosphere in the hall was subdued. The room was elongated, with long workbenches separated by special partitions. The air was saturated with the smells of powders, oils, stone dust, and something mineral-bitter, probably traces of past experiments.
Catherine and I took a place by the far wall, closer to the source of air and the box of chemical glass. She immediately laid out her instruments, checked the burner's attachment, and folded back the edge of her gloves. Her movements—sharp, collected, without the usual fuss of a novice. There was no ostentatious diligence in this. It was a passion.
Soon the professor came, an elderly woman with a sullen face and a tired look. She surveyed the room and, introducing herself as "Artemona Enuar," announced the topic of the lesson: "Stabilizers of Neutral Poisons."
"I read about this composition back in the first year," Catherine whispered, flipping through the instructions. "A stabilizer for a neutral poison. Tasteless, colorless. But it works with precision."
I nodded. The comment was not informational—it was a marker of interest. She was no longer just learning. She was talking about the composition. But perhaps she was learning to describe herself, searching for an area where she could be herself—and not seem weak.
A few minutes later, we had synchronized our actions: the heating temperature, the order of combination. Catherine bit her lip slightly, watching the reaction in the flask, then exhaled with satisfaction. The sleeves of her lab coat were neatly rolled up—and at that moment, I registered her gaze.
"Your hands hardly move when you do something," she said quietly, as if to herself, but with enough clarity for me to hear. "It's strange. They look as if… as if you've been doing this your whole life. Just perfect hands." She paused briefly. "I would like to learn to do that too. So as not to give anything away. Not even a breath," she continued.
Catherine did not look me in the eye; her gaze was fixed only on her fingers, first mine, and then her own. And in this gaze, there was no technical envy. There was a desire to understand: how to shed the remainder of her softness—but still remain herself.
She bit her lower lip slightly.
"Listen, can you show me after the class how you do that? Literally one technique, one gesture…"
I nodded. This did not violate either discipline or my role. But her interest was not only in the movements. She was clearly changing, and her structure was transforming, and these transformations were not for her benefit.
Catherine smiled—almost imperceptibly, only in the corner of her lips—and then returned to her work.
We spent the rest of the lesson stabilizing the resulting composition, completing the process within the minimally permissible margin of error. Professor Artemona recorded our result, and Catherine, neatly folding her gloves, began to wait for me to show her a few gestures.
Looking at me once more, she smiled. We politely thanked the teacher and left the hall.
***
After the class, we went to lunch. Catherine was behaving a little unusually, but there was no reason to intervene yet.
In the evening, we went to our usual forest clearing, where the breath of the Astrarium burned with cold. The training passed in silence. I showed—she repeated, but I continued to feel micro-glitches in her structure. Nevertheless, she tried, and our training had long gone beyond ordinary sword fencing; these were full-fledged battles using magic. Catherine's progress was sufficient, but not ideal. Very soon, her sword training would become ineffective, as we would face the limitations of the female body, and we would have to switch to enhanced magical practices to compensate for the natural physical shortcomings.
After the training, we returned to our room. Catherine barely spoke. She changed quickly, her movements swift and practiced, but they did not betray any tension. Then she went to her writing desk, opened her notebook, and made one entry. Her gaze slid over the book that lay beside it—a gift from Ren. Out of the corner of my eye, I managed to register the title on the dark cover, written in an ornate silver script: "Petals on a Cold Blade." A primitive metaphor. But, obviously, an effective one. After which, she looked up, turned her head toward me, and said, "I'm going to sit in the hall again tonight. I want to reread the notes on stabilizers. I still have a question about the second phase of the reagent. I'll be back before curfew."
I nodded. Her motive was formulated, recorded, and required no additional checks on my part. However, it was obvious that her wording had been thought out in advance, which meant her goal was not to study the question of reagents.
When the door closed, I noted: this was the second night in a row that she had left. This did not disrupt my rhythm, but it disrupted her rhythm, which until recently had been completely synchronized with mine. Perhaps she would create something new, something that she would like. For now, all I could do was observe her and the further events into which she would inevitably draw me.