Chapter 384
Each touch of her tongue seemed to erase the marks of pinches, neutralize the pain, or simply claim that area as something that had been touched, remembered, and given meaning.
For Aldraya, who could not express emotion in a normal way, this act might have been the pinnacle of intimacy and gratitude she was capable of offering.
"I do not feel that I have fallen in love with the wrong young man."
Twelve minutes passed in silence, filled only by the sound of carriage wheels and the steady rhythm of their breathing.
After that long and intense span of time, Aldraya slowly withdrew her face from Theo's left cheek.
Her movement was slow, as though severing a deep connection.
She then looked at Theo's face, a blank and monotonous gaze that lasted exactly six seconds.
During those six seconds, her face was truly like a statue—no crease, no meaningful blink, no change whatsoever.
Only a silent investigation of his reaction, or perhaps of the trace she had left behind.
Then, from the same lips that had pressed and traced Theo's skin for minutes, a statement emerged.
Her voice remained flat, yet her words carried an important personal conclusion.
She declared that she did not feel she had fallen in love with the wrong young man.
The statement was brief, direct, and felt like a final decision long contemplated in silence.
It was not a confession of love, but rather an affirmation of correctness—a validation that her attraction or attachment, in whatever form she experienced it, was not misplaced.
After speaking that decisive sentence, Aldraya did not wait for a response.
She immediately buried her head in Theo's chest, seeking shelter or simply a familiar warmth.
Her long white hair, already disheveled from Theo's earlier teasing, now fell freely, covering Theo's neck and chest like a living, delicate blanket.
Those strands also draped over her own hips and spine, creating a small private space between their touching bodies.
In this position, her face was hidden, her monotonous expression no longer visible, as though she had said everything that needed to be said and now chose to return to silence and the more comfortable closeness of physical contact.
"From the first light that separated the dark, thirteen crowns shine upon the heavenly throne.
The First holds the key of beginning and end, the Second grasps the fire of eternal rebellion, the Third weaves the thread of fate that cannot be unraveled…."
Fhhhh!
"Until the Thirteenth, guardian of the silent gate that answers no one…."
Uuuuuh!
"All are echoes of the Divided Name. And all those echoes now gather here, within this embrace."
'What a girl.'
And suddenly, from that seemingly perfect silence, a voice began to flow.
Not an ordinary voice, but a song.
Aldraya's voice, usually flat and colorless, now radiated a complex and celestial melody.
She sang a hymn from the tradition of the Thirteenth Archangels, a composition that should have required a choir of thirteen entities to complete.
Yet here, alone, Aldraya carried the entire arrangement.
Thirteen layers of tone, harmony, and counterpoint merged from her single set of vocal cords, an achievement impossible for an ordinary human.
One of the thirteen principal tones—the deepest and most soul-piercing—was purely produced by the vibration of Aldraya's own voice, without trick or illusion.
Theo, feeling the vibration of the song through his chest where Aldraya's head rested, confirmed that she was neither asleep nor unconscious.
Her eyes were open, staring straight into the darkness ahead of them, or perhaps at something far beyond the illusory walls of the carriage.
More astonishing still, though her expression remained flat and porcelain-like, a different light radiated from her.
Several times, between phrases of her singing, Theo caught a subtle glimmer at the corner of her eyes, or a micro-relaxation in the facial muscles that were usually tense.
Her head, pressed firmly against his chest, felt lighter, as though her entire being was concentrating on the melody emerging from within her.
This was what could be called Aldraya's version of "joy"—a happiness expressed not through smiles or laughter, but through the perfection of a sacred hymn and the softness of her unwavering position.
The song filled the illusory space, transforming the cold carriage into something like a temporary chapel.
Each note was a hymn—not only to the angels, but as though implicitly offered to Theo, to this moment, to their strange togetherness.
'Awaiting the clash between the two.'
As Aldraya's singing flowed from note to note, one melody giving way to another in mesmerizing complexity, Theo's right hand moved gently.
His fingers traced her long white hair, not to tidy it, but simply to feel its cool, silky texture.
Occasionally, his hand shifted to pinch Aldraya's cheek with affectionate playfulness, a gesture that had now become part of their unspoken language.
Yet amid this ritual of listening and touch, Theo's gaze was drawn elsewhere.
His eyes, partially devoted to the sounding silence in his lap, shifted to an object in his left hand.
The old yellow book that had always been his faithful companion lay open to a particular page.
In the middle of pages usually filled with analytical scribbles, observational notes, and strategy sketches, there were now only six words written in bold black ink.
Those six words stood alone, separated from all other notes, as though bearing a different weight and urgency.
"The Conflict Between Xavier XVII and Ilux Rediona."
Arc One, Episode Ten End, completed.
Thud!
"I truly do not understand, Theo. Even tying a tie, you treat it as if it were a knot of punishment."
"I swear it was correct just now. Somehow, every time you touch it, this tie immediately obeys."
"That's because you treat it like a clothesline rope. Look, this is a Windsor knot, not a failed experiment."
"I did not mean to mess it up. My hands just—"
"—Are simply too stubborn to learn calmly. If this is your way, I pity whoever becomes your wife someday."
"Hey, that's excessive."
Arc One, Episode Eleven Beginning, now commences.
The fading afternoon sun crept through the dormitory window, sweeping across the dark wooden surface of the study desk and touching the end of the black tie still hanging loosely in Theo's hands.
The air inside the room felt warm and stagnant, filled with slow-dancing dust illuminated by light, as though time itself had slowed after the few peaceful days following their return from the world of illusion.
Theo stood before the tall mirror mounted on the wardrobe, both hands still gripping the ends of the tie stiffly, his fingers seeming as though they were trying to tame a stubborn silk serpent.
In his pale blue eyes was reflected his own image—a young man in a neat academy uniform, hindered only by a strip of fabric that refused to comply.
The memory of touches, traces, and long silences in the carriage lingered faintly yet distinctly upon his skin, contrasting with the simple frustration he now faced before this mirror.
To be continued…