We were walking through the street.
This time, there was no specific destination.
No store we were looking for, no appointment we were heading toward.
Just slow steps, unconsciously synchronized, as if the city itself was guiding us wherever it wished.
The noise here was different from the academy.
Not quieter… just more chaotic.
Overlapping sounds—laughter drifting from a nearby café, a vendor shouting to advertise his goods, footsteps that paid no attention to who passed beside them. No one cared about your posture, no one cared who you were… unless you stood out enough.
We were still wearing the academy uniform.
And because of that, we did stand out.
But not in a way that invited trouble.
People glanced at us, then looked away. Some recognized the emblem, others simply felt it.
Arcalion students were not interrupted—not because they were sacred, but because approaching them could be a bad decision.
I noticed something unusual.
My shoulders weren't tense like they usually were.
I wasn't watching every corner.
I wasn't counting exits.
I wasn't evaluating every person who passed near us.
That alone felt strange.
Charlotte walked beside me, her hands clasped behind her back, her steps calm. She wasn't scanning the surroundings cautiously, nor did she act like someone expecting danger. It all seemed… natural to her.
She suddenly stopped in front of a small shop.
"Want to take a look?" she asked.
I glanced at the wooden sign—an old bookstore. Maps, antique volumes, and a few simple magical tools not meant for combat.
"Sure," I replied.
We went inside.
The scent of old paper mixed with the wooden shelves. The space was small, but orderly. No shine, no advanced technology—just items carefully collected.
Charlotte browsed the shelves without hurry. She wasn't searching for anything specific. Just looking.
I stopped near a table displaying neatly folded maps, some of them clearly very old.
"You like places like this?" I asked.
She nodded.
"I prefer them," she said. "No one expects anything from you here."
I didn't comment—but I understood.
For her, most places carried expectations.
This one didn't.
She picked up a book, flipped through a few pages, then returned it to its place.
"And you?" she asked without looking at me. "Do you like the city?"
I thought for a moment.
"I don't know," I said. "I haven't given myself time to decide."
She smiled faintly.
"A fitting answer."
We left a few minutes later without buying anything.
Back on the street, our walking resumed its calm rhythm.
We passed a small plaza with a fountain at its center and sat on its edge for a while. No direct conversation—just shared presence.
I noticed that the silence wasn't heavy.
Normally, silence makes me uneasy. It forces me to think.
But here… it didn't demand anything.
"The ball," she said suddenly. "Are you nervous?"
I looked at her.
"No," I answered honestly. "Just… not used to it."
She nodded.
"That's normal."
Silence returned.
A group of children passed nearby. One of them pointed at the academy emblem and whispered something to his friend. They didn't approach. Didn't call out. Just looked—then ran off.
I followed them with my eyes.
"Are you used to that?" I asked.
She knew what I meant.
"A long time ago," she replied. "At first, it was annoying. Then it becomes background noise."
She didn't say more.
She didn't need to.
After a while, we stood up and continued walking. The sun was beginning to tilt, its light spilling between the buildings in warmer tones.
We passed a small bakery. Charlotte stopped suddenly.
"Wait," she said, then went in without waiting for a reply.
She came out a minute later holding a small bag.
"Sweets," she said, as if stating the obvious. "I can't leave without them."
She handed me one.
"Try it."
I did.
"…Good," I said after a moment.
She smiled, satisfied.
As the time approached, we returned to the tailor's shop.
The place was quieter now. The same assistant greeted us and handed over the orders without delay. No comments, no suggestions.
I held the box containing my clothes.
I didn't feel anything special.
Charlotte seemed content—nothing more.
We stepped outside again, and the path back to the academy was clear now.
This time, our walk was a little slower.
"Do you regret it?" she asked suddenly.
"Regret what?"
"Coming today."
I thought for a moment.
"No," I said. "It wasn't… bad."
She laughed softly.
"That's the highest praise I've gotten from you so far."
I didn't deny it.
The academy gates drew closer as the sun set. Shadows stretched, movement slowed.
We stopped in front of the entrance.
"I think this is enough for today," she said.
I nodded.
"Yeah."
A brief silence followed.
Not the silence of hesitation—but the silence of something simple ending.
"We'll meet at the ball," she said.
"We will."
She turned, then paused.
"Nyx."
I looked at her.
"Thank you."
I didn't ask what for.
I didn't need to.
We entered through different gates.
As I walked toward the dormitory, something became uncomfortably clear.
Nothing important happened today.
No danger.
No fighting.
No secrets.
This was one of the few days I hadn't felt like I was living on the edge.
And yet…
As I walked, a feeling crept in—one I couldn't ignore.
Not guilt.
Not regret.
But a heavy, incomplete question.
Do I really have the luxury of moments like this?
Walking without caution.
Sitting without anxiety.
I stopped for a second—then kept going.
I know what awaits me.
I know this calm is temporary.
And that the path I've chosen leaves little room for ordinary things.
My goal hasn't changed.
And it won't.
I will reclaim my family—no matter the cost.
But the closer I get to this world…
the more dangerous these moments become.
Not because they weaken me…
But because they make me wonder whether I'm allowing myself something I haven't earned yet.
I raised my head, looking at the dormitory buildings.
No answer.
No decision.
Just one more step forward.
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