Chapter 6, part 3: The Visitor

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Cold moonlight streamed through the stained-glass window, painting patterns like frozen tears on the stone floor of the infirmary. I opened my eyes. The coarse linen sheet scratched my skin, and the air in the ward was stale, heavy, with the sharp tang of medicinals. Every breath sent a dull, tearing pain through my chest, forcing me to partially suppress these impulses that were interfering with my analysis. My body was bound in tight bandages, saturated with the smell of magical balms and dried blood. The apparent calm was broken only by the flickering of a candle at the head of the bed, its flame wavering unnaturally. The next moment, she appeared on my bed.

“Awake at last,” a melodic voice sounded, like a bell shattering glass.

A girl sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs to the rhythm of a non-existent melody. Her pink hair, like a tangled silk of dawn, fell over a white, hooded cloak embroidered with silver spiderwebs. Her eyes—two mirrored spheres—glowed with a soft white light.

“Does it hurt?” she asked with a playful smile. “I can fix that. For real. But to do that, I’ll need to see what I’m healing.”

Without waiting for a reply, she stood up and, tossing aside the thin blanket, lightly traced the edge of the thick bandage with her finger. The fabric, soaked in blood and balms, flared with a quiet white light and turned to ash, leaving my chest bare. The jagged wound from the spear looked severe and deep, and as soon as the bandages disappeared, blood began to seep from it again.

“That’s better,” she whispered and, leaning down, touched her lips to the very center of the wound. I felt no warmth; instead, an energy flooded my entire body, a pure, unadulterated concentration of chaos that, however, did not want to destroy me from within. The next moment, a concentrated vortex of pinkish energy appeared around her lips, healing and closing my wound. A few seconds later, the pain was gone, the wound completely healed, leaving only smooth skin in its place, but a sense of intrusion remained.

I took a deep, full, painless breath and felt my blood fill with oxygen.

“See!” she pulled away and smiled gently. “I’m a kind goddess-enchantress who grants wishes! And now that you don’t have to wheeze,”—her smile widened—“we can talk.”

“Who are you?” I asked, despite the unfamiliar dryness in my mouth. I knew perfectly well that this was Chaotic Light, but I had to play her game.

“Lazaria,” she introduced herself, touching a finger to the candle flame, which immediately began to dance a mad spiral, not touching her finger. “You don’t mind if I call myself that today, do you? Names—they’re like phoenix feathers: beautiful, but so unreliable.” I slowly raised myself on the pillow, feigning a realistic amount of strain for the situation.

“Are you… some kind of deity?” I asked, continuing to ask foolish but logical questions for a mortal.

Lazaria laughed brightly, a sound like shattering glass.

“A deity?” A playful smile appeared on her face, as if I had suggested an idea she hadn’t thought of herself. “Yes, mortals can call me a deity,” she replied, trying to look serious.

“I see, I thought so,” I continued to play along. “So you’re one of the ‘Gods of Dreams’ to whom the twin queens sacrificed themselves? And why did you come to me last time?”

“No, no, no!” she feigned indignation. “Do I look like one of those simpletons?! I am a kind goddess of fertility, not some cruel deity!”

Let’s assume so,” I said, my tone shifting from feigned naivety to directness. “Why did you come? Why did you heal me? And what did you want last time?”

“Just…” She hesitated, moved her hand away from the flame, and came so close to me that there was practically no space left between us. “You’re so beautiful, Arta-dear!” Her hand reached for my cheek, and her hot breath smelled of vanilla and incense.

Her touch was warm and gentle, like silk, but behind it was a chaotic calculation. I looked into her white-glowing eyes, which seemed to want to read my very essence. Her touch became almost possessive, and I couldn’t just remain silent, completely immersed in this chaotic ruse.

“What do you want, Lazaria?” I asked dryly, hoping she would stop. She pouted petulantly and pulled her hand away, darting unnaturally fast to the side.

“You’re so beautiful, but cold as ice…” She froze, then a wide smile returned to her face. She clasped her hands together and brought them to her heart. “You were… magnificent today!” She leaned toward me again, and this time the smell of honey and ash enveloped me. Her eyes looked directly into mine, and she whispered, “So powerful, so beautiful… but so cruel! You tore her apart like a paper doll!” she pulled back sharply again. Lazaria began to walk around my bed, bouncing slightly, like a child who had received a lollipop for good behavior, though behind these actions was only the peculiar calculation unique to her.

Soon, she stopped on the other side of the bed and looked at me seriously.

“A pity your parents didn’t see it. I checked up on them, you know.” Her eyes began to shimmer with the energy of light. “General Fed Nox… Alice, the priestess of the cult… Remarkable individuals. But you… you’re something more, aren’t you?” Her voice sounded uncertain.

I looked at her, knowing she was bluffing.

“More?” I tried to feign a naive surprise that would sufficiently reflect the surrealism of the circumstances.

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Lazaria laughed softly.

“I just want to kiss you!” She shook her head. “No, no, ruining such a flower would be unforgivable! Even for me!” She laughed playfully and quietly.

She swiftly moved to the head of the bed, making her cloak fly up and reveal a dress of shimmering white smoke. Then Lazaria leaned toward me and said in a sweet whisper:

“Anyway, forgive me, Arta-dear, if I offended you!” She ran a finger along the line of my lower lip, but I didn’t pull away. “Sorry, but sometimes I’m too… curious.” She removed her hand from my face and continued, “But who can resist a mystery, right? You like puzzles too, don’t you?”

She darted away again and, catching the moonlight in her palm, gathered it into a smoky ball, and then into a red rose of crystal flame.

“Here. A memento!” Lazaria held out the flower, but it crumbled to ash as it barely touched the linen sheet. “Oops! It seems it didn’t want to be with you! Apparently, you’re still too cold!”

Her endless games held no interest for me, only a cold contempt that, however, was not reflected on my face.

“Why are you here?” I asked, hoping she would provide at least a little useful information.

“To apologize,” Lazaria pressed a hand to her chest with a theatrical sigh. “I doubted you. I thought… well, you know, something dishonest. But you fought by the rules of this little world. Even a drop of my power nearly ended your precious life.” She plopped back down on the bed, her knee brushing mine. “Want to hear a secret? Your coldness… it’s maddening. Such a rarity in this sea of hysterical girls.”

Her finger drew a rune in the air, and the infirmary walls wavered, for a moment replaced by an endless, snow-white void of light. At that moment, I felt my body tremble, as if absorbing an uncontrollable energy that was foreign to me.

“Don’t be afraid, I won’t touch you or your lovely roommate Catherine,” Lazaria whispered, “after all, I’m a kind goddess!” She laughed softly again, covering her mouth with her hand. “But next time, be at least a little honest with me! You’re breaking my heart!” She smiled theatrically and, the next moment, with a wave of her hand, disappeared in a flash of bright red sparks mixed with white bubbles. As she vanished from the space, she knocked over the candlestick, and it fell to the stone floor with a crash.

I relaxed and closed my eyes, realizing that “Lazaria” was gone. She had not only checked on my incarnation’s parents but had also thrown clear threats at me and even at Catherine. Playing with her was becoming more and more dangerous, but as long as I didn’t use my true power, she would continue to toy with me like an interesting plaything.

Footsteps sounded from beyond the door. The wooden door creaked open, and Catherine appeared behind it, pale, with disheveled hair, holding a pitcher of water.

“Were… were you talking to someone?” she asked, peering into the emptiness.

“To the moon, Miga,” I replied, turning to the wall. “Sometimes she’s too intrusive, even for me.” The wind rustled the curtains, carrying away the smell of ash and honey.

Catherine came closer, her expression anxious and full of disbelief.

“Arta, why are you hiding things from me again?” she asked in a worried voice, sitting on the edge of the bed where Lazaria had just been.

I tried to smile at her. “You know, if I say a goddess of fertility was just here, you wouldn’t believe me anyway, would you?” I turned away. “Better tell me why you’re here. It’s after curfew.”

Her voice became anxious, and her hand found mine.

“Don’t you understand?” she fell silent, as if giving me time to process the thought. “You almost died!”

“But as you can see, I’m alive. The goddess of fertility healed me,” I said, and my voice sounded so calm that it was completely at odds with her panic.

Her gaze, previously fixed on my eyes, slowly, almost reluctantly, slid lower. At first, she didn’t seem to understand what she was seeing. Just smooth skin in the flickering candlelight. And then her brain connected two facts: “there should be a fatal, gaping wound here” and “there is nothing here.” It was at that moment of cognitive dissonance that her grip loosened, and the metal pitcher, until then held firmly in her hands, slipped from her fingers and fell to the wooden floor with a characteristic clang, spilling a large amount of water onto the dry surface.

She stood up and approached me, as if not believing what had happened. There were no more bandages, no wounds, just bare and soft skin. Not a single scar, not the slightest hint of the recent injury.

Catherine gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, and then, after a moment, carefully covered me with the blanket.

She was silent for a few more seconds before speaking to me again:

“So you weren’t lying?” Catherine seemed to be in a deep state of shock and, following her first question, muttered under her breath, “But what will we tell the doctors?”

“There is nothing to say. I am fully functional and will be leaving now,” I replied, my voice flat and devoid of any gratitude.

“But… Arta! You need to rest!” she protested, like some kind of nanny. “Besides, it’s curfew—we could be expelled.”

I sighed ironically, but my voice sounded surprisingly soft. I let her finish, let her release the first wave of human panic. Then, after a perfect pause, I looked her in the eye with an expression of calm, almost paternal concern.

“Catherine. We will resolve all of this. Rest, doctors, curfew—these are just details.” My tone was soothing, but it lacked any trace of the horror a person who had been through such an ordeal would feel. “But before we move on to the consequences, I need to understand something. What about Nova?”

Undisguised fury was reflected on Catherine’s face at my question.

“She almost killed you! Forget about her. She’s being expelled soon,” Catherine paused, letting me absorb what was happening.

“What do you mean, expelled?!” I let myself feign sincere human surprise. For me, this was a direct violation of the mission, and it required immediate correction.

“I mean she’s already packing her things and has to leave the academy tomorrow evening,” she replied simply, probably assuming this news would please me.

“But wait, I didn’t want her to be expelled because of me…” I said, feigning deep and sincere disappointment in my voice.

The news of Nova’s expulsion presented a new problem and introduced new unknown variables. If Nova left the academy, Ren would follow, and I would be forced to chase them all over Valtheim, exposing myself as a clear threat to Chaotic Light’s plans. The only rational option was to completely neutralize this unfortunate mistake and cancel Nova’s expulsion.

“You surprise me…” Catherine fell silent, her eyes on mine. “You really do have something of the twin queens in you, perhaps… self-sacrifice…”

“Catherine, will you take me to Nova tomorrow? I want to talk to her before I meet with the rector,” I asked, feigning exhaustion.

“If you need to…” she nodded. “But your actions still surprise me.”

“I understand, but I suggest we just sleep for now and continue in the morning,” I replied, smiling at her deliberately, gently hinting that it was time for her to leave.

Catherine nodded. Her gaze swept over me again. “Alright, but let me clean up the water first.” She left the ward and returned moments later with a cloth, wiping the floor dry. She took the pitcher, extinguished the candle, and, as she was closing the door, whispered under her breath:

“Sweet dreams, Arta.”

I sank back into the semi-darkness, carefully calculating the next steps of my newly formed plan.