A month had passed since Arhelia's victory.
A month of tight bandages, persistent pain, and enforced rest. Today, there was no snow or ash covering the rooftops. The sky stretched out in a clean, cold blue, and the air smelled of damp earth, worked wood, and distant smoke from active furnaces.
Arhelia walked, leaning on a cane.
Everything still hurt… but her stubbornness was stronger.
Her body still trembled from poorly healed wounds, but her eyes were awake. Curious. Hungry for the world. For the first time in weeks, there were no white walls or controlled silences, only open streets and vibrant noise.
The village of the Luminar clan unfolded before her.
The streets teemed with activity: merchants hawking bright fabrics and exotic perfumes; blacksmiths keeping time with constant hammer strikes on metal; children running between carts carrying massive blocks of ontination, a luminous mineral that seemed to trap liquid light within.
Beyond the village, to the south and west, dark cliffs and mountains rose, old witnesses to the world's wear. Further still, plains marked by open mines fed the clan's workshops and furnaces.
The nearby landscape was gray, harsh, barely dotted with stubborn trees and resilient vegetation. But the architecture told another story.
Houses of light stone with dark roofs, tall windows, and wrought-iron decorations. In the courtyards stood statues of nonhumans: ancient gods who had shaped the world. Their stone eyes seemed to follow passersby, reminding them that history there belonged not only to the living.
Brothels and taverns mingled with commercial houses, luxurious yet discreet. Beautiful women moved among the crowds, greeting Arhelia with calculated bows, soft smiles carrying something deeper.
Arhelia remembered, without surprise.
They were her slaves.
Bound to her by debt, by fear… and by respect.
The thought was cold, brief. She let it pass. Today was not a day for settling scores.
Massive carriages rolled through the stone streets, slow and heavy, loaded with high-quality minerals from the southern and western mines. The animals pulling them were not entirely of this world: bulls of enormous bodies, woolly manes, no visible skulls, with natural metal helmets. Their hooves kicked up dust and smoke as they advanced.
The ontination gleamed under the sun.
It did more than sustain the Luminar industry. It fed refinement workshops, the production of exquisite foods, and the manufacture of Law Objects that circulated throughout the Pandora Festival.
Arhelia moved slowly, leaning on her cane, absorbing every detail: the rhythm of the hammers, the roar of the furnaces, children's laughter around the mineral, arguments among merchants, the life that continued indifferent to the duel that had shaken the clan.
Every sound, every smell, imprinted itself on her memory with almost painful clarity.
Then, amid the murmur of the village, a name she hadn't heard in years floated through the air.
—Arheliushka… you're still alive. That alone is a reason to celebrate.
She turned her head, leaning more heavily on the cane.
There she was.
Lada Karmin.
Standing among the crowd, calm and steady, radiating a serenity that was not naive. Her childhood friend. Level 1. Path of Law: Laws.
The Horns of Karma emerged from her head in two almost ethereal curves, beautiful and cruel at the same time. Her blonde hair fell over her eyes, partially hiding them, but her blue gaze seemed to have seen too much for her age.
She wore northern clothing: a hunter's dress in brown, white trim, practical coat. Beautiful without intention, carrying the air of someone who thinks before breaking something.
Arhelia felt how exhaustion and pain mixed with a profound relief.
Lada was an anchor.
A fragment of childhood still surviving in a world that no longer forgave.
—Lada… —Arhelia whispered, her voice still weak—. I didn't expect to see you so soon.
Lada smiled.
It wasn't a wide smile. It was calm. Certain.
—I didn't expect to find you walking either —she replied, stepping toward her—. But you know I always end up nearby.
She extended a hand. The Horns of Karma shimmered faintly in the sun.
—Can you walk a little further? —she asked—. There are things you should see. And others… you should know.
Arhelia hesitated for only an instant.
She nodded.
She leaned more firmly on her cane and let the village breeze envelop her once again.
As they walked together among the crowd, through the streets, sounds, and gray dust, the sun illuminated patches of melted snow.
The victory had not been an end.
It was a door.
And the world, indifferent and alive, was already pushing her to cross it.