Miradjinn

I stare at my trembling hands, incredulous. Eight years of relentless training, each day a dance with death. Eight long years of relearning everything, forging a mind that surpasses the geniuses of my time. Fourteen years sculpting my body, finding the perfect balance between speed, endurance and strength. Merciless battles to gain experience, to rise above. All for what? To suddenly feel as helpless as a child.

A bitter laugh escapes me. What a cruel jest. I frantically search my memory, seeking an explanation, a precedent, anything. But nothing. Just emptiness. What Aleria has just accomplished defies all logic.

Her power... it's pure cheating. When I use my most devastating abilities, my ruh reserve depletes instantly. But her? Not even a fluctuation. It's as if the laws of the universe bow before her.

Those violet eyes... I saw her pupil turn red. A distant memory teases me, but I can't quite grasp it. Even if there's a connection, it doesn't explain... this.

The injustice of the situation knots my throat. She just killed and resurrected her cousin as if it were nothing. Jalik had sworn to me that was impossible! No ruh should be able to snatch a soul from death, let alone with such nonchalance.

The image haunts me: organs evaporating, the soul attempting to escape, then everything reconstituting, purified of all illness. It's... it's beyond anything I could have imagined.

My initial wariness of Aleria now seems laughable. She isn't just "different", she's... beyond category. Perhaps her eyes are like mine? Perhaps, just like my mirror eyes, hers transcend the rules established by the universe.

This thought frightens me as much as it fascinates me. If her powers are truly unlimited, what's stopping her from... No, I mustn't let my mind wander down that dangerous path.

I take a deep breath, attempting to master the trembling of my hands. I must regain composure. My survival depends on my ability to keep my sangfroid, to maintain this façade of calm and control that I've so carefully constructed.

But deep down, I know everything has changed. The rules of the game have been upended, and I find myself navigating uncharted waters. One thing is certain: I must exercise double caution. Aleria isn't just a puzzle to solve, she could well be the key to everything... or my undoing.

The patient sits up abruptly in his bed, as if possessed. My body tenses instinctively before my conscious mind can react. But his jovial face immediately breaks this tension.

"Oh, well, hello everyone, haha."

Olga, his wife, gives him a tap on the head. The scene is so... normal. Almost surreal after what I've just witnessed.

"What do you mean 'hello'? You should be thanking your young cousin for having to heal you again!"

"Haha, indeed, thank you Ria for always looking after me," he responds with disconcerting casualness.

"It's nothing, Ilya, it's really nothing as long as I progress!"

Progress? My mind catches on that word.

She turns to me, and I notice slight nervousness in her gaze. "I'm sorry I didn't explain. It turns out I have the ability to heal any injury or illness. That's how I healed your body when I found it."

A masterful understatement. 'Heal' doesn't begin to describe what I've witnessed. If she used this same technique on me... This realisation chills my blood. The bond with Sahara wasn't broken, which suggests a buffer period between death and the severance of spiritual bonds. I'll need to subtly question Sahara and Jalik about this.

"How does it work exactly?" The question escapes before I can hold it back. "I doubt it's an ordinary power. Even outside, there's no one capable of healing so well, so quickly, any danger to a body."

The atmosphere changes instantly. Ilya's face transforms, joviality giving way to sharp suspicion. "Wait, what do you mean 'outside'? And who are you anyway? Why are you wearing a mask?"

"I-Ilya!" Aleria tries to keep him in bed, but I can see her concern is as much for me as for him. "I'll explain everything. It turns out that Sahar, here, comes from the other side of the forest..."

The silence that follows is deafening. I see shock ripple across their faces like a wave, followed by fear that I'm beginning to understand.

"I hope this is just a bad joke, because I'm not finding it funny at all!"

"Papa, trust him!" Aleria's cry surprises me with its intensity.

"What... what? You're saying uncle believes what he's saying?" Ilya's confusion is palpable, mixed with growing mistrust. "Olga, Ria, sorry to ask this when you've been taking care of me, but could you leave the room? I need to speak with this Sahar alone."

Aleria gives me a worried look. I nod imperceptibly.

Once the women have left, Ilya sits facing me from his bed. I prepare myself for what promises to be an... interesting conversation.

He picks up his round spectacles from the bedside table, puts them on, and finally begins the conversation.

Ilya adjusts his glasses, a bitter smirk on his lips. "The other side of the forest... When I was a child, I dreamed it was possible. I spent hours imagining that all wasn't lost, that the ghouls hadn't destroyed everything. After all, who could really verify?"

"Your suppositions were correct," I respond calmly. "Humanity has never been more flourishing than today."

A dry laugh escapes him. "Flourishing? A few years ago, this news would have made me weep with joy. Today, it tastes only of ashes."

"I don't understand," I frown behind my mask. "I can eliminate your ghouls, solve the problems plaguing your village. Isn't that what you hoped for?"

"Help us?" His gaze hardens. "Dozens of warriors have made that promise before you. The forest swallowed them all, without exception. Whatever your confidence, Rastaino harbours horrors you cannot imagine."

I approach his bed, my gaze anchored to his. "Listen carefully. I can annihilate any ghoul that crosses my path, but you're right about one thing. A plague 68 years old isn't solved merely by slaughtering monsters. There are deeper mysteries to unravel, and for that, I need minds like yours."

I see him flinch at these words. His pupils dilate suddenly, as if I'd touched a sensitive chord.

"I'm an archivist," he finally whispers, "since my predecessor perished during the Sacred Purge. If you truly want to understand, I can tell you what's happened here these past decades."

"The Sacred Purge?" This term is unknown to me, but I remember hearing Jasper mention their god, Achor, the previous evening.

He stares at me for a moment, clearly weighing his words. "An 'honour' granted by Achor himself, through the village chief," his tone is strangely neutral, as if reciting a learned lesson. "Men are designated to become warriors and fight beyond the barriers. Nobody can refuse this... honour."

He pauses briefly, his gaze clouding. "His brother, Sergei, took my place when I was designated. He never returned." His voice trembles slightly. "And here I am, cursed by Achor, struck with a new illness every twenty-four hours..."

He turns his gaze towards the door through which Aleria left, his expression darkening further. "She comes to heal me every day, never failing. But life has never spared her. Losing her brother was just one tragedy among many." His fist clenches on the sheets. "This village... they treat her like a witch since birth, because of her eyes. Even her own mother..." He stops abruptly, as if some memories were too painful to evoke.

"If you truly want to help us," he continues, fixing his gaze on mine, "don't give her more reasons to suffer. She's already lost too many people she loved."

Shame overwhelms me, sweeping away all traces of my previous jealousy. In this world of prejudice and fear, she has continued to extend her hand to those in need, even when those same hands pushed her away.

I meet Ilya's gaze, letting my voice carry the force of my conviction. "Your profession as an archivist makes you a valuable ally, and I respect your desire to protect her. But understand this: the heaviest chains aren't those imposed upon us, but those we accept through resignation. In wanting to preserve her from all choice, you're only perpetuating what this village has subjected her to since always."

I straighten up, my presence filling the room. "If Aleria decides to help me, it will be by her own will, not obligation. I won't be another jailer in her life. On the contrary." A slight smile forms beneath my mask. "I intend to be the one who proves to this village that her eyes aren't a curse, but a gift that transcends their narrow understanding."

The anger in Ilya's eyes wavers, replaced by a glimmer of understanding. For the first time since the beginning of our conversation, he really looks at me - no longer as a threat, but as someone who might perhaps, finally, bring genuine change.

"Aleria deserves to chart her own path. And I guarantee you one thing: when I'm finished with the mysteries of this village, her eyes will no longer be a source of fear, but of respect!"