They were both perplexed. Kael was still staring into space, pacing in circles around the fire. The sun was high in the sky. Velara, who hadn’t been involved in the matter at all, found herself drawn into it despite herself.

  Time passed. Kael needed to train, and yet he kept pacing, obsessed with a trivial detail—something that probably didn’t matter. But Velara could feel that there was a deeper problem, even if she couldn’t see as far as Kael did.

  At last, she ventured a remark, her voice hesitant, as if afraid of interrupting his thoughts:

  “Maybe a tax collector?”

  Kael dismissed it immediately, as if he’d already explored that angle:

  “Why would a tax collector push that deep into the Broken Crown? They only deal with the Crown Protectorate. They have no reason to go anywhere else.”

  He dropped down onto his heels, one hand under his chin, eyes flickering as if rummaging through his memory.

  “I don’t get it. No matter how much I dig, it doesn’t make any sense.”

  Velara watched him for a moment, then asked gently:

  “But why is it bothering you this much? It’s good news, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly. It’s too good to be true.”

  Kael frowned.

  “The only valid reason for someone from the Highlands to come down into the Broken Crown is to look for someone. But even then, it doesn’t add up. Why look for an Ombrevu? And why would an Ombrevu be sought out at all?”

  He sat down on the ground and rubbed his temples.

  “The Veilwards do come down into the Broken Crown, don’t they?” Velara offered. “Maybe it was one of them?”

  “You really picture them caring about a dress or browsing shops? Those guys are boring as hell.”

  She lowered her head, a little embarrassed.

  Kael, still lost in thought, sighed.

  “I need to talk to Connie. She saw his face—she’ll be able to tell me. Then I’ll do my own digging.”

  He straightened up, his gaze resolute.

  “But that’ll have to wait. First, I have to pass my Trial.”

  His saber had never left his side.

  Velara stood as well, an amused smile on her lips:

  “Solving a mystery? Now that’s a delightful prospect. It’s one of my great passions.”

  Kael turned around, surprised.

  “You want to help me?”

  “Of course.”

  She shrugged.

  “I don’t really understand what’s making you so nervous, but something’s off about this whole story. My instinct tells me so. And I always trust my instinct.”

  She paused, then continued more seriously:

  “But as you said, you’ll have to pass your Trial first. And even then, there’s no guarantee they’ll let you leave the Highlands before you’ve completed your training at the Academy.”

  A sly smile tugged at Kael’s lips.

  “You couldn’t pull a few strings to get me back to the Broken Crown?”

  Velara burst out laughing.

  “No chance. That would be beneath me.”

  Kael lowered his head, disappointed.

  But Velara immediately went on, calmer this time:

  “I’ll take you there myself. I hate owing favors to anyone. I’d rather take matters into my own hands. And besides… who could really stop me?”

  She gave him a sideways smile.

  “And anyway, the Broken Crown intrigues me. It sounds… picturesque.”

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  Kael, who had gone back to weaving Velara’s cape, lifted his head, eyes shining.

  “Seriously? You’d do that for me?”

  “Not for you.”

  She cut him off sharply.

  “Just to satisfy my curiosity.”

  Kael smiled faintly.

  “That works for me. Deal!”

  Velara waited patiently while Kael finished his work. A few hours passed, the sun still reigning high in the sky. A faint sense of impatience began to stir in her.

  She had kept suggesting theories about the mysterious buyer, all of which Kael calmly dismantled one by one, laying out his reasoning each time. Velara was genuinely impressed by his intelligence.

  Then, at last, Kael stood up. He unfolded the fabric with a proud expression, climbed back onto the stump, and draped the cape over Velara’s shoulders. She had sprung to her feet, eager to see the result.

  The cape was long, falling all the way to her ankles. A deep, inky black, it had an almost liquid appearance that gave Velara a strange, nearly mystical presence. The hood was wide, its edges clean and finely stitched. The whole thing radiated something regal and ancient, as if she embodied a supernatural entity.

  Proud of his work, Kael added:

  “And on top of that, it’s so light that none of your movements will be hindered.”

  Velara made a few movements. The cape offered no resistance—it seemed to follow each of her gestures rather than hinder them. It was so light it almost floated in the air.

  She said, genuinely impressed but with a hint of irony:

  “I don’t know many people who can throw together a cape from the hide of a dead Overdrawn—with that much ease.”

  Kael chuckled.

  “You like it?”

  He already knew the answer, and he doubted she’d shower him with praise.

  “It’s not bad, I’ll admit. Simple, just like I asked,” she replied evenly.

  Then she clapped her hands once.

  “Alright! Break’s over. Back to work.”

  Her tone had shifted, firmer now.

  “Now that I know your body is perfectly capable of assimilating effective combat techniques, we can move on to serious things.”

  She re-summoned her longsword and took her place at the center of the clearing.

  Kael followed, saber drawn, stopping about two meters in front of her.

  Velara twirled her blade. The motion sent her cape billowing in the wind, giving her an almost supernatural presence.

  “There are several schools of swordsmanship: the School of Water, of Fire, of Earth, of Air, and so on…”

  She paused briefly, then smiled.

  “All of that is bullshit.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow, surprised.

  “I’m going to teach you the only thing that really matters: the best way not to get yourself killed. That’s the only school that matters.”

  She lowered her sword and locked eyes with him.

  “The most important thing is adaptation. You’re lucky—you’re not stupid. That’s already a good start.”

  Kael frowned, a little confused.

  “So… I’m not supposed to have a style?”

  “Exactly,” she answered without hesitation.

  “A fighting style, a school, a method… all of that makes you predictable. If your ‘style’ is adaptation, then you become truly dangerous.”

  She took a step toward him, her gaze hardening.

  “The style I’m going to teach you is the style of chaos.”

  “Unpredictable. Ever-changing. Adaptable to anything.”

  Kael echoed her words, intrigued:

  “You said I wouldn’t have a style?”

  Velara nodded, confident.

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I said.”

  She paused, locked her eyes onto his, and added:

  “Do you know what chaos is?”

  The wind blew softly. Her eyes—feline in their sharpness—gleamed in the light. Her long ponytail and black cape drifted behind her, as if suspended.

  Velara spoke in a calm voice, almost solemn:

  “Chaos is extreme disorder. A state of total confusion, where no law, no structure, no rule applies. Nothing is stable. Nothing is predictable.”

  She took a step forward.

  “That’s what it is. And that’s what I’m going to teach you.”

  “I’m going to teach you how to become the center of that chaos.”

  She stopped, staring at Kael even more intently.

  “So yes—you won’t have a style. Because chaos, by its very nature, has no form. No logic. No style.”

  Kael frowned, thoughtful.

  “I think I understand… but how do you actually embody chaos?”

  Velara smiled.

  “It’s simple. It’s a state of mind.”

  She crossed her arms, relaxed, as if this were self-evident.

  “There are several ways to get there. It depends on the person.”

  She gestured toward him with a tilt of her chin.

  “For you, I’d suggest starting with your intelligence. Your mind is analytical, methodical. Use that.”

  Then she added, almost laughing:

  “For someone else, I’d tell them to do what I do—go with instinct.”

  A shower of sparks burst into Velara’s hand, and a mirror appeared on the ground. A large mirror, tall as a human. But nothing was reflected in it. It was dull, lifeless, as though dead.

  Kael, now accustomed to Velara’s oddities, didn’t even flinch at her summoning a Relic without warning.

  She spoke in a tone that sounded almost bored:

  “Unfortunately, at this stage of your training, I can’t train you myself.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow.

  “Why?”

  “I’m far too powerful for you. You wouldn’t learn anything by facing me.”

  She paused.

  “On the other hand, fighting someone at your own level—that’s far more instructive.”

  She stepped closer, made a simple flicking gesture with her finger—and a thin cut appeared across Kael’s chest. Blood welled up. Velara already had a drop of it on the tip of her finger.

  “Seriously? Was that really necessary?” Kael grumbled.

  She didn’t answer. She simply smeared the blood across the surface of the mirror.

  A reflection appeared. Kael’s reflection.

  Yet he wasn’t even standing in front of the mirror.

  “How was that possible?” he wondered,a chill running down his spine.

  The reflection moved.

  Then it stepped out of the mirror as if nothing were amiss.

  A wave of disgust washed over Kael. Seeing his own double move like that—freely, independently, beyond his control—was unsettling. Deeply unsettling.

  Velara said simply:

  “That’s your opponent: yourself.”

  “And the advantage is that it will evolve along with you. Since it’s your reflection.”

  Kael reacted with dry irony:

  “Great…”

  The reflection drew its saber and advanced toward him, resolute.

  Kael took a step back, uneasy.

  “Wait… we’re going to fight with real weapons?”

  “Of course,” Velara replied without the slightest hesitation.

  “If you truly want to learn how not to get yourself killed, training with real weapons is the best way.”

  She stepped forward slightly.

  “The more you fear them, the more you’ll learn to understand them. And the more you understand them, the better you’ll know how to use them. Where to strike to make it hurt.”

  She looked at him one last time.

  “Don’t forget, Kael: I won’t go easy on you.”