Chapter 481: Learning to Live Without Answers

Over the next four days, Neria discovered that learning swordsmanship was far less elegant than watching Jian Yue wield a sword. There was too much focus on posture, too much repetition, and an irritating number of small muscles that started aching just when she thought she had understood a movement. Jian Yue didn’t move on to actual strikes. First, she taught Neria how to move her feet while holding the weapon, then how to change direction without crossing her legs, and finally how to retreat while keeping the blade between herself and an imaginary opponent. Damon watched only on the second day. On the third, Jian Yue kicked him out because he made too many comments. On the fourth, he returned hiding a cup behind his body and sat far enough away to claim he wasn’t participating.

Jian Yue noticed immediately.

"You know I can see you."

Damon took a sip.

"I’m not doing anything."

"That’s exactly the problem."

Neria, keeping the sword in front of her body, looked from one to the other.

"Can I continue?"

"Yes," Jian Yue replied, returning her attention to her. "Left foot. Then right. Don’t try to move both at the same time."

Neria obeyed.

Her left foot moved forward correctly. Her right followed, but her weight remained behind for too long. Jian Yue touched her own hip to indicate the problem without interrupting the movement.

"You’re letting the sword arrive before your body."

"Shouldn’t I?"

"Not like that. The weapon doesn’t fight separately from you."

Damon raised his cup.

"Good line."

Jian Yue didn’t look at him.

"One more word and you’re training too."

Damon fell silent.

Neria smiled.

The session lasted a little over half an hour. By the end, Neria’s arms were trembling slightly, but she lowered the sword herself as soon as she noticed. That had already become part of her training. Not stopping only when Ester appeared. Not waiting for her body to fail. Recognizing the signs beforehand. When Jian Yue said that was enough, Neria put the sword away without arguing and sat on the bench, massaging her fingers.

Damon approached.

"You’re getting dangerous."

Neria looked up.

"I haven’t even hit anyone yet."

"Exactly. This is the safest stage."

"How long until I can hit you?"

Jian Yue answered before he could.

"A few weeks."

Damon slowly turned.

"Why me?"

"Because you’re always here."

"That’s not consent."

Neria began laughing.

Jian Yue sat near her.

"First, you learn how to stop the blade. Then you learn how to hit something."

Neria frowned.

"Wouldn’t it be the other way around?"

"Not if I want to keep training you without having to call Ester every five minutes."

"That sounds reasonable."

Damon pointed at Neria.

"See? That word is ruining everyone."

She ignored him.

Training continued that way throughout the week. Nothing extraordinary happened. No exceptional abilities appeared. Neria was an ordinary beginner, perhaps a little more attentive than average, but still slow, still uncertain when changing direction, and prone to compensating with her right leg whenever she grew tired. Curiously, she seemed to enjoy it even more because of that. There was no hidden structure inside her body telling her how to move. There were no implanted memories, conditioning, or automatic responses. If she performed a movement correctly, it was because she had learned it. When she made a mistake, that mistake belonged to her too.

Eir watched some of the training sessions when they took place in the Valley.

At first, she asked many questions.

"Why raise?"

"To protect my head," Neria explained while repeating a simple guard position.

"Why foot back?"

"Balance."

"Why not use root?"

Damon, sitting a few meters away, answered:

"Because the sword doesn’t have roots."

One of them lightly struck his leg.

"That was violence."

"No."

"That was clearly retaliation."

Neria almost lost her stance from laughing so hard.

As the days passed, Eir began asking fewer questions. Not because she had lost interest. She had simply realized that some answers would only make sense after Neria experienced them herself. This became clear one afternoon when Jian Yue taught her the first defensive sequence. A simple movement: move the body out of the line of attack, deflect an imaginary blade, and recover her position. Neria made two mistakes. On the third attempt, the wooden sword slipped from her hand and fell onto the grass.

The roots moved.

Then stopped.

Neria looked at them.

Then at Eir.

"I’m fine."

"Yes."

She picked up the weapon.

No roots helped her.

Damon noticed that this was beginning to become normal.

It was that very afternoon, when he returned to Mirath, that he found a message from Vermillion waiting for him.

It wasn’t from Varos.

Nor was it from the council.

The sender was identified as Maelor-Serik.

Damon stared at it for a few seconds before opening it.

The message was short.

I would like to ask a question that I do not consider appropriate to send through institutional records. There is no urgency. When you have time, I would prefer to speak in person.

Damon read it twice.

The phrase "there is no urgency" almost made him more suspicious than if it had been marked as an emergency.

Aria entered the room while he was still looking at the message.

"Something wrong?"

"Maelor-Serik."

She became attentive.

"The protocol?"

"Doesn’t seem like it."

Damon handed her the tablet.

Aria read it.

"That’s surprisingly normal."

"Exactly."

"Are you going?"

"Yes."

"Today?"

Damon looked out the window. The sun was already low.

"Tomorrow."

Aria raised an eyebrow.

"You’re still doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Leaving nonurgent things for later."

"It’s a terrible disease."

"I’m starting to get used to it."

The following morning, Damon went to Vermillion.

The place had changed since his last visit. Not physically. The walls were still too bright, and the corridors still had that unpleasant combination of hospital and military facility, but there were fewer armed agents moving around and far more technicians dismantling old structures. Some doors were open where high-level authorization had previously been required. Others displayed signs indicating audits, isolation, or the removal of functions linked to the old protocol.

Varos met Damon near the entrance.

His mark remained visible, but one of its internal layers had already been removed.

"You came."

"Maelor asked me to."

Varos nodded.

"He’s in the secondary archive."

"Any problems?"

"No."

Damon stopped.

"Everyone’s started saying that."

"Maybe things are getting better."

"Don’t ruin it."

Varos almost smiled and indicated the corridor.

Maelor-Serik was sitting at a desk covered with documents when Damon entered. His appearance hadn’t changed since their last conversation: a man approaching fifty, with an overly controlled posture and a gaze that sometimes seemed to observe a person and a system simultaneously. The difference was his clothing. He wasn’t wearing the Order’s formal uniform. Just simple, dark clothes.

Damon sat down without being invited.

"You look less institutional."

Maelor-Serik looked at his own sleeve.

"That was deliberate."

"It worked."

"Thank you."

Damon waited.

Maelor-Serik closed the document in front of him.

"I want to speak with Eir."

Damon remained motionless.

Not because he was surprised.

Perhaps because he had expected this to happen eventually.

"Why?"

"Not to restore Maelor."

"Good start."

"Nor to remove Serik."

"Even better."

Maelor-Serik rested his hands on the desk.

"I want to ask a question."

"To her."

"Yes."

"What question?"

There was a pause.

"Whether she has ever seen someone continue living after losing the answer to who they were supposed to be."

Damon hadn’t expected that.

Maelor-Serik continued before he could speak.

"I spent thirty-two years assuming there were two possible outcomes. Remain Serik or recover Maelor. Now I consider neither of them sufficient. But removing those answers doesn’t automatically create a third."

"It creates time."

"Perhaps."

Damon thought of Maerin.

Of Neria.

Of his own bodily structure.

"Why Eir?"

"Because she knew Vaelor before Serik became what he is today. She knew Maerin. She knew people altered by standardization and people who refused restoration."

"She also made decisions for them."

"I know."

"Some bad ones."

"I know that too."

Damon observed him.

"So you’re not looking for an authority."

"No."

"Or validation."

"I hope not."

"Dangerous answer."

Maelor-Serik nodded.

"That’s why I asked you to come."

Damon leaned back.

"You want me to ask whether Eir agrees to talk."

"Yes."

"You don’t want me to bring you straight to her."

"No."

That mattered.

"If she refuses?"

"Then she refuses."

Damon remained silent for a few seconds.

"You’ve gotten better at that."

"I’m trying."

"Everyone says that now."

Maelor-Serik almost smiled.

Damon stood.

"I’ll ask."

"Thank you."

He took two steps before stopping.

"Maelor-Serik."

"Yes?"

"If she tells you she’s seen a hundred people and none of them found a good answer, what will you do?"

The man took a while to respond.

"Keep living."

Damon nodded.

"Then maybe you already know half the answer."

He returned to the Valley that same afternoon.

Neria was training when he arrived. Jian Yue had placed a small padded post in the ground and was now teaching Neria to touch the target without following through with the entire movement. Liora sat nearby, clearly bored because she wasn’t allowed to use the second sword.

Eir noticed Damon immediately.

"Damon."

"I need to ask something."

Neria’s attention wandered.

Jian Yue lightly tapped her sword.

"Focus."

Neria returned to the target.

Damon walked toward the great trunk.

"Maelor-Serik wants to speak with you."

The forest fell silent.

Eir took longer than usual to respond.

"Serik."

"And Maelor."

"Both."

"He thinks so."

The roots near the trunk moved slowly.

"Wants restoration?"

"No."

"Removal?"

"Not that either."

"Then why?"

Damon thought about the exact question.

"He wants to know whether you’ve ever seen someone continue living after losing certainty about who they were supposed to be."

Eir became completely still.

Damon waited.

Neria had also stopped training this time. Jian Yue didn’t correct her.

Finally, Eir answered:

"Yes."

Damon looked toward the trunk.

"Will you agree to speak with him?"

Another pause.

"He wants?"

"Yes."

"You want?"

"Doesn’t matter."

"Matters."

Damon almost smiled.

"I want you two to talk if you both want to."

Eir absorbed that.

"Then yes."

Just like that.

Neria lowered her sword.

"Is he coming here?"

Damon looked at her.

"If Eir allows it."

"I allow," Eir replied.

Damon nodded.

"Then probably."

Liora finally showed some interest.

"Will he bring food?"

Damon closed his eyes.

"I don’t know."

"Ask."

"That’s not the priority."

Liora clearly disagreed.

Damon looked toward the great trunk again.

Perhaps that conversation wouldn’t resolve anything.

It probably shouldn’t.

Maelor-Serik didn’t need to leave that place transformed into another person.

Perhaps he simply needed to find someone old enough to tell him that continuing to live without a ready-made definition wasn’t a mistake.

And considering everything that had happened, Damon was beginning to suspect that Eir was becoming surprisingly good at saying exactly that.