The sun had not yet risen when we left the inn.
Mira walked beside me, the small sword tapping her leg, her eyes still heavy with sleep. Fenísia was waiting for us on the pier, a bundle of wooden sticks under her arm.
"This is for training," she said, throwing me one. "I don't want the girl to hurt herself with real steel."
"Good idea."
"I know."
The pier was empty at this hour. Only the fishing boats, the seagulls, and the calm sea beating against the wooden stakes. The smell of salt and seaweed was strong, but not unpleasant.
"Position," I ordered Mira. "Feet apart. Knees slightly bent. Sword forward, not sideways."
She obeyed. Her posture was terrible – shoulders hunched, wrists loose, breathing fast. But she was trying.
"Fenísia," I called. "You too."
"I don't know how to fight," she replied with a yellow smile.
"You're going to learn."
"Why?"
"So you don't die."
The smile disappeared. She picked up the stick. She positioned herself beside Mira. Worse than the girl.
"Like this?" she asked, imitating Mira's stance.
"Worse."
"Thank you."
We trained until the sun appeared from behind the houses.
---
Mira learned quickly. Her movements were clumsy, but she repeated them until she got them right. Fenísia did not. Her body did not obey. The stick trembled in her hand, her feet dragged, her breath came in short gasps.
"I can't," she said after an hour.
"You can."
"I have no talent."
"No one has talent at the start." I lowered my stick. "Your mother didn't either."
"My mother?"
"Alice. She told me she learned to fight after thirty. Because of the guilds. Because of your father."
Fenísia fell silent. Her green eyes shone in the morning light.
"Did she talk about me?" she asked.
"She did." I hesitated. "She said you were stubborn. Like her."
"She is the stubborn one."
"Both of you, then."
Fenísia almost smiled. She picked up the stick again.
"Show me again. The stance."
I showed her.
---
The mission appeared on the third day.
Goran, the man at the guild counter, called us over while we were having breakfast.
"I have a job for you, boy."
"What?"
"A small Torrus‑Endra, half an hour from here. The fishermen say creatures have come out of it. Small things, goblins, maybe. I need you to go inside, kill whatever you find, and bring back a wooden box that should be there."
"What box?"
"I don't know. The guild master knows. But he's sick. He said to send you." Goran scratched his beard. "Payment in advance: half now, half when you return."
"And if I don't return?"
"We don't pay the second half."
I took the coins. Mira, beside me, looked at the door with wide eyes.
"Are we going?" she asked.
"We are."
Fenísia stood up.
"I'm coming with you."
"You don't know how to fight."
"I know how to throw stones. And I know how to close wounds." She showed her dagger. "And I know how to aim for the eye."
I looked at her. Her face serious, her hand steady.
"Come," I said.
---
The Torrus‑Endra was in a clearing, hidden by tall bushes.
The portal was small, smaller than the ones I had seen at the academy. Its edges glowed with a faint bluish light, almost shy.
"This is it," said Fenísia, pointing.
"Stay behind me," I ordered. "Mira, don't wander off. Fenísia, eyes open."
We went in.
The inside smelled of damp earth and moss. The walls were of irregular stone, covered with inscriptions I could not read. The ceiling was low, the walls narrow. The sound of dripping water echoed in the silence.
The goblins appeared quickly.
They were small, thin, with yellow eyes. They came out of a crack in the wall, screaming, armed with sticks and sharp stones.
"Mira," I said, pushing her back. "Stay with Fenísia."
I killed the first with a sword stroke. The second, with another. The third tried to flee. My dagger hit it in the back.
Fenísia, meanwhile, had thrown a stone at the head of one of the goblins. The monster fell, unconscious.
"Good shot," I said.
"I aimed for the eye."
"You missed."
"But it fell."
Mira, pale, looked at the bodies.
"Are they dead?" she asked.
"They are."
"Are we going to leave them here?"
"We are. The dead don't need company."
---
The wooden box was at the back of the dungeon, resting on a stone altar.
It was small, the size of a book. Dark wood, with silver fittings. It had no lock.
"Open it," said Fenísia.
"First, I check for traps." I used Clairvoyance.
The spell hurt my eyes – a pressure behind the orbits, as if someone were squeezing my brain. The image of the altar doubled, tripled. I saw the wood from inside. I saw the veins of the metal. I saw what seemed to be a mechanism... deactivated.
"It's safe," I said, blinking to recover my vision. "You can open it."
Fenísia opened the box. Inside, a blue stone, polished, the size of a walnut. It glowed with an inner light, like the mana of the blue pines.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I don't know. But it's what the master wants."
I put the stone in my pocket. I closed the box.
"Let's go."
---
We left the Torrus‑Endra with the sun already high.
Mira was radiant. She hadn't killed anyone, but she had seen. That was enough.
"Were we brave?" she asked.
"We were."
"Was Fenísia too?"
"Fenísia threw a stone."
"A very big stone."
Fenísia laughed. Her laugh was light, like running water.
"You're strange," she said.
"We've been told that before."
We walked back to the village. The sun shone. The sea shone.
Fenísia walked beside me, Mira ahead, skipping.
"Zirinos," said Fenísia quietly.
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For letting me come. And for not treating me like a useless person."
"You're not useless. You just don't know how to fight."
"The difference is subtle."
"It is."
She looked at me. Her green eyes, large, fixed on mine.
"My mother was right. You are different."
"I'm not. I pretend."
"You pretend well, then."
I did not answer.
Mira, ahead, shouted:
"Zirinos! Look, a blue butterfly!"
"I see it," I replied.
"Is it the same as the one at the academy?"
"Perhaps."
"I like it. I like blue."
Fenísia touched my arm.
"She's yours, isn't she? Not your sister. Not your ward. She's yours."
"She is."
"And her mother?"
"Dead."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. She's in a better place."