"A point within a structure may shift gently, or it may shift harshly. At times, the point itself rewrites the structure entirely. This is merely the natural exchange of energy within a given system."
My things were already packed. I simply changed into my traveling clothes and fastened the last strap on my dark tunic. My gaze fell upon the watch still lying on the bedside table. I crossed to the drawer for the gift box. With deliberate care, I placed the watch inside, then returned to my bag and tucked the box into a side pocket. My preparations were finally complete. At that exact moment, Catherine knocked on the door.
"Good morning, Arta," she said in a calm tone. "Mother wanted to host a farewell tea. I declined. I told her you don't care for social gatherings." She fell silent. "But really, I just didn't want to have to explain my position again." Catherine moved closer to me. "By the way, Arta, tell me honestly, did you enjoy your visit?" She tilted her head slightly to the side, as if assessing my reaction.
"You know, Catherine, let's do this: before I answer your question, you answer mine—why do you always assume I am dishonest with you?"
Catherine met my question with a smile that could only be hers.
"Well, it's simple: you yourself said you have things to hide from me. And yes, yes, I remember the reason." She paused. "I just want to hear an honest answer once more, to be sure whether you liked it or not."
"I understand you." I deliberately took a deep breath. "To be honest, I did not enjoy the trip itself."
Hearing this, Catherine froze, as if her worst expectations had come true.
"But… that was not what mattered. The reason for the journey did. And you were the reason" This was a permissible truth that did not reveal the true purpose of my journey to her.
"So you're saying…" She paused again. "So…" She smiled. "So you enjoyed being here with me? Is that right?"
I nodded.
"Yes, I enjoyed being here with you."
She smiled broadly, and her eyes lit up.
"Alright, and what about my parents and my brother? You didn't like them at all?" she asked, less resolutely now.
I sighed again, intentionally, creating the impression that it was difficult for me to speak on this topic.
"Let's start with Heinrich. He is a wonderful older brother, very erudite and intelligent, and I am glad you have reconciled. Perhaps if our communication had been less forced, I could have appreciated him from a different perspective."
"Alright, and Mother, Father?"
"They are very strict and, it would be more accurate to say… they love in a very peculiar way," I finished, hoping my words would not provoke an emotional outburst from her that would undoubtedly affect my structure.
"I see." Catherine nodded calmly. "You know, Arta, I won't even be offended. I have roughly the same opinion myself." She shook her head and almost theatrically rolled her eyes.
I allowed myself to smile at her.
"So, does this mean the holidays are coming to an end and we'll be studying again very soon?" she summarized our entire conversation.
"Uh-huh. Do you miss it already?"
"Honestly? I don't know, Arta. Studying in the same year as Nova and Ren still sounds strange to me." She looked out the window, as if seeking support from the snow-laden trees. "And another thing... Will you come to my room while I pack? I wanted to show you my room; you haven't been there yet."
"Of course, lead the way," I said, and we slowly left my room.
Climbing the stone staircase to the third floor, we opened one of the first doors. This was Catherine's room, and it seemed it still remembered a very different life. Low bookshelves—so as not to have to reach. A folding table with a pull-out section, for reading without getting up. The upholstery on the floor—soft, non-slip, to avoid accidentally losing one's balance.
Catherine saw me glance at the crutches.
"I will throw them out just as I threw out my academic crutches." She took them in her hands and left the room decisively.
I went out with her and simply stood by the door so that a passing servant wouldn't think anything amiss.
Catherine returned ten minutes later with a satisfied smirk.
"That's that," she looked at me, "I've finally gotten rid of them."
"And why did you wait?" I asked her calmly.
"I wanted to show you my old life, but when you looked at them, I couldn't stand it, I'm sorry." She clapped her hands together as if dusting them off, thereby ridding herself of her past. "Next time, I'll have this entire room redone. And just so you know, I'll be asking for your help with the details.» She smiled slyly.
"We will discuss that on our next visit to Liranis. It is too early to talk about it now," I remarked, pointing out to her that her planning was getting too far ahead.
We entered the room again. Catherine went to her travel bag and slowly began to pack her things: traveling books, a couple of thick shirts, spare gloves. The pouch with the hairpin, gifted to her on her birthday, she placed in a side compartment, carefully wrapped in cloth.
All in all, it took her no more than ten minutes. Soon she placed the bag on the floor and bent down to check the clasps. I came closer and helped her fasten a strap that wouldn't tighten because the bag was too full.
Catherine nodded gratefully.
"Thank you. I always have trouble with straps."
When everything was packed, Catherine took two sealed envelopes from her desk drawer. On one, the Meriwald coat of arms. On the other, the Holu coat of arms.
"From Darian. He wrote that he was pleased to meet me and hopes to continue our acquaintance," she said, not looking at the envelope. "And this is from Mother. I think it contains everything she didn't say these past weeks. And everything she said too loudly."
Without opening them, she put both letters in the farthest pocket of her bag.
Unread information represented an unresolved variable—an inefficiency I deemed permissible, given her current state.
"I suppose I'll read them at the academy, or on the road… If there's anything interesting, I'll be sure to tell you."
"That is not at all necessary. You may keep your secrets to yourself," I replied dryly.
"Secrets…" She fell silent. "Alright, I'll think about your words, but I'll draw my own conclusions," she said, smiling.
Then she went to the wardrobe and took out a traveling outfit: a thick, dark-gray tunic, a wide belt with internal fasteners, and a long cape with a high collar.
"One moment, I'll just change," she said calmly and went behind the screen.
Five minutes later, she emerged, ready for the road, fully dressed in her traveling attire.
"Almost like you, right?" she smiled. "Only the color is gray."
"Almost…" I deliberately paused. "Have you decided to rethink something?"
"If you think I'm going to stop wearing beautiful clothes, you are sorely mistaken. However, I do not want anyone to test my strength on the road."
I smiled at her intentionally. She had drawn her conclusions, and that indicated that her structure was developing, her form becoming more autonomous and stable.
She picked up her bag.
"Alright, let's go get your things, and we can leave."
***
Just before leaving, I lingered in the vestibule, as etiquette required. Edward and Celeste appeared on the landing—not to see us off, but to register our departure. Each in their own silence. I bowed to Celeste—briefly, reservedly, without flourish, but deep enough to emphasize that I was observing etiquette.
"Thank you for the reception and the accommodations provided. Everything was arranged with attention and precision. If you are ever in our parts, the House of Nox will be ready to offer you a warm welcome."
Celeste barely nodded. Edward said nothing. Before we headed for the exit, Catherine stopped.
"Thank you," she said to her parents. "For understanding me. I will do my utmost not to disappoint our house."
It was a promise not only to them, but to herself.
"We do not doubt you," Celeste said in a calm voice. "Do what you have decided. And do it well."
Catherine nodded once more, and we headed for the porch. Heinrich was already standing by the carriage. His shoulders were slightly slumped, and in his hand was a simple woolen glove. The other, he was apparently holding in his pocket.
"So you're leaving," he said, looking not at us, but at the far edge of the courtyard.
Catherine came closer and, without words, embraced him. He did not pull away.
"Thank you for being here," she said quietly. "Just for being here."
"Sometimes that is enough," he responded, nodded as if he had decided something for himself, and added, "By the way… Toward summer, I may be passing through Sumerenn. I have business in the southern districts. If I can—I'll stop by the Academy. Not to check up. Just… to know how you are doing."
Catherine looked at him in surprise, with a faint smile. "This will be your first trip in ten years, if I'm not mistaken. Right?"
"Yes," he admitted. "I haven't traveled anywhere for a long time. I just didn't see the point. After everything that happened, it was easier for me to stay here—as if it were the right thing to do. But now… now I truly feel that you do not blame me, and perhaps… it is time for me to change somehow myself."
Heinrich smiled at Catherine, then shifted his gaze to me and said, "Take care of her, Arta. Or… just don't stop her from being herself."
"That is within her power," I replied coldly.
He nodded, looking away again, and took a step back.
Catherine took her suitcase but did not wait for help. She climbed into the carriage easily on her own, then, turning from the doorway, she extended a hand to me. There was no plea in her eyes. Only a calm, warm confidence.
"Sometimes even the strongest need someone to offer a hand," she said with a faint smile. "Shall we?"
I froze for a moment. Then I took her hand and climbed into the carriage. The door closed, cutting us off from the house that had remained a place of the past.
The carriage moved off slowly, leaving the grounds of the Holu estate. Catherine, smiling and looking me in the eye, added, "And yes, Arta, if I suddenly want to eat skewers or anything else that will delay our route, feel free to give me a sharp tap on the head." She smiled modestly.
"Have no doubt, but I think I'll save that weapon for a last resort," I answered calmly and shifted my gaze out the window.
Catherine laughed. We had a long journey ahead of us to the academy. Although we had set out on a new path, this house remained a place of the past—for her and for me. Here, in Liranis, I had seen Catherine not as a carrier of potential, but as a person stepping beyond a given trajectory. She had changed—not through conflict, but through hard-won clarity. I too had changed: I had stopped viewing her as a variable to be contained. The most significant outcome, however, was this: despite my projections of risk, my structure had not collapsed. That, perhaps, was the strangest paradox of these winter holidays.