It was bad. Awful. Absolutely. Sefi didn’t know what to do. One thing was clear – she had to run. But where? Not forward. She wanted to fly with magic, but there was no mana, no strength either. A little longer and she would simply fall and never get up. She needed a cave, any shelter, somewhere safe. Anywhere... anywhere at all...
— I hate Miss Serie... Serie I hate. — She spat on the ground. A special kind of rage boiled toward that elfess, one Sefi had never felt before. When had it started? During the fight – no. There had been no hatred then. Let Serie have trampled all her attempts into the mud, but true malice had not appeared. It flared up later, when Serie revealed her power. Her mana: magnificent, pure, majestic. — She laughed when I said I felt spite... She said I’m like all demons. — Thoughts, like a cracked mirror, began to reflect strange fragments of awareness.
Does that mean demons hate it when someone hides their power? Why? The reason was unknown, but she would learn it. Definitely. And then she would crush... this... fury.
— I can’t. I can’t. — No matter how she tried to think, her mind was clogged with anger. She wanted to kill Serie for that. Torture her. Slowly... — Such a nature of demons is truly terrifying... — she whispered, feeling the rage eat away the remnants of control. — I can’t even pull myself together...
And so it was. She breathed too quickly. Yes, she had gone through a fight where her life was at stake, but there was no fear of death. No apathy, no horror. Instead, feelings intertwined with malice. Endless, warming malice.
Despite everything, the woman walked. She somehow shuffled across the ground. Her legs burned. Her eyelids fought to close. Her body trembled as if it had malfunctioned. She felt awful. But the spite gave her strength. Rage dulled the pain. Anger helped her take one more step. That’s... not bad? If it gives strength, then... it’s not bad, right? Isn’t it, just... just...
Had she begun to accept her demonic nature?
— Why do I feel all this?.. — It was torture. Serie, though she had not killed her, had left her a poisoned gift, tormenting thoughts. — Because of you... because of you... I’ll kill. I’ll kill. I hate you...
For someone who had never experienced such a barrage of emotions, this surge was unbearable. The more she resisted, the deeper she sank. It became hard to maintain stability. Consciousness cracked like thin ice under the weight of footsteps. Thoughts fed the next ones, dragging her into a whirlpool of hatred.
— I need to rest... — Around her was utter darkness. She kept going. The trees let through rare slivers of moonlight. It wasn’t enough, but at least something. Better than total blindness. Sleeping on the ground was not an option: there was no mana to scare off beasts, and no strength to fight back. Climb a tree? She lacked the agility and endurance. A few failed attempts ended in falls. She couldn’t even get up a meter.
A pitiful sight. All because of Serie.
— Don’t think that way... — But even that thought sounded unconvincing.
She walked. She wanted to pray. But pride wouldn’t allow it. Or was it not pride? Maybe the remnants of reason? In her previous life she didn’t believe in gods. And now – should she? Illogical. Why believe? In whom? Or Serie – by strength she might as well be a god... a fallen... god of sins... pathetic.
Sefi stumbled, hitting the trunk of a tree that looked like an oak, though she didn’t know tree species. She leaned against it, sliding down. Her heart pounded somewhere deep in her chest, throbbing with spite and exhaustion.
An interesting thought came to mind: had Serie planned her death? Not a quick one, but a torturous one. Where she would fight for life, then finally die from the claws of some forest monstrosity? Not grant a merciful death. Mean. Vile. Typical of her spirit.
Unworthy of being called a mage. Even of being a creature. By existing she desecrated the very essence of magic. How did those believers say it?
— Heretic... yes... — There – the right word. Serie – a heretic. Nothing more, nothing less. Let her be strong, almost like a god, but disgusting in her application of power. Power should be proud. Wear it. Not hide it like some weakness. Why does she do that? What does she gain?
Sefi didn’t know. She knew nothing. She wanted only one thing: to survive. And to take revenge. Only that, hah… would kill her. That’s normal, right? Such a creature as Serie should not live. She’s just an insult to all magic. Right?
— This is abnormal, — at last the voice of reason began to prevail. Such thoughts were absurd. She, of course, had killed animals, but to go this far... — This is not me. It’s simply not me.
Attempts to steady herself with breathing did not help, nor did verbal self-reflection. Perhaps she simply needed to sleep. But then a reasonable question arose: where?
Ground – no. Tree – no. Physically unable to climb up. And the ground… the reason was clear. Maybe a cave? But that still had to be found. Or dig a pit? Uh, no. Impossible. Okay, nothing. She had to move on.
— I can’t... get up. — She had foolishly chosen to rest like this – there was no strength to stand. Her legs quivered like leaves. And how to rise now? Several attempts ended with her collapsing hard onto the ground. The result only got worse. — What am I to do...
At this rate... she’ll... die... here... it’s scary...
— I’m afraid... why... I’m... — Her eyes slowly closed. No! She mustn’t... otherwise... she would die. Here... she mustn’t. She didn’t want to die. Not at all. Mustn’t sleep. Mustn’t close her eyes. Mustn’t... sleep... bad... scary...
***
A miracle happened – she was alive. Morning had come. How wonderful it was — to see the rays of the sun... and to be... alive. It was so great.
Through the night she hadn’t been able to move. Her eyes never closed – she didn’t sleep. She was afraid. But she was alive. That was the main thing. And now...
— Mana... there’s a little. It has recovered. — Her strength had also returned, now at least she could stand without trembling. Not her maximum, but something. She wanted to sleep and eat. Sleep pulled at her, so to perk herself up, she slapped her face and exhaled sharply; it seemed to help. Sefi began searching the bushes and trees for edible berries or anything else. It reminded her of the first days in this forest... — Returned to the beginnings.
So she went forward – not fast, but enough to gather edible berries and restore herself. She avoided animals – any of them. She had no strength to even defend herself. She could not afford to be noticed. So she walked on, trying to find something or get somewhere...
And night came again. This time she spent it in a tree, somehow making herself comfortable. She secured herself with clothes and belts so as not to fall... held a stick, sturdy.
She slept. It was uncomfortable, but still – she didn’t complain
***
The second day was no better. Yesterday’s order of actions remained. She walked away from the forest. Because here... this damned Serie. The beast. Ugh, rather, Miss Serie. Whatever the case – she had to leave. That’s why she didn’t settle down here. Even if she had wanted to... Serie – is Serie. Better to go far. Away from here.
— At my pace... I think I can restore my mana to an acceptable level in a couple of days. Then I’ll be able to use flight, that’ll make the journey easier. — She thought as she ate berries. There was no water. Searches for sources gave no results, so she decided simply to keep walking and hope for rain. Today it should fall, judging by the clouds in the sky. — I need to prepare containers to collect water... From what?
After all, young trees had bark that was elastic and retained moisture. She could hunt monsters, like before, and use their stomachs, after cleaning them, to make flasks. But there was no time for that. Besides, she wasn’t sure she could handle them in her current state. Though, aside from bark, she could also use stones. The main thing was to make holes in them... but... still...
— A tree... I can... — That was an idea. A big and excellent one. Mana costs – low, very low. Well, maybe it would take a bit longer to recover than just a couple of days... but... — Manipulating form will allow me to create flasks of acceptable quality. And leather... leather...
Well, she had a leather cloak. She could use parts of it to line the inside of the flask, first cleansing the leather of harmful bacteria and such. This – was the idea! Perfect. Ideal in her case.
She touched a fairly large branch of a tree, cut it with “Wind Cutter,” set it on the ground and began to pour mana into it. Filling the branch, she focused on changing its shape. At first she didn’t need a flask, but a flat board. The distortion of shape began slowly – the round branch opened up like a carpet: from a spiral form into a flat surface.
Then she cut a piece of the cloak, applied the spell “Purification” to it, and laid it on the board, pouring mana into it. The board and leather fused — not into one form, but like a hard glue, holding the material. After that she transformed the plane into a spherical form with a neck. Not the best look, but it would hold more liquid.
To collect rainwater, she found a large stone, poured mana into it and, as with the tree, changed its shape. This time, into the form of a deep bowl, like a barrel. A stone barrel for collecting water. She could change form, but not compress material too much. Perhaps within permissible limits the density increased – the strength grew. But extremes would lead to the object exploding from internal pressure. So simply making the inner space vanish was an impossible action.
Still, this was not a minus, but rather a plus. Not a barrel, but a mini-jacuzzi turned out.
— I wonder when the rain will come... — And as soon as she said it, rain began. At first light, but judging by the wind – soon a downpour. The demoness quickly ran to shelter, two large trees with sturdy branches and plenty of leaves. There she built a small camp. A mini-tent, laying out sticks. One between the trees, to lay others over it – it made a roof. A temporary measure, but it didn’t look bad... Well, it was awful, if not for the circumstances she would never live there.
There was no source of heat, but her clothes were warm and not too soaked. That should be enough. Hopefully.
As expected, the rain grew stronger. The wind rose, carrying small things from the ground: stones, branches, small plants. Sefi’s camp survived the first test – it didn’t collapse, didn’t get blown away. Surprising that such strong wind could happen in a forest... though here it was a bit open, for the barrels to fill. Likely that was the only reason.
— Somehow unpleasant... — She had been driven from her home. From her own, which she had built for so long. Not that she couldn’t build another... Just the fact itself was unpleasant. Bitter. She had lived in warmth, and now in a wooden hut... not even a hut, since it didn’t even have a door, more like... a canopy. Only a roof, nothing more. No food either. And water – only now beginning to collect it. None of her former belongings: her works with bones, trees and stones she had planned to sell. No manuscripts on languages. No grimoire. No monocle. Nothing but the clothes on her back and her life.
— I’ll have to start everything over... Only first I’ll get water and leave this forest...
She wanted to cry, but couldn’t
***
Two weeks had passed. She had left that old backwater… her backwater, yeah. Basically, she ran away from that forest and was now heading toward a new place of dwelling. Getting out of the forest took four days, and the journey here… well, it wasn’t just walking. Running, flying, resting, and so on. Altogether, the travel to this place had taken eleven days. There had been plenty along the way: rivers, hills, endless plains. Strangely enough, she hadn’t come across a single person yet – which was surprising. After all, in the Middle Ages, lands near water were, let’s say, a priority. And there were paths, which meant someone was alive. But where were they? Hm… odd. Unclear. Not that it mattered. She just needed to find some place closer to the rivers and hidden away. Hm… maybe…
— A forest. Again. — Yes, this was a dense thicket. Vast, and completely different from the one Sefi had been in before. The trees stood closer together, stronger. Probably. Still, the place wasn’t bad. Indeed, in the forest there was everything: berries, animals, materials, and just a few kilometers away – a river. If the forest grew so lushly, then the soil must be fertile. Water came first. Dig a well, and it’s in the bag. — As long as… Miss Serie doesn’t find this place.
During all this time she had managed to deal with her anger, but confidence hadn’t grown. More and more thoughts about Serie drove her down the path of blame and rage, so the fury hadn’t faded. Well, it had become more… normal. Or rather, controllable? Possibly. Not that it mattered.
— So then… the house should be in the forest. — She had decided not to live nearby, but inside as before. With her previous experience, building a house wouldn’t take long. Nor would getting food. Along the way, she had killed animals and gathered some supplies, but that was not a full stockpile – just enough for a day. — I’ll get started immediately.
The enthusiasm was there. Quite a lot of it. But the moment she walked into the forest with vigor – it faded. What the hell? Why? Was she carrying some sort of negative energy that made the places around her fall silent? Or what? She needed to dig deeper into this matter. And go into the forest. If she didn’t find a clearing – she’d cut down some trees and settle right there. Perfect plan.
Searching the ground gave no success, so, using flight magic, she took off and began to look around. Magic drained a lot of mana, but it was useful. And so… hm, in the nearby area there wasn’t any flat land – she’d need to go deeper and spread out there. Well, she could always make a treehouse. No one was stopping her. The main thing was to find a large and sturdy tree.
The wind blew, slowly teasing her hair and her already tattered cloak. Dressed as before, in warm clothes, she wasn’t sweating – no problem with that. She simply didn’t want to feel cold, it was disgusting. Her clothes were made of wool, leather, and fur. A hooded jacket, something like a thick sweater inside, under that a shirt and a bra. Insulated pants, fur-lined inside and out, made of a single dense fabric protecting against itching. Long socks and boots. The colors were mostly dark and brown – that was fine. She didn’t know how to dye, and hadn’t found the right pigments.
Well, soot gave her black, bones gave her white – if she worked hard enough and grunted at it. But nothing else. She wanted green. There was so much greenery around! But she didn’t understand how to extract it. A simple attempt: take leaves, soak them in water, crush them… but they quickly lost color in the sun. She had no idea how to make it last. And blue? Well… impossible. Yellow? A dream. Red… she had tried berries, but the result was faded. Just awful. So she didn’t bother with dyeing.
There was another reason. Why bother? She wasn’t going to some kind of festival. No reason. And with magic she could… but why? She was a miser. She admitted it. She used to value beauty; now efficiency was above all. And she hated cold completely. So her clothes were dense, stuffed with wool and fur. They restricted movement a little, but that wasn’t a problem. The issue was that they absorbed water far too well, so rain wasn’t always nice. However, that battered cloak kept her well-sheltered from moisture. She had soaked it in fat several times, smeared it with resin, and even smoked it. Now water just rolled right off – neat, wasn’t it?
Anyway, it was time to go back down to the ground; she had just found a refuge. Rocks, a relatively even surface. A good spot.
***
Three hours had passed. Magic really was a good helper – it allowed her to build without much trouble. Altering the shape of matter did its job, and preparing the planks took at most a few hours and that was only if she produced them in large batches, stacks of thirty at a time. Bricks were replaced with stone blocks, which she either pulled out of the earth itself – literally reshaping the landscape – or took from what already existed, making them denser, but not excessively. The foundation was ready – solid and reliable and all of this hadn’t even taken a full day! Materials for further construction were ready too. At this rate, she’d finish the building and reach her goal in a week.
— Cleanse.— Her clothes and body cleared of dirt, and she leaned against a tree, exhausted, breathing heavily. Perhaps she had managed to achieve this because her mana reserves had been full. Throughout the entire construction she’d used up about thirty percent of her mana – a vast amount, considering that her maximum spread across a radius of thirty meters. Which meant a sixty-meter diameter! Enormous numbers. Her pride. She needed to calculate her growth and compare it to Serie’s.
— Alright. — She picked up a stick and began writing on the ground.
So, the diameter is sixty. Radius – thirty. That’s… thirty times bigger than the initial one. So the growth… linear? No, not linear. Way too fast.
Initially the diameter had been two meters – so the radius was one. Now thirty. In three years. That means… thirty divided by one – thirty. Growth by a factor of thirty. Logical.
A linear model would’ve given… one radius per year? No, that would’ve been only four. Doesn’t fit… she made a mistake somewhere, the math… hmm… how to calculate it?
Exponential growth
If she had calculated and compared it right… then… damn… that wasn’t exactly the result she’d expected. One year = 3.1.
The growth coefficient was 3.1. Meaning… the radius increased threefold each year. Almost. A bit higher. She had expected something else, like fivefold, or even… six. It had been tough, and yet only three-point-something?
Verification. First year: 1 × 3.1 = 3.1, second year: 3.1 × 3.1, about 9.61, third year: 9.61 × 3.1, nearly 29.8… yes, nearly thirty. Correct. Huh.
In six years it would be about eight hundred ninety. Almost a kilometer. Threefold every year – that’s insane! Well, in the future, that’s not bad at all. From that eight hundred ninety, it would become two thousand seven hundred! And if so, then in three years she’d surpass Serie! Ha-ha-ha! Oh yes!
Alright, fine, she had to tone down the excitement… but still… the joy! The thrill… ahem, alright, quiet now.
The main drain on mana hadn’t only been shaping matter. She had also used wind magic to create perfect splinter-free planks – the sawdust went into kindling. She’d used herbs, dried with fire. How they hadn’t burned was unclear, but she managed. From the fibers of those herbs she made ropes – not simply woven, but magically bound. She also crafted furniture: a chair and a stool, a bed (still without a mattress), a fireplace, and a wardrobe.
A significant portion of mana went into enchanting new tools and creating new items. She got metal as she’d planned: poured mana into the ground and by changes in density located ore deposits, pulling them to the surface. Fire magic, a mold for casting, rough grinding with stone, sanding with shavings mixed with tiny chips and grains of sand – it all worked. She made an axe – or rather, the axe head. At the moment it was the most useful tool: for chopping wood, hammering wedges, doubling as a weapon if needed, and for butchering carcasses. She also made a knife for precise meat cutting. Both items she additionally enchanted for greater durability.
— I’m amazing. — she said, looking up at the sky. It was already getting dark, but most of the work was done. That was pleasant. Refreshing.
And then she heard a rustle. A branch snapped.
Normally that could’ve been a coincidence, but… she was on edge. Paranoid. Not weak-willed, but far too distrustful.
— Who’s there? — She stood up sharply and materialized a sword of mana in her hand. Silence. She moved toward the source of the sound. Slowly, very slowly, checking every surface: the ground, trees, bushes. Nobody. Maybe it really was a coincidence? One branch falling on another… — Probably imagined it.
And then she looked up… and saw someone
— Who the hell are you?
It was a girl. A little girl in a white dress, barefoot, with light hair, long ears, and green eyes. Expressionless face. Her hand was stretched forward… wait, what?
— An elf?
— Faya. — Fire flared from her hand and shot at her. A spiral – not the simplest of spells. Probably. Shaped spells weren’t easy for Sefi, since they required time. And besides, a fire spiral? That was something new. How did that even work?
— What the hell?! — shouted Sefi, surrounding herself with a sphere of water. The merging of two elements created steam – so powerful that the sound rang in her ears. Especially standing right inside the cloud. Her demon ears buzzed with noise, like someone had smacked them.
— Erde Kugel. — The opponent defended against the steam with a deep sphere of compacted earth, nearly stone. The steam flowed smoothly around it, giving reliable defense with minimal mana cost.
She had to change position. The initial one had been good – the first strike might have killed her if the demon hadn’t looked up in time. But now her enemy knew where she was. Shifting location increased her odds of victory… or escape. The second option was preferable, considering the demon’s strength. The key was to maintain attack frequency. Apparently the demon was strong, but her attacks were slow.
— I WANT TO TALK! — shouted Sefi. The little girl didn’t stop – on the contrary, she intensified her assault. The demoness had to defend, spending mana liberally to conjure metal barriers. — "I just said that automatically in my own language… I need another one… what was it again?.."
There it was – not a physical barrier, but a linguistic one. A language barrier, so to speak. The accent was heavy, the tongue not easy. She raised her hands and backed away, waving them, trying to show she didn’t want to attack. The girl stopped. She stared, unblinking.
— Itch mashte dich riden! — Sefi cried, but there was no response. Only her tongue twisted awkwardly, making her feel foolish. — She’s an elf… Of course she won’t understand human tongue… Then, in Elvish… Ani! I ni Pe-ded!
— The demon uses words to deceive, — thought the girl, — but… perhaps I can talk, learn more, and stall for time.
She stopped as well
— What do you want, demon?
— Ah?.. — The words spilled out fast, sounding like a jumble: «ane,» «ae,» «ie.» Impossible to grasp. Sefi didn’t understand them… far too… strange. Honestly, it was embarrassing.
— Pe-ded Lo! — That meant "speak slowly." The elf frowned, but repeated the same words, now broken down by syllables.
Only then did Sefi understand what she had said
— This will be a tough conversation… — With a sigh, Sefi stepped back, still holding her hands up, and began to think. Serie had taught her some of this – Elvish – but since she’d never really asked for it, well… her knowledge here was limited.
***
After three long hours, evening came. Now they were closer to each other, sitting by the fire, listening to the crackling of wood and having a slow, unhurried conversation. The elf girl was clearly dissatisfied with such a pace, but she didn’t rush the demon, who barely managed to pronounce the words and asked her to repeat the phrases. Sefi had almost no food, so she offered dried meat, which the elf chewed, sometimes distracted by the conversation.
From this productive exchange, they got to know each other quite well. The elf’s name was Frieren. She was four hundred years old… yeah… can you believe it? Four hundred. At first, Sefi didn’t believe it, because such a number of years sounded like a ridiculous joke. But Frieren said it absolutely seriously. And when she found out that Sefi was only 35… or maybe 38, maybe 39, considering her life in this world… she was a little taken aback. It turned out that demons at such an age are still babies. Or… maybe not. She had never met such demons at all, hadn’t seen her own kind… like Frieren. However, the elf herself also didn’t immediately believe in Sefi’s age. She had to prove it. In the end, Sefi even heard a compliment: if she was only 38, then in the future she would gain more strength. That opened a new thought – Sefi was long-lived. Very long-lived. Frieren mentioned that somewhere there was a demon king who was more than a thousand years old. She didn’t know the exact number, but… thousands of years?
Damn… unbelievable
Of course, after such information, Sefi’s jaw dropped. She automatically examined her body, searching for signs of… I don’t know… turtle genes? Where’s the shell? Or a whale, maybe gills, but do whales even have gills? Why does she live so long at all? Frieren laughed, seeing her shock, but the conversation continued.
It turned out that the cause of their confrontation was Sefi’s disturbing mana. Upon learning this, Sefi reduced its amount. Not like before, when she shoved it all into herself, but only a part. It turned out that worked too… and how had she not figured it out before? Of course, the help came from Serie… well… Miss Serie. She said it would be easier this way to hide the mana, and also feel better. Whatever. Anyway, Frieren had come here secretly, observed the source of the disturbance, and found it. And then – the branch, the fall, the clash…
By the way, not far away there was a village of elves. That was better. Then they talked about magic, life, and one important thing.
About language training. As usual, Sefi offered to pay with food, shelter, and comfort as she had done with Serie, but Frieren refused. She said she would get her own food and didn’t need a servant, the scoundrel. She needed something else. Then Sefi said:
— Ge-lui hon le ku-ru vain. — It meant: "I will teach you a new magic." Frieren agreed, but demanded an example. Sefi showed everything: creating things from mana, manipulating matter, offensive magic, defense, even blood magic, making herself blush, sending blood to her head. There were consequences, but never mind. The main thing was that Frieren refused everything… except one. When Sefi showed the magic of «Purification,» the elf nodded with interest.
They discussed training times, lecture topics, and more. Then Frieren left. Classes would begin tomorrow morning.
— So… quite the introduction. Though… it’s unnerving that she’s an elf… but I think she’s good. — Then, after a brief pause, Sefi added: — Although… if you think about it… how old is Miss Serie?
If Frieren, looking so young, was 400… then how old could Serie be? Eight hundred? A thousand? More? She looked even younger than Frieren. Absurd. But also terrifying… because if in four hundred years you can accumulate such magic and knowledge, then what could a being accumulate in a thousand? In two?
With that age comes not just power… but experience, an understanding of things you shouldn’t know. And thus the ability to hide it behind a smile or silence. You could see something horrifying and not flinch. Kill not with emotion, but by habit. Thousands of years…
— Come to think of it… Miss Serie understood my words. And taught me everything.
The problem wasn’t that, but that she didn’t know the language
Yes, there was her choker, which automatically translated her words. But it only translated her words. Serie’s words came from another language. And technically Sefi wasn’t supposed to understand them at all… well maybe her artifact was that good, but… but… and she sometimes took off the choker. Slept without it. Trained. Which meant…
— …Serie knew my language.
That thought struck like lightning
She spoke to her in her native language. With correct grammar. With an accent. With examples that only someone from Earth would understand. That couldn’t be an accident. Serie wasn’t supposed to know English. Not French, not German, not a single language from Earth. This was another world. Completely different.
But she knew. She understood. She used it.
That meant she had studied Sefi’s language. How? When? Why? That meant she observed. Watched. And hid it. This couldn’t be coincidence. It was… intentional… wasn’t it.
— …She’s a monster. — Sefi whispered quietly, staring into the fire.
In thousands of years, you can learn everything: magic, sciences, the psyche of other races, their behavior, their reaction to pain, to fear. In thousands of years, you can become not a teacher… but a jailer, with a gentle smile… a monster…
And if she understood Sefi’s language so easily – then how deeply had she understood Sefi herself?
Sefi felt a chill run down her spine. Not from the wind. From the thought. Scary… terrifying… who was she really? Who was this Miss Serie?
***
Sleep wouldn’t come
Sefi lay wrapped in a warm cloak, settled not far from the cooling fire. The embers still smoldered, casting reddish reflections on her face. She tried not to think. Just drift away, shut off, but thoughts, like splinters, dug into her skull, giving no rest.
Thousands of years
Thousands
She could understand how someone could live to a hundred, two hundred, maybe even five hundred. But thousands? In that time, empires collapse, continents burn out, races vanish. Everything changes, except you. And if you survived – that means you adapted. Stopped feeling. Or started playing. A living, thinking being couldn’t possibly last so long.
But what if Serie was exactly that? Smiling, watching, encouraging… and all of it… part of the act? Her voice was even perfect: confident, calm, unhurried, warm, almost motherly. Such a voice… impossible not to listen to. It carves itself into memory.
But if you think about it… it was too perfect
Sefi suddenly turned to her side
Shut her eyes
Why did she even teach me?
A question that once seemed silly now sounded different. One could say: “out of pity,” “out of interest,” “for usefulness”… but none of that explained her silence. Why not say that she understood the language? Why pretend everything had to be explained from scratch, if… everything was already clear?
She played along
She studied
She waited
Sefi clenched the cloak in her hands, pressing it to herself tighter. Scared… her heart was beating too fast… cold… why… why was it so… she was warm. Fire, clothes, blanket… why was she cold?
If she had been an ordinary student, she would have been taught. If she had been a pet – she would have been cared for. But she didn’t feel like either. Not anymore… rather… she was a specimen, a test subject more precisely…
Serie looked right through her. As if she didn’t see the body, didn’t hear the voice, but analyzed something deeper: the flow of mana, the structure of magic, habits… personality. As if she dug, rummaged inside her – invisibly, from within. And maybe, all this time, it wasn’t Sefi who studied magic or the culture of the world, but Serie who studied Sefi.
And no one would stop her. Who could? Who would dare?
She was a god
— I… — she whispered barely audibly, — I’m afraid… I should have run away from her… when she came… run away…