Anthesis of Sadness
Chapter 45: The Price of Choice

Chapter 45: The Price of Choice

But before leaving this city for good, we had two things left to do.

The first was simple, almost mundane... but symbolic.

We headed toward the clothing shop. The same as last time.

Upon entering, the receptionist recognized us instantly. No words were needed. She gestured, and just like during our previous visit, we were led into two separate rooms.

This time, however, a kimono was already waiting for me.

I approached the neatly folded outfit on the black wooden stand. My hand brushed the fabric.

The material was silky, almost liquid under my fingers. It slid across the skin with unreal lightness, but beneath that softness, I felt the magical resilience of Silvarachne thread. This was a fabric made to endure. To withstand. To survive.

I took off my clothes and slipped into the kimono.

The fabric closed around me with an almost supernatural precision, molding to my movements without restricting them. Entirely black, woven with a discreet pattern of sinuous silver lines, like winds frozen in cloth. The seams were invisible. The inner pockets perfectly fitted. And the sleeves, wide and mobile, gave each of my gestures a strange fluidity... almost ceremonial.

In front of me, a large mirror of polished bronze.

I saw myself.

No longer a boy with full pockets and tired eyes.

But a man. A predator.

Ready to shed his skin.

I exited the room, and as I stepped out, I saw her.

Lysara.

She wore a kimono nearly identical to mine, fitted to her slender frame, her straight shoulders, and her ever-composed posture. The same deep black, the same silver pattern, the same subtle gleam in the light. On her, however, it looked more... natural, as if she’d always worn it, as if the fabric had been woven around her at birth.

She looked at me. Wordlessly.

But I thought I saw something flicker in her eyes. Not emotion. A validation. A silent connection.

We were matched.

And soon, we would be ready.

Leaving the shop, my steps changed.

They became quicker. Firmer.

My mind, too, settled into another tone. No more shopping, no more smiles, no more sweetness. The calm before the storm was coming to an end.

We walked to the central plaza, nearly empty at this hour. The wind blew between the black stone arches, lifting swirls of dust. The air seemed charged with something... a foreboding.

I stopped. And turned to her.

— It’s time, Lysara.

She didn’t answer.

Not even a nod.

I lowered my eyes slightly, gathering my thoughts, my courage. Then I continued.

— I can leave you here.

I said it calmly. Slowly.

— I could give you all the coins we received. With that... you could live comfortably for years.

She finally moved. Shook her head, abruptly, to say no. Quicker, more forceful than usual.

But I went on. It was important. I had to say it.

— You could have... a normal life. Full of good memories.

I paused.

— A real life. Maybe a family, when you’re older. Friends. Things to build. Not this chaos... not this war.

My eyes landed on her. She didn’t move anymore. Her body, still motionless... but her eyes. Her eyes had changed.

Her fingers trembled slightly. An invisible tension made her shoulders vibrate. Like a thread about to snap... or slice.

For the first time, something burned in them.

And just as I thought silence would settle again, she lifted her head slightly, clenched her fists...

And spoke.

— NO.

Her voice rang out like a naked blade in the cold air. Sharp. Cutting.

— I want to stay with you.

Her tone was neither shaky nor hesitant. It was full. Laden. Overflowing.

She stepped toward me, eyes lifted, shining.

— I want to go with you!

Her voice trembled only slightly. Just enough to feel the weight behind the words. Words she’d kept in for too long.

I stood there, frozen.

Breath short.

Struck. Pierced.

I had nothing to say. Not yet. My heart was beating too fast, my thoughts had come to a halt.

And suddenly, she was no longer the quiet little creature I had torn from a noble’s chains.

She was Lysara. The heir to my darkness.

And she had just told me she would stay in it. Until the end.

I stared at her a moment longer.

— Are you sure?

My voice had grown deeper.

— Because from now on... no more hot meals, no comfy beds, no sweets from the market. It’ll be training. Fighting. And worse.

I expected silence.

But she clenched her fists, her jaw tightened. Her eyes gleamed with fierce determination.

— Yes. I’m sure!

Not a shout. Not a complaint. Just certainty.

And at that moment... I could say no more. I couldn’t deny her that right.

She knew.

I had told her everything: my plans, my goals, what I intended to face, what we’d have to become to survive it.

She knew where we were going.

So I nodded slowly.

— Alright.

I turned slightly, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. The sky was gray, heavy, and at the edge of this city... loomed the black shadows of the Zagnaroth mountains.

I pointed toward them.

— See those mountains, over there?

She followed my gesture.

— Go there. Now.

She looked at me, confused at first. Then I slowly turned my head toward her, a nearly cruel smile tugging at my lips.

— And know one thing, Lysara.

The wind rose.

— I’ll hunt you. Like a predator.

— I’ll strike from your shadow, without warning.

— And if you survive... you’ll be ready.

A long silence followed.

She didn’t answer.

But I saw a new glint in her eyes. Not fear. Not hesitation.

A spark of acceptance.

Of challenge.

The silence between us tightened, drawn like a bowstring.

She looked at me, upright, proud, unflinching.

So I stepped back.

Then again.

And with a dry, cutting voice, without a hint of hesitation, I said:

— Then run, Lysara.

She stood frozen for half a second.

— Run! I shouted louder, the tone hard, relentless.

She turned in an instant, her kimono billowing in the wind, and without asking a single question more, she took off.

Her steps echoed on the stones, fast, powerful. Her hammer clinked softly on her back, but she didn’t slow down. She ran straight for the mountains. Toward solitude. Toward hardship. Toward trial.

I stood there, arms crossed, heart pounding in my chest.

I knew this moment would be hard.

But I also knew one thing: if she reached the summit... she would come back changed.

And me?

I would follow her.

Lurking in her shadow.

Training had begun.

And this world... wasn’t ready for what we were about to become.

In that arid region, a girl around ten years old was running along a path of crumbling stone.

The wind blew hard, carrying burning dust and the distant rumble of volcanic depths.

She didn’t slow down.

Her face, usually expressionless, bore the marks of fatigue, dust, and battle. Her legs were covered in small cuts, her arms blackened with ash, and yet, she moved forward. Always.

I needed to bleed, too. To remind my body what absolute alertness felt like. That raw sensation, where every cell screams, where a single misstep means the end. The place where thought stops. And only the inner monster decides.

It had been three days since she began moving at a steady pace, sleeping only a few hours, curled under rocks, eyes half-open, hammer within reach.

Three days of fighting Gorvaks, wild creatures, fast, with rough hides and curved fangs. She hunted them, eliminated them...

And ate them.

She fed on them without hesitation, slicing the meat carefully, roasting it over makeshift campfires. It wasn’t good, or tender, but it was enough to last.

She was no longer a child.

She was becoming a survivor.

A quiet, methodical beast, adapting to hostility without asking questions.

But she still hadn’t drunk a single drop of water.

Not one.

Her lips were dry, cracked. Her breath sometimes shaky. And still, she didn’t stop. Not even to look for a spring. As if she had decided that need... no longer mattered.

Maybe she didn’t want to waste time.

Or maybe she was waiting for him to return.

From there, somewhere in the shadows.

For him to strike, as he had said.

And she wanted to be ready.

Even thirsty.

Even exhausted.

She was resolute.

Good, I thought, watching from the shadows a few meters away.

She definitely had a better mindset than I did.

Three days without water, moving, fighting, surviving... and still standing.

Still ready.

So I appeared. Without a word. Without warning.

And I attacked.

My fingers shot toward her eyes, direct, fast — a brutal feint, meant to disorient her.

But she instinctively dodged, stepping back half a pace, her body sliding sideways, fluid despite the fatigue. She was on guard. Even after all that.

I didn’t smile, but inside, I was satisfied.

Of course, I hadn’t moved at full speed. Not yet. I didn’t want to crush her, just test her.

But she had reacted. And that was all that mattered.

I had no time to think further.

She attacked.

Without warning, she leapt forward, her hammer spinning through the air, arms extended, stretched, twisted like ribbons of living shadow.

She struck with all her strength, aiming for my side in a silent scream.

But where I should have been... there was nothing.

My shadow, my body... gone.

She blinked, surprised.

Too late.

I had activated my stealth skill.

And in a breath, I reappeared behind her.

Silent. Precise.

In one fluid motion, I swept my leg in a clean, implacable arc.

Her body spun mid-air from the blow, thrown aside, then crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust.

She lay there, panting.

Her arms trembled slightly. Her gaze fixed on the sky.

But she didn’t cry.

She endured.

She learned.

To not yield to pain.

To understand that the real danger... is the one you don’t see coming.

I leaned down, without mockery, and pulled a canteen from my satchel.

Cool. Heavy. Filled before the departure.

— Here. Water.

I held the canteen out to her, and added in a neutral tone:

— Drink. I won’t give you more.

I lied. Of course.

But she didn’t try to guess.

She clutched the canteen with trembling fingers, and was already drinking, gulp after gulp, without stopping.

She drank nearly the entire two liters, as if every drop was a victory over death.

I stood there, silent, watching her.

She had endured. Three days without water. Fights. Blows. Training. And she was still there.

On the ground, yes. But present.

And somewhere, in her ragged breath... I felt strength being born.

I took the canteen from her hands.She hadn’t said a word.And neither had I.

Then, without a sound, I vanished again.

Melted into shadow.Invisible.Implacable.

And training had only just begun.

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