Leaving the market, Licerio decided to stop wandering and head home. His gaze was fixed on the road ahead, but his mind was elsewhere. His eyelids were heavy, and sporadically his gaze would drift to the ground—and he would catch himself and refocus on his steps, only to drift again moments later.
After a while, his patience gave out, still unable to work out how the vendor had known he was a noble, and it irritated him further to remember the condescending attitude the man had adopted.
How did that vendor know I was a noble? I was wearing clothes bought from one of the servants—nothing expensive… He glanced sideways at López. Was it López? His appearance? Licerio studied him carefully and dismissed it inwardly. No—López always reminds me more of a criminal from the films, especially with those sharp eyes and his hair always pushed back.
After trying and failing to land on an answer that satisfied him, Licerio slowed his pace and tilted his head slightly toward López.
"López, how did that vendor know I was a noble? Was that your fault?"
"Why would it be my fault, my lord? It was you who quoted the price in silver moons. That way of saying it is only used by nobles and scholars. Everyone else always calls them clears."
"Is that so? Why did they give them a different name?"
"It's just simpler that way—no other reason. People noticed the crescent moon engraved on one side of the coin, and the new name caught on quickly."
Licerio stopped dead, caught off guard by the small detail that had blown his cover. That vendor recognized something so minor… He must have had a great deal of contact with nobles. He didn't give that impression from the way he spoke, Licerio thought, resuming his pace, and let out a tired sigh. Even with commoners, I have to watch what I say.
In the evening, Licerio was turning the crackling pages of a book stained by decades of age, occasionally licking the tip of his finger before turning each page. It was the beginning of autumn; most of the windows in the office stood open. One stood out for remaining closed, breaking the pleasant harmony of warm air and the sounds of the world outside—the one closest to Licerio.
He had fought the world to leave it open and always lost. Every time he tried to feel the world through that window and sat down, it was only a matter of moments before an angry gust swept in without mercy. It sent his papers scattering to the floor and struck the back of his neck with a chill. Defeated, he would give in to his fate—collect the spilled papers, close the window, and bide his time until the next attempt, like a man hunting a rabbit.
After sending Lecaro off for the rest of the day, Licerio stood from his desk and went to a corner of the room. There stood a large bookshelf his father had never paid much attention to, with only a dozen or so books on it.
For now, this was where the old books taken from the ruins were being kept. Licerio had been thinking of asking Telón whether he could help decipher them—or, better yet, at least teach Marlleo to read them.
He was now weighing two of them: one had a richly detailed cover with much gold work and many illustrations inside; the other had a plainer cover, but its pages were filled with notes and annotations left by its original owner.
If he had to choose one immediately, it would be the second—if it had notes, the content must have been important enough to warrant them. But the other one looked quite interesting too, and that was judging it only by the illustrations. After much consideration, he picked the second.
He left his office with the book in hand and made his way to a room set apart from the rest of the manor. For Marlleo's training and new daily routine, he had been given a room well away from the common areas—a place where he could have long stretches of quiet without anyone disturbing him.
In the room, Licerio had taken a seat in a chair while Marlleo finished his work with Telón. This was an image that always left Licerio slightly puzzled: Marlleo, eyes closed, standing with a branch in his hands and talking to himself.
Anyone who saw it would think he had gone completely and irreparably mad. Licerio had asked him whether he needed to speak aloud to communicate with Telón, but Marlleo had said no—he simply found it more comfortable to speak out loud than internally; having two voices inside his head unsettled him.
Licerio watched Marlleo carefully, not missing any of his movements, curious about Telón's teachings. Marlleo took the branch in one hand, closed his eyes, and focused on every sensation it gave him—its shape, texture, size, and even its smell.
Keeping his eyes closed, he drew a long breath and furrowed his brow deeply, concentrating, and squeezed the branch firmly. As he let the breath out, he slowly loosened his grip and let the branch rest open in his palm.
He went completely still—not even breathing—and from Licerio's perspective, the tip of the branch began to shrink. He rubbed his eyes and nearly leapt out of his chair in excitement, barely catching himself.
The branch appeared to be shrinking from one end, gradually and without hurry. A second later, the shrinking tip trembled and returned to its original appearance.
Marlleo opened his eyes and breathed. He looked at the branch in his hand and smiled—better than last time. He celebrated his progress with quiet enthusiasm, whistling and speaking with Telón about the improvement.
"Look — I can already conceal the tip of the branch a little."
In his mind, Telón's voice resonated: "You have not yet reached a fundamental level. You have only concealed its appearance—its physical form and existence are still fully visible to me."
"Progress is progress. You don't have to be like that," Marlleo laughed, setting the branch down on a nearby table.
He was mentally tired and wanted to rest. He had not quite finished turning around when his body went still and his pupils widened, fixed on Licerio.
"When did you arrive?" he whispered, startled. "When did you arrive, my lord?"
"Not long ago. You were concentrating on the branch."
Marlleo paused, looking at Licerio—while inwardly it was a different matter entirely. That was you, wasn't it, Telón? You hid his entrance, he said internally, reproachful.
Telón's voice sounded in his mind: Does it matter whether I did?
Marlleo had no answer to that. How was he supposed to respond to something like that? He sighed inwardly and brought his attention back to Licerio. He stepped forward and knelt before him.
"Welcome to my modest room, my lord. Forgive me for not greeting you when you entered and for making you wait."
"It's nothing, Marlleo—get up and sit down. I enjoyed watching your training. You've come a long way in these past few days."
"Thank you, my lord. All of it is thanks to having a great teacher."
Marlleo sat, and the two of them talked for quite a while—touching on recent political developments and the ongoing friction with the guilds, while Marlleo shared how his training had been going over the past days.
After a while the words faded, and both men sat looking at each other in silence. Licerio took the book he had brought, set it on the table, and waited.
Marlleo looked at the book, then raised his eyes to Licerio. He drew a breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, one had lost its pupil.
"What do you want?" Telón said, picking up the book. "Are you looking for a bedtime story?"
Though it was Marlleo's body, the voice coming from it was entirely different. The first time Telón had spoken, he had used Marlleo's own voice. Now he had a voice of his own—aged, firm, and resonant.
"These books were found in the ruins where you were resting. I would like you to teach Marlleo the old language—or at the very least, tell us something about what they contain."
"Your manner hasn't changed," he exhaled sharply. "I'll teach him the language. He should learn it anyway if he ever wants to study without my help."
"Thank you for helping him."
The pupil returned to Marlleo's eye, and a moment later he smiled.
"He's quite cold—don't take it personally."
"Mm. I'll leave you this book. You'll need to read through it and write up a summary of its contents on a scroll."
Licerio left Marlleo's room shortly after and made his way to his own.
He had little energy left that day and wanted to sleep while the sun was still in the sky. He cleaned his teeth with a small twig from a particular tree, changed his clothes, and settled into his most comfortable nightclothes. Likewise, he carefully plumped his pillow, wary of not finding a good position, and lay down.
In the middle of the relentless chorus of insects outside, Licerio snapped awake, his body shooting upright. He breathed in ragged bursts, gripping the blanket tightly around him, trying to quiet the chaos inside.
His back was soaked in sweat, his vision glazed, and his body trembling as he worked to bring his breathing under control. He could not clearly remember what had woken him during his sleep—only that he'd had a nightmare.