thief of fate-Chapter 42: Two Confessions in the Light

Inside the grand training hall. Every corner of the hall was filled with the sounds of strikes, cries of effort, the rapid stomping of feet, and the clash of wooden and metal weapons.

But amidst this clamor... there was a different kind of sound.

Valerian stood alone in one of the corners, surrounded by two walls of massive mirrors. His body was stiff, muscles tense, and his gaze fixed on his reflection. His eyes monitored every movement, every slight tremble in the shoulder or minor tilt in the foot. In front of him was a dagger specifically designed for training, light but sturdy enough to simulate reality.

He took a deep breath, then...

"Phantom Stab, attempt number nineteen," he muttered softly.

He stepped forward, his body bending smoothly, his legs gliding across the polished floor without a sound, and his arm moving in precise synchronization. In a split second, his body seemed to blur, as if the images in the mirror overlapped and that was the moment... the stab.

But it wasn’t complete.

"Again," he muttered as he exhaled angrily.

A faint blue notification appeared before him:

[You’re still too slow. No one survives on graceful moves alone.]

He pressed his lips bitterly, and a quiet inner voice growled:

"Shut up..."

But he didn’t stop training.

He began again, this time faster, his movement carrying something of a suppressed anger. The mirrors reflected dozens of versions of him, all moving in harmony, but every time he completed the stab, he saw a tiny mistake through the reflections: a shoulder’s tilt, a slight twist in the foot, a tremble in the wrist. Every detail meant failure.

He gasped in frustration and raised his fist to shatter the mirror, but stopped at the last moment.

He knew he would need it.

He quickly turned, assuming the starting stance again, and repeated the motion without pause—once, twice, three times, ten, fifteen. Sweat soaked his body, his clothes clung to his skin, his breath came in gasps, but his eyes didn’t lose their focused gleam.

In the far corner, behind the pillars, stood Evelyn.

She kept watching silently, without making a sound, as if afraid to ruin the moment. She saw his reflection in the mirrors and his movements that looked like a dance.

She felt something throb in her chest.

She tried to deny it, tried to blame the heat of the hall, but that didn’t explain the trembling of her fingers or the way she clutched the edge of her cloak.

"Why does he look like he’s in... pain?" she whispered to herself.

Inside, Valerian didn’t feel comfort. He felt the weight.

Every move brought back the memory of the entity. Every stab felt like a scream against the system that burdened him with its messages and insinuations.

[Are you trying to kill me with these stabs, or yourself?]

He suddenly shouted, but his cry wasn’t loud. It was like an exhale, mixed with anger and disappointment.

Then... silence.

And with a strange calm, he sheathed his dagger and stood upright, facing himself in the mirror.

Phantom Stab...

He closed his eyes. Breathed slowly. He felt his body again its weight, its balance, his feet.

Then he moved.

Everything in the next moment seemed unreal. His body flowed like water, his reflections overlapping like blurred images, then he stabbed forward.

The air tore.

The faint sound of his motion echoed through the hall, and his reflection in the mirrors showed only a glimpse of his body, as if he had never been there.

Then he stood still.

He smiled faintly, but it wasn’t a smile of satisfaction. It was a sarcastic smile.

From afar, Evelyn placed her hand on her chest, where she felt danger and awe at once. That move had been... beautiful.

She stepped closer... then again.

But Valerian noticed her. He didn’t turn, but he spoke:

"Were you watching?"

She stopped. Hesitated. But she replied, "Yes."

"Why?"

"I wanted to... see how you train. I didn’t mean to intrude."

He was silent for a moment.

"It’s fine."

Then he turned toward her. His eyes were tired, but steady. "Did you see something?"

She hesitated, then said, "Yes. I saw your anger... and I saw the beauty in the stab."

He laughed bitterly. "Beauty? I don’t see it anymore. I only see it as a knife in my back."

"Because you carry it alone."

He stared at her. Her gaze didn’t flinch.

"No one can carry this stab with me, Evelyn."

"Maybe, but... at least don’t carry hatred for yourself while you do it."

He almost replied, but went silent. He looked at the mirror again and saw something new: no one.

"I’ll repeat it," he said suddenly.

"Now?!"

"Yes."

He returned to the starting stance. This time, Evelyn saw him up close. Every detail, every muscle tension, every subtle balance.

And he... stabbed.

Silently.

Smoothly.

He smiled faintly. "Getting closer. I’ll reach it. Whether you like it, entity, or not."

And he started again.

Silence could’ve remained long, heavy, like dust never brushed away. But Evelyn broke it with a soft voice, as if afraid to disturb his shadow.

"Follow me."

It wasn’t a command, nor even a clear request it was merely a whisper that slipped from her lips, but it was enough.

Valerian looked toward her, his eyebrows slightly raised with suspicion, but he didn’t resist. He grabbed his dagger and placed it in its leather sheath, and followed her.

He walked behind her between the pillars, passing through side corridors rarely approached by anyone, until they reached a small wooden door at the end of an old hallway. Evelyn opened the door and motioned for him to enter.

The room was quiet, without mirrors, without weapons, just a small window where warm light passed through, a soft rug, and two simple wooden chairs.

"Is this your place?" Valerian asked, his hand still tense on his dagger as if his heart hadn’t arrived yet.

"My temporary refuge," she replied softly, then sat down.

He hesitated, then sat across from her. He felt something strange... light. As if the pressure on his chest had eased a bit. But he also felt an unease he couldn’t explain. Maybe because she saw his anger. Maybe because he wasn’t good at this kind of talk.

"I was thinking..." Evelyn began, looking at the window, "about my mother."

He raised his eyebrow slightly.

She continued in a soft voice: "And your mother."

He looked at her, slowly. "You know her?"

"My mother’s sister... they were both priestesses in a temple far from the kingdom. They worshiped an entity I don’t dare name out loud even now. Not because I fear it... but because I don’t understand it."

She fell silent for a bit, then placed her hand on her chest, as if recalling distant memories.

"They inherited special eyes. The legend says whoever has them walks where others cannot see... My mother used to say that every person has a single ending."

Her gaze grew sharper.

"And I... inherited those eyes. The ones that see that end."

She went silent, as if waiting for him to mock, to doubt, to say something. But he remained still.

"I’m afraid to look at my reflection sometimes. Because I don’t just see myself... I see what will happen. Death, betrayal, departure. I see people as they leave... and I know I can’t stop anything."

Her fingers trembled, so she clenched her cloak tighter.

"But you..." she whispered, as if speaking to herself, "you have no end. Every time I look at you, I see a new ending. One that ends in pain, another in greatness, and a third... doesn’t end at all."

Valerian didn’t respond. He just looked at her.

She was closer.

"Does... that comfort you?" he finally asked.

She shook her head slowly. "No. It terrifies me."

Then, as if that honesty had drained her, she leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, and a soft silence spread through the room. A different silence. It wasn’t emptiness, but comfort. Something indescribable.

As for Valerian... he sat looking at her, then at the light seeping through the window, and that small room that felt like a world secluded from everything.

And he whispered to himself:

How would the original Valerian have lived?

Would he have carried the dagger like him? Would he have survived? Would he have felt this weight on his chest? Or would he have lived a simple life?

He closed his eyes.

And for the first time, he felt he needed to tell the truth.

Then he said quietly, without opening his eyes:

"I’m not the real Valerian."

She opened her eyes. She wasn’t surprised. She didn’t ask how.

She just whispered:

"And I’m not the only future."

Valerian looked at the ground for a moment.

Then he said, in a quiet voice full of something long buried:

"I’m no longer the same Valerian who once lived."

He paused a moment, then continued with a heavier tone:

"That boy... was afraid of everything. Of failure, of others’ stares, even of himself. I used to run away, hide behind excuses, and pretend I was thinking deeply while I was just avoiding everything."

He clenched his fist, his eyes gaining a rare sharpness:

"I hated my weakness. I hated that I was content with watching, with silence, with running. I remember sleepless nights, hearing my inner voice screaming: Why are you like this? Why don’t you do something?"

He exhaled slowly, as if the words had been heavy on his chest:

"And so, I started killing that Valerian... stab by stab. Until nothing of him remained but the name."

He looked toward Evelyn, his voice softer now, but still clear:

"I don’t know exactly who I’ve become, but I know who I don’t want to return to."

She was silent for a moment, thoughtful, then smiled gently, a step closer bringing them even nearer.

"That’s why... I want you to come here with me sometimes."

He was slightly surprised, raising his eyebrows in silent question, but she continued:

"To this place. The same one we came to now. Just you and me. No training, no daggers, no reflections. Just... conversation."

"Why?"

"Because I feel at ease with you, even when you say nothing. And because... I want to see you as you are."

He looked at her for a long time, hesitated as if words betrayed him, but he didn’t refuse.

"Will you come?"

He smiled, gently this time, without sarcasm.

"Maybe."

She laughed softly, but in her heart, that answer felt like a promise.

In the dark corner of his heart, Valerian silently wondered:

"How would the original Valerian have lived... if nothing had been stolen from him? If he hadn’t come to this world? Would he have found someone who comforted him this easily? Or would he have been lost?"

But he didn’t seek the answer.

Because in that moment, between Evelyn’s gaze and the stillness of the place, he didn’t feel the need to.