Moments before, at the cocktail...

  Following Jormun's instructions, Silas had taken the tonic he had prepared for him. ?I don't feel anything very different, but the taste is sweet and my body feels warm?, he had thought. When Jorge offered him the glass, Silas recognized a familiar taste. ?What could it be...? The anti-ether herbs Jormun gave me to taste!?. Upon drinking, he felt the warmth of the tonic diminish slightly. ?Why is this guy giving me a poison that inhibits ether? I'd better play along?.

  As he headed to the gym, he discreetly channeled a bit of ether to make sure he could still do it. When Joseph appeared, everything clicked.

  ?I'm glad I trained my body so much that my bones are almost like iron?, thought Silas, while the machine tried to crush him.

  After knocking out the boys and warning Joseph, Silas retreated to his room, the adrenaline of the confrontation giving way to heavy exhaustion. As he walked, a plan to put Joseph in his place began to take shape, but a deeper and recurring thought haunted him: ?Why is everyone against me? I am already exhausted from always running, dodging, and suffering. I would just like to rest, maybe even have a little fun...?. That thought was tinged by the cruel scenes witnessed on the streets of Gavriel while they were on their way to the “Golden Scales”.

  Returning to the moment when Silas asked Captain Anselmo for permission to go shopping in the city, Diego asked a guard for the "Golden Scales" shop and both set off. As they walked through the imposing streets of the capital, Silas couldn't help but notice the insistent stares of passersby.

  —Sergeant, do we smell bad or look like criminals? Why is everyone looking at us like that? —he asked, uncomfortable.

  —It's not that, Silas. If you notice, this is much more impressive than Geduld, and the same applies to the people —explained Diego—. Living in the capital is a luxury reserved for devotees of noble birth, plasma molders, or high-ranking builders. Even the legionaries here have noble blood. To them, we, simple provincials, shouldn't be stepping on these streets. To be honest, I prefer Haniel a thousand times over.

  Just as they turned a corner, they came across an image that froze them. Hanging from a post was a lifeless man, shirtless, with a parchment nailed to his forehead with a crude nail. Strangely, the body did not emit a foul odor, but his skin had a purple and greenish hue, as if he had been there for several days. Silas's stomach churned, seeing the corpse he had to suppress the urge to vomit.

  —What crime could he have committed to deserve this? By his build, he doesn't look like a murderer like Garmo. And what is that on his chest? —murmured Silas.

  He forced a pinch of Cognis to sharpen his sight and read the parchment: "CRIME: Conspiracy against the kingdom. Forbidden scholar channeling. Forgery of identity...".

  Upon reading the words "forbidden scholar channeling", a shiver ran through Silas, who stopped channeling Cognis immediately. However, in that brief instant, he managed to see a strange tattoo on the man's chest, one that became invisible as soon as his vision returned to normal.

  —Silas, it's better you learn this sooner or later —said Diego with a tone laden with frustration—. This is what happens to those who go against the system. It doesn't matter if you agree or not, if it seems fair to you or not. That is the law, and it must be respected.

  —Excuse me, Sergeant —said Silas cautiously—. I have heard mention of the "crime of forbidden channeling". Do you know what it refers to?

  Diego shook his head from side to side, doubtful. —It's a murky subject. Officially, it refers to using Cognis to manipulate the minds of others. You know, changing memories, controlling their actions... what mentalists do in stories.

  His tone became somber. —But, between you and me, I have never known if it is real or just a tool of the kingdom to keep Scholars under control. Think about it: if that power exists, Scholars would be the true masters of everything, and that's not how things work.

  Stolen story; please report.

  —I understand. I appreciate the clarification, Sergeant —responded Silas, processing the information.

  His own anomaly was proof that the impossible sometimes happened. ?If I can use Icor and Cognis, such advanced mind manipulation isn't crazy. But who could teach something like that?? he wondered in silence.

  They continued their way in silence until they reached the pharmacy. It was a modest place with a wooden sign that read "Golden Scales". On the door, another sign warned: "CASH ONLY. KNOCK FOR SERVICE".

  Diego knocked. The door opened just a crack, revealing a hand.

  —What do you need? —asked a raspy voice from inside.

  —I want a house elixir with extra ingredients —said Silas.

  —Size.

  —33 milliliters.

  —Recipe.

  Silas passed him the paper. The pharmacist read it in a low voice.

  —That will be one gold coin —he said, extending his hand.

  Silas deposited the coin Jormun had given him.

  —It will be ready in five minutes. —And the door closed quickly.

  In the back room, while they prepared the house potion, a man compared the recipe.

  —The formula matches —he told the apothecary who had served Silas—. It doesn't seem stolen from any member. I will check the coin.

  With a pulse of Mana, he dissolved the gold, revealing a token engraved with a serpent.

  —Yes, it belongs to an Irisoch. Everything is in order —he confirmed with a short laugh—. Besides, one of them would prefer to commit suicide before having their coin stolen.

  His tone became authoritarian. —Send the bill for a general immunity potion to the city of Haniel.

  Exactly five minutes later, it opened again and the same hand handed him a dark bottle.

  —That was quite weird, don't you think? —Silas said to Diego.

  —The truth is, it no longer surprises me that they treat us badly. He didn't even let us in —replied the sergeant—. Anyway, let's go back to the academy.

  While the cadets dispersed through the city shopping, Captain Anselmo decided he needed a break. He headed to the high-ranking sector bar, a refuge of dark wood and dim light.

  —Corporal —he called the bartender, a young legionary with a neat face.

  —Captain, what can I get you? —responded the boy efficiently.

  —What do you have that is good?

  —Jofiel beer and Haniel wine, as always, Captain. In spirits, we have a smoked Uz from the coasts of Uziel. And if you are looking for something with character —he added with a conspiratorial smile—, the Mikailier brandy, the one that hits us legionaries so hard.

  —Give me an ice-cold Jofiel —said Anselmo, cutting off the eloquent sales pitch.

  The bartender served the beer in a crystal glass that emitted faint bluish sparkles. —The latest technology, Captain. Glasses with temperature regulator. Just channel a little Ether and it will cool your drink instantly.

  —Wow, we don't have these in Haniel —murmured Anselmo, genuinely surprised.

  Just then, a voice resonated behind him, laden with an irony he knew too well.

  —They say Haniel wine is quite good, isn't it?

  It wasn't the tone that paralyzed him, but the timbre. One he hadn't heard in over a decade, but his memory refused to forget. "Hello, Anselmo. It's been a long time."

  He turned slowly. Sitting next to him at the bar, as if she had always been there, was her. Elara. She wore the Battle Legion Major uniform with an insolence that the years had not mitigated. Her hair, once black as night, was now streaked with silver at the temples, and a thin scar crossed her right eyebrow. But her gray eyes still held the same storm of steel and defiance that had captivated him and, finally, forced him to leave.

  —Elara —he said, and the name sounded hollow on his lips—. I thought you were on the border with Vilgur.

  She flashed a smile that didn't reach her eyes. —I was on some missions in the lands of the Puelantus. But I'm glad to have returned just in time to deliver my reports.

  —And couldn't you go drink at a regiment bar? Or in Gavriel? Or at the very top of the World Tree, instead of here? —he joked, although the tone was forced.

  —It's not that I'm chasing you, Anselmo —she replied, amused—. It's just that I leave my bottles here so no one dares touch them. And I give the occasional class when I'm in the capital.

  —Look, the unparalleled Elara, lowering herself to give classes. I thought I had seen it all. —Anselmo took a long sip of his beer.

  —I know you are still hurt about that —said Elara, and her voice was tinged with a sadness that contrasted with her Major's uniform—. But many years have passed.

  —Elara, I don't know what it was for you, but for me... it doesn't matter anymore. —Anselmo finished the rest of his beer in a single gulp and stood up to leave.

  —Anselmo, wait. —Her voice stopped him. She turned to the bartender—. Corporal, bring the bottle from my sector.

  Anselmo recognized the bottle instantly. —Jemiel wine?

  —Yes —said Elara, her voice now softer—. I know it's not very expensive, that's why I keep it here. No one wants to drink liturgical wine, but... for me, it is a good wine. They say with the years you can appreciate the true flavor, one you don't notice at the beginning.

  —They also say that, sometimes, wine turns to vinegar with the years —he replied, a mix of anger and melancholy tightening his chest.

  —You are right —conceded Elara—. Look, I give you this bottle. Uncork it in Haniel and check for yourself if it improved or not with time.

  She handed him the bottle. Anselmo received it without saying anything else and left for his room. As he walked, the weight of the glass in his hand was overwhelming. ?Oh, Elara... I wish I could say I had already erased from my memory the taste of the wine where we grew up, but that would be fooling myself?.