“Dreams are but a soft illusion, a trap of the consciousness to view the familiar world from another angle. However, that angle can be entirely different depending on the observer.”

  [ 11th Astrarium 1748 | Eltar | 02:22 | Dormitory Room 231 ]

  My consciousness had long since unmoored itself from its organic avatar, before whose eyes only meaningless dreams now drifted. To concentrate on them was pointless; I was occupied with a multitude of other affairs in other worlds.

  However, the tranquility of my sleep was not merely disturbed; it was shattered by the sudden appearance of one I might have expected, though not now, not like this. A cloying scent of vanilla, tropical fruits, and incense struck first, followed by the sensation of her touch on my shoulder.

  I opened my eyes. She was leaning over me, her pink strands of hair cascading onto my face, her eyes glowing with a white light that was blinding after the darkness of sleep. Her hood was down, and her hair, along with her silk cloak, shimmered with a radiance that had no visible source, save perhaps for her eyes.

  Catherine, it seemed, was completely oblivious to her presence, continuing to breathe softly in her bed. Perhaps that was for the best, for her not to witness all this with her own eyes…

  “Oh, my little ice cube! You’re awake. Sorry to wake you!” she chirped, her voice laced with a magical cadence.

  Realizing my disadvantage, the optimal recourse was to simulate the response of a startled, uncomprehending girl, calculating this might lead to her withdrawal without extreme measures.

  “Laza…ria?…” I whispered, imitating not fear, but a sleepy voice, as would be natural for someone just awakened.

  “Don’t be frightened, little thing. I only came to talk. To figure you out, you might say!” she laughed. Her voice possessed an unnatural resonance within my perception.

  I turned my head toward Catherine, confirming her lack of reaction. She remained oblivious. This was no dream state; Lazaria was actively violating local causality, ensuring only my auditory senses registered her voice.

  “Your little friend Catherine… It’s doubtful she’ll wake. She’s having such interesting and thrilling dreams that I wouldn’t wake her even if you begged me ever so sweetly!” she laughed, a sound of almost genuine amusement. “Only you can hear me.” She moved closer, the tip of her nose touching mine.

  “I didn’t think the goddess of fertility was capable of such magic…” I whispered, continuing to play her game, pretending I didn’t understand what was happening or what she wanted.

  “Oh! Don’t you talk!” She smiled menacingly. “The goddess of fertility is magnificent in all things.” She pulled away with an unnatural quickness and began to twirl around the room, her cloak billowing in nonexistent gusts of wind. Then she stopped abruptly and, in a half-leap, approached the head of the bed and looked down at me again, as if trying to read my very essence. “As the goddess of fertility, I declare myself above the logic of any rules!” She laughed like a hysterical child.

  “Let’s assume so… But why have you come to me in the middle of the night?” I whispered, not wanting to wake Catherine.

  “What was it, what was it I wanted!” She theatrically scratched the back of her head, then jumped up, clapping her hands twice. “Ah, yes!” She came closer and, sitting on the edge of my bed, tilted her head slightly and, looking into my eyes, added, “I just came to talk!”

  I didn’t have time to ask my question. With incredible speed, she placed her hand on my solar plexus, over the thin fabric of my nightshirt. Her actions were not aggressive, but in every gesture, I understood that she considered me her personal plaything and was ready to break any rules. The warmth of her hand was unnaturally hot and cold at the same time, and from it emanated a faint chaotic energy that distorted perception. This energy penetrated through the fabric, causing chills, fever, and a racing heart—it was a complete loss of control over the body’s biochemical reactions. All that was left for me was to block my mind from the corrupting influence of this energy. The muscular tension grew stronger, and my breathing became ragged, as if I were a lamb looking into the eyes of a predator about to pounce. But I could not back down; my task was to maintain the role of a girl whose mind was weakened by magical influence.

  “Laza…ria…” I whispered in an intentionally breathless voice. “What… what is happening to me…?” I asked, playing along with her meaningless game.

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  Seeing my reaction, Lazaria smiled broadly and reduced the flow of chaotic magic entering my body.

  “Arta-dear, this is my energy. Isn’t it magnificent?!” Her fingers pressed lightly. “I could make you truly tremble. Show you how your perfect ice melts… But as I said, I just came to talk.” She smiled again.

  “Truly tremble…?” I asked, pretending not to understand.

  She smiled again, and her eyes shone brighter.

  “A tremor is what pierces everyone. A tremor is a beautiful melody of soul and body… A symphony of pleasure. Mortals are ready to destroy worlds for one such moment. It is a spark of pure feeling, a moment when the soul forgets about rules, about consequences, about itself… for the sake of a single desire.” She leaned over me. “But I did not come for that, not yet… Let’s just talk, cutie.” I felt the warmth of her breath on the skin of my face.

  Her terms were dubious, I could not refuse them; providing ambiguous data was necessary to avoid confirming her suspicions and compromising the mission.

  “Alright…” I had to pause, so she would perceive it as my analysis. “I will try to answer your questions, Lazaria,” I whispered.

  Lazaria removed her hand from my solar plexus, but immediately her fingers closed around my wrist. The movement was too fast to be considered natural.

  “Good girl, little Arta! What an obedient little girl you are!!!” Her gaze slowly roamed over my face, neck, and shoulders with frank appraisal. “And now listen to me carefully.” Her voice became slightly sinister. “Do you like women, Arta?”

  Her question was simple and, at first glance, had no specific reason. She had never been interested in such things, especially as spoken by her victims. She always takes what she wants, without considering what remains of those who have drowned in desire and love for her. However, this question was more subtle. She wanted to know about Ren and Nova and had likely interpreted my conversation with Nova on the embankment as an attempt to start a relationship with her. It was obvious that if I answered incorrectly, the consequences could be unpredictable, so I had to play along with her, habitually predicting her illogical actions.

  “Um… That’s a difficult question…” I paused. “More no than yes,” I answered carefully, understanding that a direct refusal of this topic might be perceived by her more aggressively than I needed. A direct “no” would have provoked her into proving me wrong—perhaps more crudely and directly. A direct “yes” would have handed her a false key to my motives, making her believe that my actions toward Nova were dictated by attraction, not calculation, which would most likely trigger in her a desire to protect the main pair of the Illumora anomaly. “More no than yes” was a gray zone, a fog of ambiguity designed to confuse even her, forcing her to assume and interpret. It was the only correct tactic in a game against her.

  “Hmm, so you haven’t decided for yourself yet, I see,” she said, slightly thoughtful, as if trying to analyze something within herself, which was rare for her essence. “Perhaps that explains a lot,” she sighed and turned her head, looking at Catherine, who continued to sleep peacefully.

  Her reflections did not last long. When she finished, she turned sharply to me and placed her hand on my forehead. Her touch was cool, contrasting with the sensations I had felt earlier.

  “You know, Arta…” she whispered in a gentle, almost loving voice. “Ren and Nova are my favorite girls, and I want them to be happy, you know!”

  “And am I interfering with their happiness?” I clarified, so as not to seem too silent.

  “Well, how can I put it, my icy-doll? You have a very ambiguous effect on Nova.” Her gaze flashed again in the darkness. “She looks at you as if… she sees a source of strength in you.” The corners of her lips turned down. “However, I find it amusing to watch how two icicles like you interact with each other.” She smiled sharply. “Perhaps I am worrying for nothing. After all, Nova is Nova,” she laughed playfully.

  Lazaria turned her head sharply again and once more looked at Catherine.

  “Your roommate is so amazing. She has so many delicious emotions, you can’t even imagine… Her dreams are so sweet, so…” She sighed. “Alright, I didn’t come because of her, Arta, but because of you. So…” she smiled again. “Don’t hurt little Ren, alright? Otherwise, I’m afraid our friendship won’t go very far.” She paused ominously, and a tragic expression appeared on her face.

  “I don’t get along with her very well,” I whispered, trying to look as natural as possible for such a scene.

  “I know, Arta, I know. But that doesn’t mean you can just hurt her like that,” she looked at me threateningly, and then suddenly smiled tenderly. “But I won’t be too angry with you. You haven’t opened up to your feelings yourself yet. Just don’t hurt her, okay?” She removed her hand and took my wrist again. Her grip was firm and painful. “Promise me.”

  “Alright, I will try…” I replied, understanding that it was inappropriate to bargain in such a situation.

  “Excellent, dear! Trying is the first key to understanding each other! You are so sweet!” she laughed, and chaotic sparks of light showered from her in all directions. She released my hand.

  I just remained silent, cautiously waiting to see what she would do next.

  She leaned very close, her breath smelling of mint and honey.

  “And since you are so obedient, perhaps… someday I will show you what true rapture is. But for now, I have too many things to do…” She smiled slyly. “I promise, our next meetings will be no less memorable than this one… my little one…” She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, after which she disappeared in a stream of sparks, leaving behind an engraving in the center of a heart on the floor: “Artalis.”

  I stared at this sign for a long time, contemplating how risky my actions had been all this time. She had not just warned me. She had marked her rights, her interests, and her presence. This visit was not just a test—it was the first move in a game whose rules she had just established. And now I had to calculate a counter-move, taking into account new, far more dangerous variables. Only with the first rays of the sun did the inscription disappear, and my mind continued to calculate the possible consequences of this meeting for a long time.