“Every moment has its own value, but only a few become the source of a river whose current changes the entire landscape of the future.”

  [ Entrance to the “Ascension” Cafe | Fermecanima ]

  Soon, I stood once again before the very cafe where Lia sat. I had left it only recently, fearing the Arbiter’s manipulations. It must be noted that my apprehensions had not vanished, yet I returned to speak with a specific purpose—though perhaps even this act was part of her plan. If she thinks she can control me, she is deeply mistaken, and that mistake will cost her dearly.

  I opened the door and descended the small staircase; there were enough people here not to attract undue attention. The scent of coffee, pastries, and spices seemed to completely consume the establishment. The clatter of machines grinding beans, the hum of conversations, and even the steady rhythmic clicking of the ether terminal—all created a unique background sound in which everything else seemed to dissolve.

  I approached the table by the window where Lia Alterius sat. She took a small sip of coffee from a paper cup and looked at me. Behind the glass, steam-ether cars rushed past; their dull roar and the hissing of steam created another layer of background noise that, despite the soundproofing, seeped in slightly to mix with the general din of the venue.

  Lia looked… ordinary. Slightly tired, with faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, but beneath this shell hid such a familiar soul…

  “Excuse me, do you need something?” she said in a soft, resonant voice, noticing that I was observing her.

  “Do you mind if I sit?” I answered her question with a question.

  When she looked into my eyes, her brow furrowed slightly. This was not simple curiosity, but rather a desperate attempt to recall something important, something slipping away like a forgotten dream. I watched closely as her eyes shone in the light of the ether lamps, and it was in those blue eyes that I unmistakably recognized that very gaze, that same anomalous spark that pursues me in Illumora. Deep, pure, recognizable at the level of the very structure of existence. The “Itch” flared up not merely as an echo—it pulsed within as a persistent signal, demanding... what? Recognition? Intimacy? It was a signal meaningless and absurd in its very essence…

  “Alright, have a seat,” she said politely. “But I will warn you immediately: if you wish to talk, I do not intend to stay long.”

  I sat on the metal chair opposite her, and she, watching me sit, took another sip of coffee.

  “Your name is Lia Alterius, correct? You are a writer?” I clarified, attempting to start a conversation.

  “A writer…” She smiled. “More of an editor who dabbles in writing. I didn’t even think I was known. I only have a couple of not-very-successful novels about war and space to my name.” She shook her head in disappointment.

  I smiled; she did not yet know the popularity her next novel would enjoy.

  “You know, I was just curious. I saw your photograph somewhere,” I lied, for all information about Lia was hidden by the anomaly of Chaotic Light.

  “Hmm, an interesting theory…” She fell silent for a second. “Perhaps, indeed, a photo remained in the sub-network of the Mech Anima that I failed to delete; I will have to double-check.”

  “Do you want to quit writing?” I asked—a logical question to maintain the conversation, though meaningless to me.

  “Oh, come on,” she waved her hand. “Writing is what makes me alive in this boring world.” She took another sip of coffee. “I just want to publish the next novel anonymously.”

  “Anonymously? And to what end is such secrecy? Do you not desire popularity?” I clarified, guiding her toward the answer I needed.

  She smiled sincerely. “You know, perhaps when I was young, I dreamed of fame… Now, I have a family, children, and I would not want unnecessary attention on my person.”

  Even in this world, Catherine’s Soul had a family and children… A slight itch passed through my structure again. Why should I even care about her personal life? Paradoxical… The situation in Illumora was like an error in the universe.

  “And how are your husband, your children? do they hold the same opinion as you regarding popularity?” I asked, subtly clarifying the question of her family for myself.

  “That is not their concern. With all due respect, my personal life remains precisely that—personal. It is not up for discussion with my husband or children,” she replied, a hint of irritation edging her voice.

  “I apologize for asking,” I replied calmly.

  “It’s fine. By the way, have we not met somewhere before? Could you remind me of your name?” she asked with interest, leaning slightly toward me and studying my eyes.

  “Retor Alnius. I doubt the name means anything to you,” I replied with slight irony in my voice.

  “You are right… But… why do your eyes seem so familiar?” she clarified.

  This question came from the depths of her soul, and for me, it was not at all surprising that she asked it, for the soul never loses the memory of all its lives.

  “No, we have not met; I simply have a rare eye color,” I replied, smiling slightly on purpose.

  She sighed with slight disappointment, as if not fully believing my answer.

  “Perhaps, perhaps…” She sighed again, then fell silent, as if pondering the next question. A few moments later, she spoke: “Would you like to walk with me to my place of work? It is not very far, and I will tell you a little about my latest project.” She looked at me with a questioning gaze.

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  “Very well, I will try to spare a little time,” I replied, watching the steam-ether machines advance one by one outside the cafe window.

  We stood up from the table together and headed for the exit.

  『 ?? 』━━━???━━━『 ? 』

  [ Streets of Entarn | Fermecanima ]

  Our path lay along the chipped granite of the sidewalk, the low hum of the city’s ether network our constant companion. Lia walked slightly ahead, as if showing the way, and I—half a step behind, observing the invisible ether flows connecting the terminals of the “Mech Anima.” Rare pedestrians rushed past us, wrapped in thick clothes, their faces focused and expressionless. The wind carried the metallic taste of ozone and dust from the highway.

  “So, what current project occupies your time?” I inquired, as we left the noisy highway and turned onto a quieter side street.

  “;:;:(%:№;:(!"%):;:(%!%.%:№,” she replied politely, not realizing that her words were distorted by the CL anomaly. “I am working very, very hard on it.”

  “And in what genre is the book written?” I clarified politely, trying to glean at least some information through the impenetrable anomaly of Chaotic Light.

  “Epic fantasy, drama, and a political thriller,” she answered, her voice suddenly animated by inspiration. “Especially successful was );:;:%!%№:"%)№::%%:"!!%%;:;№:!((%)!;%:!%.!(%):%;!№!)(№.” Having finished, she looked at me, as if awaiting my comment.

  “It must have been difficult to invent all that?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  Lia smiled. “To be honest, no; I took most of the book's plot from my dreams. For the last year, they have been so vivid, as if it were not just a dream, but a real world!” she finished enthusiastically.

  I merely nodded, realizing that Chaotic Order, surprisingly, had chosen the most ordinary approach to transmit such information.

  “Amazing. It is quite rare to observe someone dreaming entire fantastic plots,” I remarked ironically.

  Lia laughed. “Of course, you are right! But, you know, it is still so strange to realize.” She fell silent. “Besides, I did not describe everything in this book; some moments seemed too strange to me and, let’s say… let’s say, a little cruel.”

  Acquiring this context was informative, though I calculated the probability of extracting substantial details as extremely low. Nevertheless, the inquiry was statistically justified.

  “And what was so cruel there?” I asked with measured interest in my voice.

  “Perhaps too many things, for example :"(".:%(№;:"():;!":№!%):%):%(()):;)!":,(!!№:;” she stopped. “But, of course, I chose only what would be interesting and would not cause ambiguous reactions.” She sighed. “Perhaps someday I will decide to release an extended version.” She smiled wistfully.

  “I can only wish you luck in your endeavor,” I replied calmly. “I hope everything works out for you.”

  “Do not doubt it, I am quite stubborn,” she smiled.

  We walked a few more streets before stopping at a high brick building with a pointed roof. The publishing house building where Lia worked turned out to be a utilitarian block of dark brick and tarnished copper; wisps of steam escaped from the grates near the roof from time to time. No aesthetics, only function, which served as a perfect reflection of the pragmatic essence of the “Mech Anima” governing this world.

  “It was a pleasure talking with you, Retor,” she said, smiling.

  “It was a pleasure talking with you too,” I nodded to her.

  “Listen, will we be able to see each other again? Just to talk? I will tell you something about the book?” She looked at me with slight hope in her eyes.

  “I am afraid not, Lia. I am leaving,” I replied calmly, allowing myself a small smile.

  She nervously clenched her fingers; her gaze lost focus for a moment, as if she were trying to hold onto something slipping away. In her eyes flashed a shadow of almost childlike offense, an unconscious protest against my departure.

  “That is a pity,” she said in an undertone, as if saying goodbye not to a chance acquaintance, but to something long lost. And in that instant, the “Itch” inside me responded with a dull note—a probable reaction to the very severing of this strange, inexplicable bond.

  She looked at me, then sighed and broke the silence again, taking a half-step forward. “I don’t know, Retor, why you seem familiar to me, but here is the thing…” She stopped. “You know, besides the bad, there was one girl in the book; she was nothing outstanding and did not fit into the main plot at all. At first, I wanted to remove her altogether, but then decided to keep her.”

  “And what was this girl’s name?” I asked knowingly.

  “№!);:;(%;:"!,” she replied, and although the anomaly distorted her voice, I understood who she was talking about.

  It was an unusual decision, as if Catherine’s Soul, even in this shell, instinctively tried to remove the most destructive elements imposed by Chaotic Order. What drives her? Does she genuinely want to protect this story? Or does she know that that girl was her in the future? This selectivity was another anomaly, of which too many had accumulated.

  “She was disabled, wasn’t she?” I clarified.

  Lia shuddered. “How… how do you know that?” she whispered in surprise.

  “Just intuition,” I replied calmly.

  Lia shook her head. “Too many coincidences…” she muttered.

  “Sometimes coincidences only seem like coincidences,” I replied, understanding that it was time to end the conversation. “Good luck with your work, and goodbye, Madam Lia Alterius.”

  “Wait!” she answered. “Maybe stay at least a little longer; we could meet at the ‘Ascension’ cafe, the same place as this morning.”

  “I am afraid that is impossible, Lia. I need to leave,” I replied firmly.

  She lowered her eyes. “Listen, I want to say one more thing…” she said firmly. “The thing is, I have a feeling… as if this story… it is somehow wrong and lives its own life. Sometimes it seems to me that it is dragging me where I am not sure I want to go. That that finale… Is it not what it should actually be? I am constantly haunted by the feeling that perhaps I should not finish this book…”

  Her intuition was worthy of admiration, yet I understood that this accident, caused by CO’s intervention, was her true destiny.

  “Why do you think you should not finish the book? Your work will undoubtedly inspire many people,” I replied calmly.

  “You think so…?” she asked with slight hope.

  “Yes, perhaps I think so,” I took a small pause. “But since these dreams come to you, to ignore them is to go against fate, is it not? Sometimes stories must be told, Lia. Even if we do not fully understand why. Good luck with your creativity; I am sure you will succeed.” I smiled ironically.

  “I understand…” She lowered her eyes, but then raised them again, and in them was a strange, almost desperate persistence. “Goodbye, Retor. But I… I feel that we will see each other again. We will definitely see each other.”

  “Apparently, not in this life,” I remarked ironically.

  She smiled wistfully and nodded, but her gaze lingered on me a moment longer than necessary, as if a part of her soul instinctively resisted this farewell. However, I saw no point in continuing this conversation, deciding to sever this phantom thread, leaving inside myself something lost, wrapped in the form of echoes of the “Itch.” I could change nothing here, for it was her soul that had been the foundation of this plot many, many times. And let the new cycle be no exception, even if it is my words that compel her to finish her work.

  I nodded in farewell, lingering for a second on her shining blue eyes, and without further words walked ahead along the granite-covered street. I came here to break the cycle, but merely forged the next link for her. Chaotic Order will undoubtedly achieve his goal—the book will be written, but let it be written by her in that case—this soul, so desperately seeking order even in dreams imposed by a wretched paradox. Perhaps, precisely in her version of the story, there will remain a key that will allow me to exit this endless and cursed labyrinth. Even if the price of everything is one more turn of her suffering… and my imprisonment…