Chapter 43
Eli
…
"Pff… haha—"
The laugh escaped without permission.
The girl brought a hand to her mouth, trying to contain herself, but the scene before her was too much.
Eilor was still on the floor, his hair somewhat disheveled, his eyes still wide open, a mix of confusion and fright painted on his face.
The contrast was irresistible.
"I'm… I'm sorry," she whispered between giggles, struggling not to let out another laugh. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Her voice was soft, trembling with the laughter she was trying to suppress.
She leaned toward him a little, still careful not to make noise that would wake the others.
The objects began to descend slowly, returning to their places on the table one by one, with a faint, barely audible tinkling.
Eilor, still sitting on the floor, took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together.
The startle was slowly turning into embarrassment, and her suppressed laughter wasn't helping.
He looked at her, unsure whether to be angry or simply accept the ridiculousness of the moment.
"You…?" he started to say, but his own voice came out hoarse, and that only made the girl press her lips together again, holding back laughter.
When she finally managed to calm down, the girl let out a long sigh, wiping the small tears that had gathered on her lashes with the back of her hand.
"Ah… okay, okay," she whispered to herself, trying to regain her composure while a weary smile trembled on her lips.
Before her, the objects still floated, spinning slowly in the air, as if awaiting instructions.
The girl raised both hands and began moving her fingers with calm precision. Each small gesture made the objects obey: the blanket folded itself and returned to its place, the pen spun gently until it rested on the sheet, the inkwell straightened, and the papers aligned with an almost choreographed smoothness.
Eilor watched in silence.
The dim light of the room made the edges of the objects gleam as they gradually descended, each settling right where it should, without a single sound.
When the last paper touched the table, the girl lowered her hands and exhaled again, satisfied.
"That's better," the girl murmured.
The girl took a step back, observing the now orderly table. Then she raised an eyebrow, thoughtful, and with a slight movement of her right hand, she drew a nearby chair toward her.
The chair slid across the floor without a single creak, floating slightly before settling right behind her.
She sat down naturally, as if that kind of thing were the most ordinary in the world.
"Whew…" she murmured, letting out a bit of the air still left from her laughter. "Now, then."
Then, with her other hand, she extended a finger to the side.
Another chair responded to the gesture, moving softly until it placed itself in front of her.
She pushed it lightly with a touch of the same invisible energy, inviting Eilor to sit.
Eilor, still on the floor, followed her with his gaze.
The silence between them was dense, but not uncomfortable; rather, charged with a curious expectation.
The chair stopped right in front of him.
For a moment he hesitated, looking at the wood as if it were a challenge, then the girl arched an eyebrow, amused.
"Come on," she whispered softly, "before you get the idea to knock over another table."
Eilor took a deep breath. The mocking, yet kind, tone pulled him completely out of his previous spiral.
He stood up slowly, still somewhat clumsy, and pulled the chair a little closer, dragging it slightly to reduce the distance between them.
The movement was instinctive, almost as if he wanted to regain a firmer position after the earlier disaster.
But as soon as the chair legs scraped the floor, he remembered how he had ended up on the ground just seconds before.
He stopped, frowned, and with a slight push of his foot, moved the chair a few centimeters away again.
The gesture was small, but it betrayed his discomfort.
He inhaled deeply, trying to relax.
He still felt the heat in his eyes, the held-back tears that had wanted to come out earlier; he disguised them under a more neutral expression.
He forced a smile.
One of those that don't reach the eyes, silent, just a slight stretching of the face.
A smile that pretended to say "it's all good" without uttering a single word.
The girl noticed, though she said nothing.
She just rested her elbows on the table and looked at him with curiosity, her head slightly tilted, as if trying to read between the gestures what he refused to say aloud.
The atmosphere calmed a little, but the tension still floated, soft, latent, between them.
Now they were both seated facing each other, with the table between them.
The silence surrounding them had settled, dense but not hostile.
The girl watched him for a few more seconds, playing distractedly with the tip of a strand of her hair, until she broke the stillness with a low voice, almost amused.
"What were you so focused on that you didn't even notice me behind you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Eilor barely looked up. The question caught him halfway between the embarrassment of the stumble and the confusion that still lingered.
The girl kept speaking before he could respond.
"That's strange coming from you," she added, leaving a brief silence before finishing—"Marked."
She pronounced the nickname with a light intonation, but each syllable fell like an icy drop on the air.
Eilor blinked.
Her smile was small, almost innocent, but her eyes weren't.
She seemed to be measuring his reaction, attentive to every minor gesture on his face.
Eilor raised an eyebrow.
The way she had said "Marked" so naturally struck him; the way she pronounced it, with familiarity.
And it wasn't the first time.
He had already felt it in her tone when she first spoke to him, that slight closeness that didn't quite fit with the interaction of two people who barely knew each other.
Now, however, it was impossible to ignore.
The naturalness with which she named him… the pause afterward.
Something of that must have been reflected on his face, because the girl across from him immediately changed her expression.
Her smile tightened. The right corner of her mouth twisted downward in a slight, almost involuntary grimace, as if she had just realized she had said something she shouldn't have.
She averted her gaze for an instant, clearing her throat softly, trying to regain her composure.
The air between them thickened again, more silent, more measured.
Eilor said nothing, but his eyebrow remained raised and his eyes fixed on her, waiting for an explanation that didn't come.
Eilor cleared his throat softly, trying to clear his throat and, in passing, the knot that had formed in it.
He wasn't entirely sure, but the doubt had been itching for a while.
His voice came out somewhat low, laden with hesitation:
"Eli…?"
The moment he uttered the name, the girl reacted as if the air had been yanked from her.
Her eyes opened wide, bright, and the previous small grimace vanished instantly.
The silence became denser, heavier, barely sustained by the sound of their breathing.
Eilor watched her cautiously, his heart speeding up without knowing why.
She, on the other hand, remained still.
The fingers that had been playing distractedly on the table tensed, gripping the edge of the wood as if she needed something physical to hold onto.
Her gaze met his, fixed, as if evaluating the exact moment he had arrived at that name.
For an instant, neither of them dared to say anything.
"Was it right to say it?"
The question flashed through his head.
Eilor didn't move, but inside, everything was churning. His breathing slowed, forcibly controlled, while his thoughts tumbled over one another.
"If it's her…
If she really is the girl from the memory of when I was a child…"
The memory came like a gust.
"It can't be… can it?"
He swallowed, trying to keep his face neutral.
He hoped—yearned—for some reaction, a word, a sign that would confirm or deny what his mind was beginning to believe.
But she remained motionless.
Neither affirming nor denying. She just looked at him with those wide eyes, as if calculating every possible response before letting it out.
Eilor held her gaze for a few more seconds, his heart racing, unsure whether to speak or wait.
"Hmm… did you really call me that?" she finally said, tilting her head slightly.
Her voice sounded light, almost mocking, but there was a dry edge to her tone, as if the words had passed through a filter of ice before emerging.
"You must have hit your head really hard earlier," she added, accompanying the phrase with a cold, distant smile, more reflex than emotion.
For an instant, that expression froze the air between them.
It wasn't the easy laughter from a few minutes ago, nor the curiosity from before. It was an empty, controlled smile.
Eilor watched her in silence.
Something in that reaction confirmed more for him than any direct answer could have.
Then, her smile changed.
As if realizing how cutting she had sounded, she softened her expression, lowered her gaze a little, and adopted a more neutral, seemingly more understanding expression.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice lower, though the tone remained measured, cautious. "I didn't mean to sound… like that."
The change was so quick that Eilor didn't know whether to believe her or if he had just witnessed someone who, like him, was trying to hide what they truly felt.
For a moment, without understanding why, Eilor looked at her in silence.
The way her expression softened, the dim light falling on her face, the contrast between the coldness of a second ago and this sudden calm… something about it all disarmed him.
"How… pretty," he thought without realizing.
The thought came to him as quickly as the reflex of a blink, without permission, without filter.
And as soon as he had it, he realized what he had just thought.
A slight warmth rose to his face. He coughed, trying to disguise it, lowering his gaze to the table as if the wood grain had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.
She, unaware—or perhaps not entirely—continued to observe him with that neutral expression, her fingers toying with a strand of her hair.
Eilor blinked a couple of times, trying to regain his composure, but the thought remained there, floating in some corner of his head, more persistent than he would have liked to admit.
"—!!"
The thought hit him again a second later, and he almost started.
"Phew… good thing I didn't say it out loud," he repeated mentally, trying to keep his face neutral.
He felt a drop of sweat run down his temple as he did his best not to make eye contact with her.
He disguised it by scratching his cheek, with a clumsy naturalness that only made him seem more uncomfortable.
"Breathe. Normal. Just… act normal," he told himself, forcing a slow exhale.
She, meanwhile, raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden silence.
She looked at him for a couple more seconds, tilting her head slightly, as if trying to decipher what was going through his mind.
Eilor noticed and coughed again, pretending to clear his throat.
"Ahem…" he let out, with a voice louder than necessary. "So… uh… How long have you been awake?"
She closed her eyes, ignoring the question. Then opened them slowly.
"It's been years since you called me that…" Eli interrupted suddenly, her voice much lower, almost a whisper.
Eilor froze.
The air seemed to thicken between them. The way she said it—without hesitation, without stumbling over the words—erased any possibility of confusion.
She lowered her gaze a little, but her eyes didn't lose their firmness.
"So…" she continued, lifting them toward him again, "how much have you remembered?"
The question fell heavily.
There was caution in her voice, but also a slight, contained anxiety, as if she both feared and needed the answer at the same time.
Eilor watched her, his heart skipping a beat.
For a moment, he didn't know whether to respond, but it was too late. Her tone, the exact choice of words… confirmed everything.
Silence returned, dense, while images crowded his mind: the academy and others, the girl from the memory.
"Eli… it was her."
Eilor opened his mouth to respond… but the words didn't come out.
Something in his mind tensed.
The image of the cold smile she had given him earlier flashed through his thoughts, and with it returned that uncomfortable sensation: a silent alert.
He lowered his gaze for an instant.
He could remember if he wanted to… he knew he could force the memories, open that space and let everything flow again. But something was stopping him, an almost instinctive resistance, as if his own body were trying to protect him from something he wasn't ready to face yet.
"Why don't I want to remember the rest?" he thought, frowning. "What is it that I'm missing… or don't want to remember fully?"
He lifted his gaze again, meeting Eli's eyes.
She was still watching him, serene in appearance, but there was something tense in the way her fingers interlaced on the table.
Eilor took a deep breath, feeling the impulse to respond dissolve into a mix of doubt and caution.
"The day my eyes changed color," he said at last, his voice low, almost monotone.
"The presentation at Takran Academy… and the number one, Allion."
His tone was deliberately ambiguous. He wasn't lying, but he wasn't opening any door he didn't want to open either.
Eli watched him in silence, without blinking. The mention of those events seemed to awaken something in her, a slight contraction in her brow, imperceptible but enough for Eilor to notice.
"Wow…" she murmured, narrowing her eyes. "That's quite specific."
He shrugged slightly.
"They're the clearest memories," he replied, avoiding her gaze, pretending to look for something on the table.
For a few seconds, neither spoke.
Eli leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, as if weighing the weight of his words.
"So you haven't reached beyond that yet," she said, more to herself than to him, in a tone that sounded like relief.
Eilor felt a small spark of distrust ignite within him.
"Beyond…" he repeated mentally. "What is beyond that makes her so uncomfortable?"
But he didn't show it.
He just nodded with a slight smile, containing the tension running through his chest.
"Hmm… I see," murmured Eli, leaning back in the chair with her arms crossed.
Her eyes drifted to a point on the ceiling.
"What date was that…?" she wondered aloud, though her tone held more confirmation than doubt.
A second later, she snapped her fingers softly.
"Right… your birthday. September tenth," she said, glancing at him with a faint, nostalgic smile.