ENG-Leriana-What Must Be Known

CHAPTER 32 "What Must Be Known" Forau rises from the table with a slow, controlled movement. He shows no obvious pain, but his body still bears the strain of the battle. He briefly rests a hand on the back of the chair before fully straightening, breathing calmly. “I’m going to lie down for a while,” he says in a quiet voice. Anastasia nods without arguing. “Do so.” Her tone is firm but gentle—the tone of someone who has already made a decision. Forau casts a brief glance toward Leriana. It is neither long nor conspicuous, just a silent gesture of gratitude before he turns and walks toward the hallway that leads to the rooms. His footsteps fade little by little. The house falls silent again. A different silence. More intimate. Anastasia calmly picks up her cup and places it in the sink before turning toward Leriana, who remains seated at the table with her hands resting on the wood. The healer watches her for a few seconds. Not harshly. Not reproachfully. Attentively. “Come with me,” she finally says. Her voice is calm. Natural. Leriana stands without protest and follows her to the small room where Anastasia usually prepares ointments and reviews her notes. The place is orderly, filled with labeled jars and dried plants that give off a soft, familiar aroma. Anastasia stops beside the worktable and takes a blank sheet of parchment. She carefully unfolds it. “I haven’t written the letter to your grandfather yet,” she says while smoothing the paper with the palm of her hand. Leriana remains silent. Listening. “But I will have to,” Anastasia continues. “It would not be right to hide what happened from him.” The sentence does not sound like a threat. It sounds like responsibility. Leriana lowers her gaze slightly. “I understand.” Her voice is soft. Sincere. Anastasia lifts her eyes and looks at her calmly. “Your grandfather trusted me when he sent you here.” A brief pause. “And I trust him as well.” Silence settles for a few seconds. Then the healer adds: “That’s why I want to choose carefully what to tell him.” Leriana frowns slightly. Not out of disagreement. Out of reflection. “What do you plan to tell him?” Anastasia places both hands on the table and breathes slowly before answering. “That the village suffered an incident involving a dangerous creature.” Another pause. “That you took part in its defense.” And finally: “That you acted responsibly.” The words fall clearly. Without exaggeration. Without drama. Leriana blinks, surprised. “Responsibly?” Anastasia nods. “Yes.” Her gaze is firm. Serene. “You did not act out of recklessness. You acted to protect.” Silence fills the room again. But now it carries a different weight. More personal. Anastasia watches her for a few more seconds before continuing. “I will also tell him something else.” Leriana lifts her gaze. Attentive. “That your endurance in battle was extraordinary.” The word hangs in the air. Extraordinary. Leriana remains still. Confused. “I only did what I had to,” she replies in a low voice. Anastasia gently shakes her head. “No.” Her tone is calm. But firm. “What you did is not usual.” A pause. “You fought against a dangerous creature.” Another. “You used offensive magic.” Another. “And afterward, you healed serious wounds.” The healer keeps her gaze fixed on her. “And still, you walked back as if nothing had happened.” The silence that follows is deep. Not uncomfortable. Reflective. Leriana lowers her gaze to her own hands, as if trying to understand something she had always taken for granted. “I’ve always been able to do it,” she murmurs. Anastasia nods slowly. “I know.” Her expression softens. More maternal. “But that does not mean it is common.” The healer steps closer. She does not invade her space. She simply shortens the distance. “You have more magical energy than you think.” The sentence does not sound alarming. It sounds observant. Professional. “And more endurance as well.” Another pause. “That is an advantage.” Her eyes grow slightly more serious. “But it is also a responsibility.” Leriana lifts her gaze. Now she listens more carefully. Not as a student. As someone beginning to understand her own weight. Anastasia takes the parchment again and holds it in her hands. “Your grandfather must know that you are well.” A brief pause. “And that you are growing.” Her lips curve slightly into a gentle smile. “But he does not need to worry unnecessarily.” The atmosphere grows warmer. Closer. More human. Leriana takes a deep breath. “Do you think he will be angry?” The question comes out softly. Almost childlike. Anastasia lets out a small exhale that closely resembles a tired smile. “Probably.” A brief pause. Then she adds calmly: “But he will also be proud.” Silence settles once more in the room. Quiet. Steady. Anastasia places the parchment back on the table. “When I finish writing the letter,” she says calmly, “I want you to read it.” Leriana blinks, surprised. “Me?” Anastasia nods. “Yes.” Her gaze is clear. Trusting. “Because it is your story too.” Silence lingers in the room for a few seconds. It is not uncomfortable. It is reflective. Leriana lowers her gaze to the parchment, looking at the blank sheet as if it suddenly weighed more than it seemed. It was not just a letter. It was a message for her grandfather. For the person who had raised her. Who had worried about her. Who had sent her away to protect her, even when it meant being separated. And now… It was her turn to explain what had happened. To tell him the truth. Even if he worried. Even if he became angry. Even if he tried to protect her. Because he loved her. And because, little by little, Leriana was beginning to understand that accepting that responsibility was also part of growing up.