Days passed at the Imperial School of Mor, and Mero tried to cling to the routine—the classes, the training, the conversations with his classmates—but a growing unease disrupted his usual calm. Leila, his governess, now occupied an increasingly significant place in his thoughts, not because of her usual care, but because of a change he couldn't understand. Her belly was growing larger, a detail that, over the weeks, became impossible to ignore. This woman, always so rigorous and discreet, often touched her abdomen, a gesture that seemed instinctive, almost unconscious. Was it pain? Was she suffering in silence? Mero, at fourteen, felt torn between genuine concern and deep confusion over this situation that eluded him. The cheerful atmosphere of the servants only deepened the mystery. They exchanged knowing smiles when they passed by Leila, their eyes sparkling with a joy he didn't understand. How could they be happy if she was suffering? This dissonance left him perplexed, almost lost. He had grown up surrounded by nobles and servants, but no one had ever explained the realities of the human body, the transformations it could undergo. His education had focused on navigation, strategy, and commerce—areas of power and conquest—and not on these simple, natural things that seemed so essential at this moment. He felt helpless, like a sailor facing an unknown sea, without a map or compass. Every morning, as he crossed paths with Leila in the hallways, he noticed her slightly slower pace, her hand gently brushing her belly with a strange tenderness. Was she ill? Did she need a healer? He wanted to ask her, but the words remained stuck in his throat, prisoners of his shyness and ignorance. She was a maternal figure to him, the one who had watched over him since his birth, and seeing her changed like this, without understanding why, rekindled an anxiety he couldn't name. He found himself scrutinizing the slightest clues—a fleeting smile on her face, a sparkle in her eyes—but nothing dispelled the fog that clouded his mind. The servants, on the other hand, seemed to dance around a secret he didn't share. One day, he overheard a red-haired girl whisper to another, "She's glowing, isn't she?" They laughed softly, their light voices contrasting with the weight that oppressed his chest. Why was she glowing if she was suffering? Was it a facade, a strength she feigned to avoid worrying him? This thought haunted him, and he reproached himself for not knowing how to help her. He had learned to command ships, to negotiate with merchants, but in the face of this enigma, he felt as useless as a child lost in a storm. One evening, as twilight bathed the hallways in an orange light, Mero found Leila in the great hall, supervising the servants setting the table for dinner. She stood near a chair, one hand resting on her belly, a peaceful smile lighting up her tired face. It was too much for him—he could no longer bear the silence, the uncertainty that gnawed at him. He approached her, his hesitant steps echoing on the parquet floor, and stopped a few meters away, his heart pounding as if he were about to face a battle. "Leila," he began, his voice trembling but sincere, "you know I love you like a mother. I'm worried about you—I see you holding your belly all the time. Are you in pain?" The words tumbled out awkwardly, almost rushed, but they carried all the tenderness and anxiety he had accumulated. He lowered his eyes for a moment, fearing he had crossed an invisible line, then looked up, seeking an answer in her gaze. Leila looked at him with an emotional surprise, her gray eyes softening in the flickering candlelight. She seemed to hesitate, as if weighing each word before speaking, then a tender smile formed on her lips. "No, my dear, I am not in pain," she replied in a soft, almost maternal tone that enveloped Mero like a warm blanket. "What you see is not suffering. It is a sign of joy... a change, but a wonderful one. It is not pain, quite the opposite." She paused, choosing her words carefully, her gaze fixed on him as if gauging what he could understand. "What is happening is a secret you will soon understand... but there is nothing to fear. It is a gift of life, a natural event that you will learn to appreciate for its true value." She placed a light hand on his arm, a reassuring gesture, before adding with a benevolent smile, "But for now, I am well, do not worry." Mero felt a wave of relief wash over him, but also a lingering embarrassment. Her words were soothing, but they left a void—a "secret" he didn't yet grasp. He sensed a slight reserve in her gaze, as if she were waiting for him to decipher this mystery on his own, a truth she couldn't or wouldn't reveal entirely. Was it an illness she was downplaying out of love for him? Or something else, something joyful he couldn't imagine? He nodded, confused but reassured by her serenity, and murmured an almost inaudible "Thank you" before walking away, his mind swirling with unanswered questions. A few days later, a sudden change disrupted his daily life. While consulting his schedule, Mero discovered that his usual classes—navigation, maritime commerce—had been replaced without his consultation. In their place was a new subject: "Human Biology," followed by sessions titled "Sex Education." He frowned, a wave of frustration rising within him. He didn't want to become a doctor! Why was he being forced to attend these useless lessons? Yet, a part of him, intrigued by Leila's mystery, sensed that there was an answer to be found there. The first class arrived too soon, and Mero entered the room with deep embarrassment, his cheeks flushing even before the lesson began. Around him, about a dozen students, some younger, took their seats on the wooden benches, their gazes oscillating between curiosity and amusement. The teacher, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a calm demeanor, approached with a stack of books under her arm. "Today, we will explore the basics of the human body," she announced, her calm voice contrasting with the anxiety knotting Mero's stomach. "These are essential knowledge, even for those who will not become healers." She began with biological aspects—bones, muscles, blood—simple but new concepts for him. Then, slowly, she addressed more intimate topics: the differences between male and female bodies, natural cycles, and finally, reproduction. Mero felt his face flush with each word, a wave of embarrassment overwhelming him as she explained how life is created, how a child grows in a woman's womb. Around him, some students seemed at ease, whispering to each other with a familiarity he envied, while others, like him, looked down, awkward in the face of these truths that had been hidden from them. With each question the teacher asked, his anxiety grew, but she continued without judging him, her benevolent clarity gradually piercing the fog of his ignorance. He understood that this was not just a matter of the body, but also of respect and responsibilities—concepts that gave new meaning to what he was experiencing. Yet, the intimidation persisted, amplified by the gaze of the other students, who seemed to perceive his discomfort. He should have learned this years ago, he reproached himself, but no one had deemed it necessary until this day. Why now? Was it related to Leila? To Mandarine? The pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together, but he was not yet ready to see them all. As the lessons progressed, the teacher's words began to shed light on the shadows in Mero's mind. When she spoke about pregnancy—a child growing in the womb, a natural and wonderful process—a revelation struck him like a sudden wave. Mandarine's words, murmured during their escape on the boat, came back to him with force: her insistence on preserving her virtue, on avoiding "adult things." She knew. She understood what he had been ignorant of then—the consequences, the responsibilities, the life that could be born from a moment of intimacy. And Leila... her round belly, her tender gestures, her words about a "gift of life." It was not an illness, but a pregnancy. She was carrying a child. Mero felt a warmth rise to his cheeks, not just from embarrassment, but from a deep humiliation. How could he have been so blind? The clues were there—the joy of the servants, Leila's serenity—and yet, he had seen nothing, a prisoner of his ignorance. He felt betrayed, not by Leila or Mandarine, but by those who had left him in the dark, who had not prepared him for these fundamental truths. Why had all this been hidden from him? Why had his father, his tutors, even Leila, remained silent about such an essential part of life? Was he too young, too fragile, or simply unworthy of knowing? Sitting in the classroom, the book in front of him stained with ink where his trembling pen had slipped, he felt deeply ashamed. Mandarine had carried this knowledge with a wisdom he now admired, and Leila had experienced this miracle with a strength he had not recognized. He, on the other hand, had been a child in a world of adults, unable to ask the right questions or grasp the implicit answers. Anger rose within him, cold and bitter, directed at those who had kept him in this naive innocence. But at the heart of this humiliation, a glimmer of understanding was born—he was no longer that ignorant child. These lessons, as embarrassing as they were, were a step toward maturity, a door opening onto a world he now had to face. He lowered his eyes, the teacher's words still echoing in his ears, and murmured to himself, "Why was all this hidden from me?" The question had no immediate answer, but it marked the beginning of an inner quest—to understand, to accept, and perhaps one day, to forgive.

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