The days passed, and Mandarine haunted Mero's mind. He could no longer concentrate, his attention slipping away like sand between his fingers. His professors, exasperated, called him to order insistently: "Pull yourself together, Mero!"

  Since her departure, each day eroded his ability to stay present a little more. She infiltrated all his thoughts, a tenacious shadow that refused to fade. Every corner of the room, every moment of silence bore the mark of her absence. He tried to cling to his studies, to the lessons that unfolded, but everything slipped through his fingers. His mind escaped, a prisoner of a parallel reality where Mandarine was still there, laughing with him under the stars of the port of Sel. But this fragile dream shattered as soon as he opened his eyes: she was far away, on the other side of the sea, and he was left alone, adrift in an ocean of thoughts.

  The professors, well-meaning but firm, did not let him sink without reacting. Their gazes hardened, their words became more cutting. "You must pull yourself together, Mero," they told him one day in the great study hall. "Your success depends on you, not on your daydreams." They ignored, of course, how much she had become a part of him. It was not a simple distraction that he could brush aside. It was an inner storm, a mix of love and longing that consumed him.

  Mero struggled to regain his composure. He sat down, pencil in hand, tried to listen to the lessons on imperial history or maritime calculations, but his mind wandered as soon as Mandarine's name echoed in his head. A shiver ran through him then. What was she doing over there, beyond the waves? Was she safe, surrounded by her people? Did she think of him as much as he thought of her? These questions gnawed at him, leaving him nervous, agitated, unable to find peace.

  What troubled him even more was the frustration growing within him. Their time together had been too brief, too hurried. They had shared precious moments—laughter on the docks, stolen glances under the moon—but he had never been able to tell her everything he held deep within him. He would have liked to delve into her dreams, discover what made her smile or tremble, learn everything about her. But her departure, dictated by her duties as a pirate princess, had swept everything away like a sudden wave.

  One day, as he was engrossed in an endless reading, a professor interrupted him sharply. "Mero, explain this passage on the Archipelago War to me." Silence. He wasn't really there. His eyes were fixed on the book, but his heart was elsewhere. The professor waited, arms crossed, and Mero had to force himself back to the present, to search for a coherent answer. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his cheeks burning, as he lowered his eyes. "I... I was thinking about something else." Shame overwhelmed him. How could he have let himself go like this in front of everyone?

  That's when he understood: he had to act. His obsession with Mandarine, as powerful as it was, could not destroy him. He refused to let this love, as real as it was, ruin his future at the imperial school. It was not about forgetting her—he was incapable of that—but about finding a way to live with this void. He decided to fight, to regain control.

  He launched into a silent war against himself. Each hour of class became a challenge: staying attentive, not letting his mind drift towards her. Each page read, each note scribbled was a small victory. It wasn't easy—his heart protested, his imagination escaped—but little by little, he found a semblance of rhythm. The pain of her absence did not fade; it remained there, tucked away like an old wound, but it became lighter, a discreet thread that connected him to Mandarine without drowning him. Perhaps one day, he would see her again. Perhaps then, he could finally open his heart to her.

  Sven and Dorian, his closest friends, could not ignore the torpor that engulfed Mero. They exchanged complicit glances one evening after class and decided it was time to act. "We're taking you skiing in the mountains this weekend," Dorian announced with a smirk. "You need to move, to clear your head." Sven nodded, adding calmly, "It'll do you good."

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  Mero had never set foot on skis. The idea seemed strange, almost absurd. Glacial mountains to chase away his melancholy? Yet, he saw in their eyes a sincere determination, a desire to pull him out of the fog he had been sinking into since Mandarine's departure. "Alright," he sighed, more to please them than out of enthusiasm. "But I warn you, I'll be terrible."

  The journey by carriage to the snowy peaks was long, but the cool air seeping through the window revived his dulled senses. He watched the scenery unfold: trees draped in snow, slopes sparkling under a clear sky. It was beautiful, almost unreal, and for the first time in days, he felt a small spark ignite within him.

  Arriving at the chalet, the scent of wood smoke and the whistling of the wind in the treetops greeted him with a jolt of pure joy. Everything here was different—raw, alive. Sven and Dorian, at ease as if they were born on skis, equipped him with care, laughing softly at his clumsiness. "Stand up straight," Dorian told him, handing him a pair of poles. "And if you fall, laugh it off, it helps."

  The first descents were a disaster. His legs refused to cooperate, his skis went in all directions, and he ended up in the snow more often than not. Sven and Dorian burst out laughing at each fall, but their encouragement was warm. "You'll get there, Mero!" Sven shouted from the bottom of the slope. "Look up, not at your feet!" Little by little, he found his balance. The tension in his muscles forced him to focus on the moment, pushing away the thoughts that haunted him.

  Then came the moment when he stood at the top of a steep slope. The icy wind bit into his face. Sven and Dorian called out to him, confident. He hesitated, his heart pounding, then launched himself. The speed thrilled him, the world became a white blur, and for a brief moment, he was free. No Mandarine, no regrets—just him, the mountain, and the adrenaline pulsing through his veins.

  At the end of the day, exhausted but satisfied, he collapsed near the fire in the chalet. A warm soup heated his hands, and the grilled meats filled the air with a comforting scent. Sven and Dorian told stories of their realms—Sven even sang an old song from his island, to everyone's surprise. Mero listened, a smile on his lips, and felt that something had shifted within him. The pain was still there, but it no longer paralyzed him. These simple moments with his friends reminded him that life went on, and that he didn't have to bear his burden alone.

  As they returned to the inn under a starry sky, Mero stopped and turned to Sven and Dorian. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I really needed this."

  Dorian shrugged, a smirk on his lips. "It's nothing, old chap. That's what friends are for, right?" Sven, more calm, added, "You were like a ship adrift. Had to bring you back to port." Mero laughed softly—they were right.

  The next morning, they hit the slopes again. This time, Mero glided with more confidence, avoiding almost all falls. Dorian, playful, suggested a race down a technical slope. "Come on, Mero, show us what you've got!" he challenged. The descent was fast, full of tight turns, and when Dorian attempted an audacious overtake, he ended up face-first in the powder. "You're too good now!" Mero teased as he got up, laughing, covered in snow.

  In the afternoon, as the sun began to decline, Mero had an idea. "Tonight, I want to treat you to something special," he announced, his eyes sparkling. "Not really from my homeland, but something I discovered here." Intrigued, Sven and Dorian followed him to a rustic inn where he ordered raclette.

  When the melting wheel of cheese arrived with its potatoes and charcuterie, Sven furrowed his brows. "And what do we do with this?" he asked, perplexed. Mero showed them how to scrape the cheese and mix it with the accompaniments. Dorian took the first bite and exclaimed, "By the winds, this is amazing!" Sven, more reserved, nodded after a mouthful. "It's... good. Warm and comforting."

  They spent the evening laughing, savoring the meal, and drinking warm wine. Between bites, Dorian raised his glass. "You're not alone, Mero. No matter what happens, we're here." Sven nodded solemnly. "Friendship is about sticking together."

  For the first time in weeks, Mero felt a familiar warmth wash over him. Mandarine still haunted him, but with Sven and Dorian by his side, he knew he could move forward.