“Poor boy,” the father’s guide said, placing a sympathetic hand on his chest. “So many trials for this little body.”

“Kanises are guides resembling elderly people with turtle-like skin, who always empathize with everyone. They are like invisible friends, endowed with boundless wisdom and compassion, evident in their gray, sagging eyes. They provide support to their charges, helping them accept themselves and others as they are. They are sociable, positive old folks. But that's only at first glance.

In the history of the Ephors, there was the first precedent when, in a moment of intense energy hunger, a Kanis revealed itself, becoming an ugly, withered skeleton with skin. Its charge lost their forgetfulness and remembered what their guide looked like during “feeding”. Subsequently, earthly people in Shendit began to mummify the bodies of the deceased to believe in an afterlife, thinking it important to preserve the body for the journey to a higher realm because the soul must remain in its corporeal shell. Funny? The Ephors thought so. However, the Guide was strictly punished for such a transgression and was forever sent to the Higher World. What happened to him afterward remains unknown.”

The elderly woman twirled her owl-shaped amulet on a long chain in her hands. Her long gray hair cascaded down her shoulders in thin strands, while the back was braided into a loose braid. The wind couldn’t affect the Guide, but it seemed her long white shirt dress swayed gently in the breeze, and her cowboy boots tapped playfully on the floor.

She stood beside her charge, gently touching his elbow, and smiled approvingly the entire time.

“Don’t interfere,” Edith’s sharp voice pulled Sophia back to reality. “No need to worry about others' nests like a cuckoo.”

The twins no longer looked like children. Now, two young women stood before her. They still ‘wrapped’ their wings around Lucas but had separated from each other.

“Your son is very brave for his age,” Sophia said to the father, diverting her attention from the guides' bickering. “How old is he, six?”

“He’ll be seven this year. I would certainly argue about bravery,” the man chuckled. “What do you say? Is the picture really that intriguing?”

“Honestly, I prefer other works more,” she replied, trying to feign an interested expression. “For example, a giraffe with an ice cream cone for a head could be a great decoration for a children’s party in the yard.”

The boy’s father nodded in agreement:

“Let’s go, Lucas. We still have a lot of work to see.”

“But Dad—” the boy pouted.

“No arguing, son,” the father said, stroking his son’s head and leading him away, ignoring his whimpers.

Following him, shaking their heads, the twins and the father’s guide left. The tension between them seemed palpable. Flavuses become adults in moments of danger for their charges, but what danger could there be from his father, or perhaps it was the Kanis —

The event was slowly drawing to a close, and people began to disperse. The walls thinned out as some bought paintings. Fortunately for Sophia, no one bought the twins.

Libby wandered gloomily around the columns with empty spots for paintings, trying all evening to avoid the other guides. It seemed she noticed the disapproving glances.

When the last visitor finally left, Sophia sat down on the couch and looked at Van. He appeared a bit tired and thoughtful.

“Can I smoke?” she asked.

“Yes of course,” Constantin pulled an ashtray from under the bar and handed it to her.

“It was incredibly interesting,” she said, exhaling a puff of smoke.

“Are you kidding me?” Disappointment was evident in Constantin’s voice.

“What do you mean?” Sophia didn’t understand.

“I heard your conversation with the boy and his father, Sophia. Why did you say not to buy that piece? Is it really that bad?”

“Nonsense.” Sophia extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray. “It’s not about that at all.”

“Then what is it about?” Van interrupted, anger growing on his face.

“I'll be honest with you. I don't just look at drawings as a passer-by, but also as a doctor.”

“As a psychiatrist, you mean,” Constantin casually interjected.

“I haven’t finished my thought,” the girl replied coldly. “I view paintings through the lens of my professional perspective. And no matter how beautiful a piece may be, I don’t want a seven-year-old boy gazing at it before bed. His psyche is still developing. Whether you like it or not, horror films aren’t just labeled 18+ for no reason. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“Many heard your dialogue and didn’t engage with that piece,” Constantin closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. “They didn’t grasp what I wanted to convey through it.”

“They’ll have time to reconsider everything,” Sophia replied, not understanding his annoyance. “Look at how many of your other works sold. Honestly, I’ve rarely seen an artist boast about selling so many paintings in one evening.”

“It’s too late now,” Constantin said, standing up and offering her his hand. “I’ll walk you out.”

As she left, she realized that the established rapport with Constantin had been interrupted. Turning back one last time to the painting, Sophia saw Elizabeth form the word ‘thank you’ in the air with her lips.

Getting into the car, Sophia saw in the headlights that Van had returned to the studio without looking back to say goodbye. The Ephor simply shrugged and drove away.

After seeing Sophia off, Constantin couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt.

“Maybe I was too harsh with her—”

On the other hand, they had known each other for only a day, and she had already scared off potential buyers. All because she couldn’t keep silent.

Trying to blow off steam, he took a brush and began to paint chaotic strokes on the canvas. He wasn’t painting anything specific, just improvising.

And he drank a lot. First, he emptied the whiskey, then moved on to white rum. When he could no longer hold the brush in his hands, Constantin flopped down on the couch where the exhibition had taken place and closed his eyes.

In the morning, his head was pounding, but that was trivial compared to the lingering feeling from yesterday’s parting with Sophia. He liked that headstrong girl. The way she boldly defended her viewpoint was captivating. Yet he, like a true egoist, couldn’t accept an opinion different from his own. What childishness.

For half the day, he couldn’t find peace. He didn’t have Sophia’s phone number, which meant the only way to apologize for his behavior was to head to the "Sleeping Dolphin."

The place wasn’t pleasant, although for a clinic it was ornate and tidy. During the times he came here, he wanted to run away. The patients were in their rooms – prisons. They only crossed paths during walks, but what always surprised him was that there were never any violent patients in this clinic. Either they were sent to other centers, or they felt much better here and weren’t in a hurry to leave.

Constantin approached the schedule desk and confirmed that Sophia was seeing patients today. Of course, no one gave him a referral, but for a box of chocolates and a promise to call, he managed to get the room number from the receptionist. Sometimes appearances helped, even though Constantin didn’t consider himself attractive. He inherited his mother’s Asian eyes and his father’s strong jawline. The mix of genes was evident.

Lost in thought about his roots, he didn’t notice when he bumped into someone familiar in the hallway.

“Costa!” the girl with an alien-like appearance and bleached eyebrows broke into a smile. “I’m so glad to see you! You haven’t written in a while.”

“Sayana, what's up?” Constantin hugged her and glanced at the identification bracelet on her wrist. “I’m not a patient here. I just came to see a doctor about a personal matter,” he said. “And you still haven’t asked to go home?”