Chapter 10 — Epilogue: The City of a Thousand Voices
The snow had fallen again over Val-d’Enbas, light and silent, as if the sky itself wanted to erase the traces of the battle. The garlands still glittered in the streets, but this time they seemed real, no longer deceptive decorations. Passersby walked peacefully, unaware of what had just unfolded beneath their feet.
The new tongue had fallen silent. Not a single syllable lingered in the air. The echoes, the murmurs, the snowflakes marked with letters… all had vanished.
And yet, something had changed.
Naïma stood in the center of the square, Abel’s suitcase clutched in her hands. The Book of Beginnings was heavy, but it was not a burden: it was a promise. She, the rational captain, who had never believed in fables, had become a guardian of stories.
Junon, ever faithful, let out a soft bark, as if to remind her that she wasn’t alone.
Louvel came and sat beside her. His gaze was no longer that of a weary old man, but of a storyteller returned to himself.
"I've spent my life lending my voice to stories. But today, I learned that one must also know how to say no. Thank you, Captain."
Naïma gave a small smile.
"I'm not a storyteller, Louvel. I'm just a cop."
"No," he replied, shaking his head. "You've become the character no story had foreseen. And that is why you are the only one who can invent new ones."
The mice of the multiverse approached, holding in their paws the now-stable pocket watch. Its hands were moving forward correctly again. The smallest one, with the clear voice, bowed before Naïma.
"We have found what we were looking for. Not the ultimate cheese… but a story that has nourished us. We leave satisfied."
Naïma crouched down to speak to them at eye level.
"Where will you go now?"
The oldest mouse smiled, whiskers twitching.
"Always further. Where there is cheese, time, and stories to save. But if the Book ever falters again… call us. We know the way."
They soon disappeared into a rift of light, leaving behind a faint scent of warm milk and mystery.
The Christmas festivities resumed in the town. The inhabitants remembered nothing, or almost nothing. In their dreams, fragments remained—a taste of ashes, shards of words, a silhouette in the snow. But upon waking, they laughed, they sang, they drank mulled wine.
Naïma observed this restored normality. She would have liked to lose herself in it, but the suitcase at her side reminded her that nothing would ever be completely normal again.
She looked up at the town hall clock. This time, it was ticking correctly, but each chime reminded her of Abel. The erased guardian. The man who had borne the burden before her.
Louvel murmured:
"Do you think he's truly gone?"
Naïma clenched her jaw.
"A guardian never completely disappears. He remains in the stories he saved."
The night grew deeper, and the bells tolled midnight. Then Naïma did something she had never dared to do. She opened the suitcase, placed the Book of Beginnings on her lap, and brushed her fingertips against it.
A blank page opened before her.
She took a deep breath, Junon at her side, Louvel behind her, and said simply:
"Once upon a time, there was a small mountain town that survived the strangest night in its history. And those who live there will never forget, even without memories, that their voices are worth more than any language. Because as long as they speak to one another, no story can devour them."
The Book vibrated softly, as if satisfied. Letters appeared, black on white. For the first time, Naïma had told a story.
A few weeks later, Val-d’Enbas had regained its calm. But sometimes, on winter evenings, children said they had seen a figure walking among the fir trees, wearing a slate-gray coat with gray eyes, and a dog at his side. Some said it was a ghost. Others, a wandering storyteller.
Naïma, however, knew.
Abel was not dead. He had simply left his voice in the Book.
She closed the suitcase, placed it near her desk, and smiled at Junon.
"We're ready, girl. Whatever the next story may be."
And somewhere, far away, in an infinite multiverse, the mice laughed around an incandescent cheese.
The snow continued to fall on Val-d’Enbas, light and silent, like a blanket on a tale finally finished.
THE END
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