From afar, the buildings, crowned with pointed spires, rose against the morning sky, their Gothic and Baroque details casting long shadows over the city of Pendralice. Above them all, a towering clock spire stood proudly as the city began to awaken.
The morning rush had already begun. Between five and seven, factory workers, dockworkers, builders, and street vendors poured into the streets, joined by heavy carts loaded with goods and heading toward the markets. Horse-drawn carriages rolled steadily over the cobblestones, making their way through the growing bustle.
Sian had left Meridian Railway Terminus on foot, heading toward his apartment on Redbrick Manor Street, in the western part of Pendralice. The walk normally took no more than ten minutes, but he stopped briefly along the way.
Beatrice's tail began wagging excitedly as soon as they approached a small food cart standing by the roadside. It was a wooden cart painted a dark color, with two large wheels fitted with iron rims and a long wooden handle at the back, which its owner used to push it himself. A small brass stove stood in the center, fitted with a short chimney that sent a thin trail of white smoke into the cool morning air. The polished brass caught the early sunlight, giving the modest cart a surprisingly elegant appearance.
"Good morning, Mr. Lumière. Beautiful summer morning, isn't it? Looks like June has finally decided to give us some proper sunshine."
The vendor greeted him with a broad, cheerful smile. He was a lively man with an easy, contagious energy that made him seem fully awake long before the rest of the city. His round face practically glowed with enthusiasm, and his hands never seemed to stop moving as he worked.
"Morning, Mr. Hale. Two meat pies, please," Sian replied, placing four coins on the cart without matching the man's enthusiasm.
"Coming right up. Two warm meat pies, as usual—for you and the lovely dog." The vendor picked up two pies with a pair of metal tongs. "But you're late today. I was beginning to think you weren't coming at all. Thought you might be sick or something. You usually pass by here before six."
"I missed the train and had to wait another forty-five minutes for the next one," Sian said calmly.
The vendor wrapped one of the pies in brown paper and handed it to him.
"Ah, that explains it. These things happen, especially with trains. Never trust their schedules too much. They moved the first workers' train earlier this week. The sun rises earlier now, and the days are getting longer."
"The days are getting longer…" Sian repeated, his eyes heavy with sleep.
The vendor's words made something click. Sian's gaze shifted for a moment before he almost unconsciously raised a hand and glanced down at his wristwatch.
'The week of the summer solstice.'
Normally, Sian finished his final hunt at four in the morning, before sunrise, and immediately set out for the rural station to catch the workers' train, which departed at 4:40. But the railway company had moved the first morning train forward by ten minutes with the beginning of astronomical summer, so it now departed at 4:30.
The vendor chuckled and glanced toward the brightening sky as he wrapped the second pie in brown paper and handed it to him.
"Longest days of the year. Hardly seems fair that the sun gets to start work before the rest of us."
Beatrice's tail began wagging the moment she saw the two wrapped pies in Sian's hands. She bounced excitedly beside him, her eyes fixed eagerly on the food.
"See you tomorrow, Mr. Lumière."
Sian merely raised a hand in farewell and continued on his way, with Beatrice eagerly following at his side.
After walking a short distance, he stopped beside a wooden bench and sat down for a few minutes to finish his pie. Beatrice settled on the ground beside him and happily ate hers. The pastry was warm and flaky, filled with freshly minced meat.
When he finished, Sian crumpled the paper wrapper into a loose ball and tossed it into the waste bin opposite the bench. It struck the rim, bounced once, then dropped inside.
He leaned back against the seat, resting his arms along the backrest as he tilted his head upward. The tree above cast dappled, leaf-shaped shadows across his face, shifting gently with the breeze.
His grey eyes followed a small Eurasian blackcap as it hopped lightly from branch to branch above him. Its olive-grey plumage blended softly with the leaves, while the dark black cap atop its head stood out like a tiny velvet crown. When it turned, he caught a glimpse of its polished, silvery-white breast as its quiet, muted murmur suddenly rose into a series of clear notes, forming a warm, gentle song that flowed like the pure melody of a flute.
For a few quiet minutes, the noise of the morning seemed to fade into the background.
When Sian finally continued on his way, Redbrick Manor Street came into view a short while later.
His apartment building stood among a row of respectable residential buildings, its clean red-brick façade softened by pale stonework framing the windows and entrances. The building rose five stories above the street, with wide windows that allowed plenty of daylight inside. Some of the upper windows had small wrought-iron balconies, their railings curling into restrained, elegant patterns, while small pots of geraniums and ivy added touches of green to the brick.
Behind the thin velvet curtains, glimpses of comfortable interiors could be seen through the glass—polished wooden furniture, warm fabrics, and the quiet signs of a well-kept home.
Sian entered through the main doorway and disappeared inside, with Beatrice following close behind.
—
Paws rested in the old bathtub as water streamed from the tap. Sian's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he worked the soap into his dog's muddy fur, white foam gathering between his fingers.
"You really outdid yourself today, didn't you—playing in the mud again while I was busy." he said, gently scrubbing behind her ears.
The dog sat still, her tail thumping softly against the side of the tub.
He cupped water in his hands and began rinsing away the foam. As the mud washed off, her coat slowly shifted from a uniform earthy brown to a striking contrast of colors. A bright, clean white emerged along her underside and legs, while the upper parts of her body revealed a red merle pattern—rich reddish-brown patches blended with creamy tones and faint copper markings.
The dog looked up at him and let out a soft whine, as if apologizing.
He stood up to fetch a towel and draped it over the dog's head, gently drying her fur.
The moment he let go, Beatrice leaped out of the basin and shook her entire body, scattering droplets of water everywhere.
Beatrice followed Sian into the kitchen, where he took a single dog biscuit and tossed it to her. She caught it happily, then immediately looked up at him, clearly hoping for another.
Sian sighed, picked up the box, and placed it back on the highest shelf of the wooden cabinet.
"One reward only. That's all you're getting today."
Beatrice let out a soft whine, but Sian had already turned away.
Under the steady stream of warm water, Sian sat in the bathtub with his head tilted back, staring blankly at the ceiling for a few moments. The warmth loosened the tension in his muscles, but did little to keep him awake.
When he finished, he dried his hair with a towel and tossed it over a nearby chair before making his way to the bed. He collapsed face-first onto the mattress, and the moment his head touched the pillow, sleep claimed him.
Beatrice curled up on the floor nearby, her fluffy tail resting close to her face.
An old wooden wall clock ticked softly nearby, its pendulum swaying steadily beneath the clock face. The hands pointed to 7:45 a.m.
---
Beneath a crimson sunrise, a white-haired young man stood upon the narrow iron balcony of a towering clock tower, the city sprawling far below him. Birds soared freely overhead, their feathers drifting through the air as their wings beat softly. A single white feather slipped free from one of them and drifted through the air, briefly veiling his silhouette before falling away.
Then, the man vanished from the edge of the tower, plummeting downward.
At that very moment, the sound of footsteps echoed along the iron edge of the tower as someone followed the same path, falling swiftly after him. In the crimson sky above, a hand stretched toward the young man, reaching to grasp him.
He slowly opened his pale eyes.
His body was still falling.
Reflected in those faded eyes was another figure descending toward him.
Black hair flowed softly in the air, and a red cloak fluttered behind her like a whisper of flame.
Then he saw them—eyes as blue and clear as a cloudless sky.
A voice, barely more than a breath, whispered, "I've found you."
A deep chime from the clock tower rang out, resonating through the city like a solemn bell. The white feather continued its slow descent, drifting gently through the air until it finally came to rest on the ground.
---
Rays of sunlight slipped through the curtains like golden threads and came to rest upon his face. Their warmth forced his eyes open.
Sian rose and pulled the curtains shut, returning the room to its familiar darkness. He sank back beneath the covers, hoping to steal a few more hours of sleep.
Then—
A loud clatter echoed from the kitchen.
Silence.
A second noise followed, as though something had been knocked over.
Another thud.
This time, it was accompanied by a faint, indistinct sound.
With obvious reluctance, Sian slowly forced himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his body still heavy with exhaustion. For a brief moment, everything before him was a blur before the room slowly regained its features. Only then did his gaze drift down to his feet. He was still wearing his boots. He lingered there for a moment before finally turning toward the door.
As soon as Sian stepped into the kitchen, his eyes fell upon the source of the commotion.
Beatrice was crouched on the floor beside an opened box of dog treats. The biscuits had been scattered across the wooden floor, and nearly half of them had already disappeared into the animal's stomach.
Standing nearby was a girl who looked no older than fourteen. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, and she was dressed in a crimson cloak. Standing on her tiptoes, she stretched toward the upper shelves of a wooden cabinet, rummaging through its contents. It did not take much to understand what she was searching for—something to eat. Hearing him enter, she turned toward him, revealing a pair of clear blue eyes, as blue as the open sky.
He turned his gaze toward Beatrice.
She seemed far too pleased with the biscuits she had devoured. Her tail wagged enthusiastically as she trotted lightly around the kitchen.
Sian murmured to her, "Don't you usually bark at strangers?"
---
Sian stood inside the Public Telephone Office, one hand resting on the wooden counter as he held the receiver to his ear.
"How old is he?" a woman's voice asked from the other end. Her questions were routine, concerning the boy's age, identity, and circumstances.
"About fourteen," Sian replied, judging from the boy's appearance. He looked young enough for that estimate to be reasonable.
The questions continued for nearly two minutes, though most of Sian's answers were simply variations of the same quiet response.
"I don't know."
Finally, the woman said, "We'll send an inspector to the address you provided. Thank you for contacting us."
Sian placed the receiver back in its cradle.
After leaving the Public Telephone Office, he walked a few dozen yards before turning onto a broad side street and entering a small dairy with a marble-fronted entrance.
He approached the cool marble counter, where a young woman stood in a spotless white uniform and a neatly arranged cloth cap. A few chestnut strands from her fringe escaped beneath the front of it. She noticed him immediately, set aside the cloth she had been using to wipe the counter, and greeted him with a polite smile that suited his reserved manner.
"I'd like a half-pint bottle of milk, please," Sian said in his usual calm, straightforward tone.
The girl smiled and nodded. "Certainly, sir. The milk is half a penny, with an additional two pennies as a refundable deposit for the bottle. Two and a half pence in total."
She turned toward the wooden crates stacked behind her and reached for a small chilled bottle. The company's emblem was embossed in the thick glass. She wiped away the fine beads of condensation with the edge of her apron before placing the bottle gently on the marble counter.
Then she added politely, "Here you are, sir. Ah... are you registered for our daily milk delivery service? We can deliver a regular supply to your doorstep every morning and add it to your weekly account, if you'd like."
Sian picked up the cold bottle and placed a few copper coins on the marble before shaking his head.
"No, thank you. I don't actually like milk."
He took the bottle and left the dairy, while the girl watched him go with a look of mild surprise.
It took him only about five minutes to return to his apartment. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, placing his boots neatly by the entrance before closing the door behind him.
He removed his hat and hung it in its usual place, then took off his coat and carefully draped it over the back of the nearby chair.
In the sitting room, Sikakama sat on the floor with her back against the sofa, reading one of the books she had found stacked beside it. Beatrice lay opposite her, resting on the floor.
The moment she heard Sian enter, she closed the book and followed him toward the kitchen.
"I stopped by the public telephone office," Sian said, placing the paper bag on the table.
He took his time unpacking its contents: a tin of dog biscuits and a glass bottle of milk. "I spoke to St. Jude's Home for Lost Children. They can take you in, give you a place to stay, and provide you with an education. You won't have to worry about the expenses."
He paused for a moment before adding, "Sounds like a good arrangement, doesn't it, Sikakama? They'll take care of everything."
Sikakama said nothing. She pulled out a chair at the round kitchen table and sat down. Sian took a glass from the cupboard, uncorked the bottle, and began pouring the milk.
The quiet sound of milk filling the glass mingled with the soft ticking of the clock.
Sian placed the glass in front of her. Her eyes rested on it for a moment before she wrapped both hands around it. He then took the seat across from her, his mind drifting back to yesterday.
He had just stepped out of the flower shop, a bouquet of purple irises in his hand, when he noticed a little girl standing across the street.
She was staring through the fogged window of a small bakery, where rows of freshly baked chocolate Chelsea buns rested behind the glass. The warm pastries were still steaming faintly, their dark chocolate swirls visible beneath the soft, glossy surface.
She stood there silently, watching them with an expression that made it obvious she wanted one, yet she made no attempt to enter the bakery.
After watching her for a moment, he stepped inside and bought two Chelsea buns, keeping one for himself before handing the other to her. She accepted it with both hands, lowering her gaze to the warm pastry as though she could hardly believe it was really hers.
He took a bite from his own and leaned back slightly. "They're better while they're still warm."
They eventually sat at opposite ends of a wooden bench overlooking the square. Around them, people hurried past, their footsteps echoing across the cobblestones as carriages rolled steadily through the streets. Neither of them spoke, and for a while, the silence between them felt almost natural.
She took her first bite. The soft, buttery pastry melted easily in her mouth, followed by the rich sweetness of warm chocolate. She ate quietly beneath the shadow of her crimson hood while he watched the crowd drift by, occasionally taking another bite from his own pastry.
After some time, he finished eating, crumpled the paper that had wrapped his Chelsea bun into a small ball, and tossed it toward the waste bin across from them. Only then did he finally turn his head toward her.
"...Are you lost?"
She offered no answer, nor did she even look at him.
He waited a little longer, but the girl remained completely silent. Eventually, he glanced at his watch. Nearby, the streetlamps had begun to flicker to life one after another, casting pale pools of light across the darkening square.
With nothing else to say, he rose from the bench and continued on his way.
A few minutes later, however, he noticed her again. Whenever he glanced over his shoulder, she was still there, following several steps behind him without saying a word.
Eventually, he stopped and turned around. She stopped too, standing a short distance away beneath the dim evening light. By then, the streets were beginning to empty. He looked at his watch once more before letting out a quiet sigh; there was little else he could do.
Rather than leave her wandering the streets alone, he took her to the nearest police station and left her in their care.
The memory slowly faded, and his thoughts returned to the present.
The silence lingered for a long moment before Sian finally broke it.
"And that book? You carry it with you everywhere..."
It was a thin book, its worn cover showing the marks of age and frequent use.
Sikakama opened it and turned it toward him. The first illustration showed a cloaked figure whose face was completely hidden beneath a deep hood.
"There aren't any words, but you can understand the story from the pictures. It's about a monster who lived alone in the forest because he was too ugly. He was afraid the villagers wouldn't accept him, so he wore a cloak to hide himself. He kept traveling from place to place until he met a noble prince who gave him a sword."
She turned the page. A fair-haired prince dressed in noble clothing was handing a sword to the cloaked figure.
"The monster used that sword to protect the village from evil monsters, risking his life to save its people. In recognition of his bravery, he was granted the title of knight. From then on, the villagers came to love him, and before long, he had become a friend to everyone."
She turned another page. The illustration showed the cloaked figure surrounded by smiling villagers, his sword raised high as its blade caught the morning sunlight. The following page was blank, marking the end of the story.
"So... it's just a children's story," Sian said, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.
Sikakama frowned and closed the book.
"It's not just a children's story!" she protested.
Sian leaned back in his chair.
"Can you tell me what you want from me? You can't just keep following me everywhere and walking into my apartment whenever you feel like it."
Without hesitation, Sikakama spoke.
"Seek where people stopped praying."
"Seek where the last saint died."
"Seek the half of the city the sun forgot."
The morning light had climbed higher across the kitchen floor, bathing the room in quiet silence.
Sian's expression barely changed. Only a brief pause betrayed him.
Her clear blue eyes fell to the book, her fingers lingering on the blank page.
"They were written beneath the blank page at the end of the book. The first word is badly smudged... So I assumed it meant 'Seek'."
"For some reason... if they were only part of the story..."
"...why were they written beneath the ending instead of inside it?"
Without a word, he reached behind him and pulled open a kitchen drawer. His fingers rested there for the briefest moment before closing around a cigarette and a lighter. He slid the drawer shut, placed the cigarette between his lips, and lit it, shielding the flame with one hand.
She kept talking without pause while thin ribbons of smoke curled slowly into the still morning air. Sian remained silent, listening.
"They sound less like an ending," she said thoughtfully.
"...More like directions," Sian finally said.
A faint spark lit Sikakama's face.
"That's what I thought too... More like something someone hoped would one day be found."
She leaned forward slightly.
"What do you think they mean?"
"I've never heard those words before," Sian said, the cigarette resting between his fingers.
"But whoever wrote them... wasn't trying to tell a story."
Then he gave a quiet shrug.
"If I were you... I wouldn't repeat those words in front of strangers."
"Why?" Sikakama asked, sensing something strange in his words.
His eyes drifted toward her through the curling smoke. "Because sometimes... the wrong people recognize old things."
"I need someone who can understand what I'm trying to say…" she said quietly.
"Then be careful who you ask to understand," Sian interrupted, his voice carrying a quiet warning. "Some answers don't leave you the same person who went looking for them."
"Is that all? Is that why you've been following me? Just to ask me about those lines?"
His tone changed. He leaned back in his chair, stretching as he raised his arms and rested his hands behind his neck, one hand loosely gripping the opposite elbow. He let out a long sigh, and the tension that had filled the air only moments ago seemed to disappear.
Sikakama parted her lips.
"The woman…"
Knock. Knock.