The air changed the instant Evan passed through the Academy gate. It wasn't just the evening chill; it was a silence that weighed like a slab upon the cobblestones. The streets of The Gardens, once vibrant with the murmur of life, were now empty, devoured by an unnatural stillness. Every window he passed was shut, its shutters sealed with planks or iron bars. Not a single ray of light filtered from within. There were no street vendors, no children's laughter, not even the distant clang of a blacksmith. Only the wind, beginning to whip up dust devils between the stone houses.
Evan quickened his pace, his breath forming small white puffs in the rapidly cooling air. The short sword slapped against his hip with each step, a useless reminder of his own fragility. Just have to get to the waterfront, he repeated to himself. Find a raft. Cross. Run.
Evan stopped at a corner where two wide but now-deserted streets converged. There, planted on the sidewalk, was the sign with the city map.
It was a structure of wrought iron, painted a dull green that rain and sun had eroded to reveal brown rust at the edges.
At its center was pasted the map of the capital. It wasn't a simple brochure, but a masterpiece of cartography, drawn with such precision and detail that Evan, as an artist, always felt a pinch of admiration when looking at it.
ALTUS FORGE, proclaimed the capital letters at the top, carved into the metal frame.
Below the name, the city unfolded like a near-perfect hexagon. The detail was meticulous: every main street, every square, every church, every stately mansion.
To the right of the hexagon, a blue area represented the Tritan Ocean, with small stylized waves. Adjacent to it, the Waterfront appeared as a thin border of stone. To the left, above and below the hexagon, the map became fuzzier, less detailed. Dull green and brown smudges, a tangle of fine, disordered lines representing dirt roads. These were the Suburbs. Villa Verde would be in that nebulous area.
Separating them, surrounding the hexagon, was the Serene River. On the map it was just a curved blue line, elegant and impassable.
Not a river, but a border. The liquid scar that divided the anarchy of need from the order of wealth.
He would have to get to the raft station on the Waterfront. He traced his finger on the map, tracking the route on the plan. A raft heading north along the river, that leaves me near the west bridge… But even that plan felt hollow. The rafts surely wouldn't be running anymore.
His gaze, wandering in desperation, dropped from the main map to the bottom right corner of the iron sign. There, a new pamphlet was pasted. The paper was of better quality, thick, and fixed with four shiny metal thumbtacks. The typography was that of the Royal Guard.
[NOTICE FROM THE CROWN OF FERRARIA
PROTOCOL FOR THE MOONLESS NIGHT
Issued by the Security Council of the Armored Castle]
His gaze, almost by obligation, began to slide down the list. Each line was a blow:
1. REFUGE: Remain inside a locked building. Secure doors and windows with wood or metal. Do not rely on locks alone.
2. SILENCE: If you hear noises on your roof or knocks at the door, do not investigate. Do not respond. Even if the calling voice is familiar. Especially if it is familiar.
3. THE SPIRAL GOD: If you observe spiral patterns in elements that do not naturally possess them (clouds, vegetation, animals, structures, or furniture), leave the area immediately without running. Do not trace them with your gaze. Prolonged observation may invite the god into your body.
4. FAUNA: If a stray animal (cat, dog, bird) displays anomalous behavior (fixed gaze, vocalizations in non-animal languages, spastic or unusual movements), do not interact. Do not approach. Do not pity them. They are not what they seem.
6. IF YOU ARE IN THE PUBLIC WAY:
A. Proceed immediately to the Armored Castle. Run, but do not look back. Ignore the sound of footsteps behind you.
B. Avoid puddles, ponds, rivers, any reflection on water. Reflections may show variations.
C. If you feel something observing you from an alley, a high window, or a rooftop, do not make eye contact. Lower your head and keep moving. Most entities require visual confirmation to attack.
7. CELESTIAL BODIES: If you witness the fall of a celestial body within the city limits, do not approach the impact site under any circumstances.
8. The…
Evan stopped reading the long list, focused on not wasting time. Each rule was a nail in the coffin of his sense of security. He took a deep breath and resumed his journey with more haste, almost running.
The absence of buildings toward the eastern horizon told him he was nearing the waterfront. It was a long, wide stone plaza bordering the Serene River, normally full of strollers and stalls at dusk. Now there was only the sea wind, stronger and colder, whipping his clothes. A few lampposts were beginning to light up, emitting an orange glow that created more shadows than it dispelled.
It was then that he heard them.
Laughter. Juvenile voices, loud, carefree, and crude, cutting through the silence like knives. A group of five noble students, wearing the same black uniforms as Evan, though judging by their height, they were third-years. They were advancing in the opposite direction. Pushing each other, hurling insults and playful punches on the shoulders, they seemed like a noisy, arrogant bubble in the midst of the silent city. Evan felt the animal instinct to cross the street, to hide, but just then a few carts crossed, blocking his escape. He lowered his head, pressed his satchel against his side, and hugged the edge of the sidewalk, hoping they would pass him by.
They didn't.
"Friiiend…" a voice sang, sickly sweet and false.
Evan froze. The group had stopped, forming a casual semicircle that trapped him against the waterfront railing. They were all at least a head taller than him. The one who had spoken was a tall redhead with freckles and a smile that didn't reach his cold blue eyes. The others, all blond or brown-haired, with fine features and that uniform pallor of the nobility, looked at Evan with the same expression: that of a child who has found a strange insect and is deciding how to dissect it.
"You're the little runt from the Royal Academy, right?" asked the redhead, leaning in a little. He smelled of cheap wine and strong perfume.
Evan didn't respond. He swallowed. His heart, already racing from fear of the night, began to hammer against his ribs.
"How cute!" said a blond boy with curls, baring his teeth in a grin. "He looks like a frightened little mouse."
"He smells like… like mud," commented another, a broad-shouldered boy, wrinkling his nose. "Like Suburbs mud."
"He's like a gnome," laughed another. "One of those that live in the woods. Right, 'gnome'?"
"More like a poor kid in a costume," interjected the redhead, his smile disappearing. "A commoner. Ugh. What are you still doing here? You should be running back to your hovel."
Evan tried to speak, but only a choked sound came out. His eyes began to fill with a treacherous heat. No, he thought desperately. Not here. Not in front of them.
"Hey," said the redhead, his voice losing all pretense of amusement. "I'm going to tell you this only once, because I hate wasting my breath. Leave our academy. No one wants you there. When will you get that?"
The noble's gaze was flat, devoid of emotion. It was the order of a master to a dog. And in Evan's chest, something broke. It wasn't just pride; it was the last wall of resistance he had kept standing all day. An uncontrollable tremor ran through his legs.
"Haha, look! His lip is trembling!" exclaimed the blond boy, pointing an accusatory finger.
"Ooh, is he going to cry?" asked the broad boy, making a pout. "Do you want us to sing you a lullaby, little runt?"
"Maybe he needs some diapers," said another in a professorial tone.
"Let's call his mom," suggested the blond, looking around sarcastically. "Oh, wait… who would raise something like that? He's probably an orphan. Or maybe his mother is the headmaster's whore! That's why they accepted him! Ha!"
The laughter was unison, shrill, and echoed in the empty plaza like the cawing of crows. It was the most obscene sound they could make. And then, Evan couldn't take it anymore. The heat in his eyes overflowed. A hot, heavy tear rolled down his cheek, tracing a clean path. Then another. He couldn't stop them. He sobbed, an ugly, broken sound that shamed him even more.
"Oh, by all the gods, he's crying!" The redhead seemed euphoric. "Seriously! Look at him!"
Evan squeezed his eyes shut tightly, wanting to disappear. It was then that strong hands grabbed him by the arms.
"Come on, gnome. We're going to give you a better place to wait out the night."
They dragged him. Evan struggled weakly, but there were five of them, all bigger. Panic had him paralyzed, mixed with a shame so profound it clouded everything. They took him to an iron lamppost on a deserted lookout point of the waterfront overlooking the dark sea.
"Give me your belt," the redhead ordered one of his friends.
In seconds, they tied his wrists to the post with the leather belt, tightening it until his skin burned. Evan pleaded, stammered, even tried to utter the moon's words in a final act of desperation, but only got laughter in return. They left him there, stuck to the cold iron, as they walked away laughing, their voices fading into the streets of The Gardens.
"I don't bother anyone…" Evan murmured between sobs, speaking to the salty wind. "I try to be better… I help if I can… I just want… to help my siblings… be decent… So… Why me?… WHY ME? GODS!!!"
The sun was now a bleeding sliver on the sea's horizon. The moon, somewhat apart from the sun, with its cracked surface, began to fade alongside it. The darkness loomed, physical, palpable. Evan cried silently, head bowed, the salt of his tears and the sea spray mixing on his lips. He had hit rock bottom.