It was an April night—quiet in a way that felt almost deliberate. The train moved steadily through the darkness, its motion constant, its presence cutting through the stillness of sleeping landscapes. Inside one of the carriages sat a boy, no older than eighteen or nineteen.
The compartment was nearly empty. Only a few passengers occupied distant seats, separated enough that no one acknowledged the other. A low mechanical rhythm filled the space—the sound of metal against tracks, repeating endlessly.
The boy sat by the window.
A backpack rested near his feet, and a small trolley stood beside him, its handle slightly worn. He leaned back, his reflection faintly visible in the glass, merging with the darkness outside.
He was around 165 centimeters tall, with thick, slightly messy hair and a face defined by sharp lines. His features were clean, almost striking in a quiet way. At a glance, there was nothing unusual about him.
Except—
his eyes.
They were dark, almost too still. Not empty, not exactly—but distant, as if they were focused on something far beyond the moving world outside. When he smiled, it didn't quite reach them.
And yet, he did smile.
A small one. Controlled.
Finally… a chance to change things.
The thought came naturally, as if rehearsed.
Outside, the train passed through stretches of rural land. Dim lights flickered occasionally in the distance—houses, perhaps, or something forgotten. Villages appeared for a moment and disappeared just as quickly, leaving behind only darkness again.
Time moved forward.
At one station, a few people entered. At another, some left. The pattern repeated itself quietly—footsteps, brief voices, shifting bags, then silence again. Seats changed owners. Conversations started and ended without consequence.
Nothing stayed.
The boy remained where he was.
At one point, someone took the seat across from him, glanced in his direction, then looked away. A few stops later, they were gone. Another replaced them. Then another.
He didn't move.
Not much, at least.
Only his eyes shifted occasionally—toward the window, toward the aisle, then back again. Observing, but not engaging.
searching without urgency.
Gradually, as the train neared its final stop, the carriage emptied once more. The quiet returned, deeper than before.
The boy leaned slightly toward the window.
The outside had changed.
Fog spread across the landscape, thick enough to blur edges and swallow distance. On one side, there was almost nothing—just a dark expanse where shapes refused to form. On the other, faint clusters of light appeared along elevated ground.
A city.
Gruse.
It was known for its beauty—built between mountains, resting beside the wide expanse of Siesta Lake. A place people traveled to, not from.
From afar, though, it looked different.
The lights were distant. The outlines unclear.
The train began to slow.
A sharp metallic sound echoed as it approached its destination.
Gruse Terminal Station.
The doors opened.
Passengers stood, one after another, collecting their belongings and stepping out. Movement returned briefly—footsteps, voices, the subtle urgency of arrival.
The boy stayed seated.
Only for a moment.
Then he stood, almost as if following something expected rather than something chosen. He reached for his trolley and stepped out onto the platform.
The station was brightly lit. The artificial lights erased shadows but gave everything a pale, almost cold appearance. People moved in different directions, their voices blending into a continuous hum.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his ticket.
It was slightly crumpled.
Canta Olivera.
He looked at it for a second longer than necessary.
Then he dropped it into a nearby dustbin.
No hesitation.
No expression.
Canta lifted his gaze and scanned the area. Faces passed by, unrecognized and unimportant. His eyes moved calmly, searching without urgency.
Then they stopped.
A man stood a short distance away, focused on his phone. He wasn't looking around, wasn't waiting in the usual sense. Just… standing.
Canta recognized him.
His uncle.
Joseph Olivera.
There was something composed about him—still, controlled. He didn't react to the movement around him, as if it didn't concern him.
Canta walked toward him.
Step by step.
When he reached him, he paused.
"Uncle."
Joseph looked up.
His eyes moved over Canta briefly, taking him in without much change in expression.
A small breath escaped him.
"You're here."
His tone was neutral.
He checked the time on his phone.
"It's late," he said. "Let's go."
No further exchange followed.
Joseph turned and began walking.
Canta followed.
---
They stepped out of the station into the cold night air.
The brightness from inside faded quickly, replaced by a quieter, dimly lit exterior. The fog still lingered, thinner here but enough to soften the edges of everything. Streetlights cast long, pale reflections on the slightly damp ground.
Joseph walked ahead without saying much, and Canta followed, pulling his trolley behind him. The wheels made a faint dragging sound against the pavement—steady, repetitive.
After a short walk, Joseph stopped beside a car.
"This one," he said simply.
It wasn't anything remarkable. Just a dark-colored car, slightly worn, but well-kept. Canta placed his bag in the back and got inside. The door shut with a dull thud, sealing in the quiet.
Joseph started the engine.
The car moved.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The road stretched ahead, illuminated only by the headlights cutting through the mist. Buildings passed by—some lit, most dark. The city felt different up close. Not as distant as before, but not entirely alive either.
Canta sat still, watching the passing lights.
A small smile appeared on his face.
"Uncle… why are you so quiet?"
Joseph yawned, one hand loosely on the steering wheel.
"It's nothing," he said. "Work's been exhausting. My boss has been pushing me for days. I thought I'd finally get some rest today… then I remembered I had to pick you up."
He paused briefly, eyes still on the road.
"After a good sleep, I'll be normal again."
The words sounded casual, but his voice carried a slight weight.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, "How are your parents?"
"They're fine," Canta replied.
The answer came quickly. Too clean to continue.
Joseph nodded faintly.
After a few seconds, he spoke again.
"Though, Canta… you're a bit late. It's already the 7th of April. The university semester has started."
The car hit a slight bump in the road, the sound echoing briefly inside.
"You missed your orientation. The introductions too."
Canta looked out the window.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know."
His tone didn't carry regret. Just acknowledgment.
The car continued forward, the engine humming steadily.
After a while, Canta spoke again.
"Uncle… what about Sis Miya? Does she visit you sometimes?"
Joseph's grip on the steering wheel tightened just slightly.
"Not really," he said. "After the divorce… she rarely comes."
He exhaled softly.
"It's been months since I've seen her."
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
Then he added, "It's good you came. Living alone gets… tiring."
The sentence lingered in the air for a moment before fading into the quiet.
The car turned into a residential colony.
It was brighter here, rows of buildings standing close together. Most of the windows were dark—people already asleep. The time had slipped past midnight.
Joseph parked the car.
They stepped out.
The air felt still.
Canta picked up his trolley and followed Joseph toward one of the buildings. The entrance light flickered faintly as they walked in. Inside, everything was quiet—no voices, no movement. Just a a flickering tube light in the corridor
They entered the lift.
It creaked slightly as the doors closed.
Neither of them spoke.
When they reached the floor, Joseph stepped out first and walked down the corridor. He stopped in front of a door, unlocked it, and pushed it open.
"Come in."
Canta stepped inside.
The apartment was simple. Clean, but not particularly lived-in. The lights were bright, almost too bright for the hour.
Joseph gestured toward a room.
"That'll be yours."
Canta walked in.
It was small, but spacious enough. A bed, a table, a cupboard. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Are you going to the university tomorrow?" Joseph asked from the doorway.
Canta paused for a moment.
"Maybe not," he said at first.
Then, after a second, "No… I'll go. I want to see it."
Joseph nodded.
"Alright. I won't be waking up early. I'll be sleeping."
He turned slightly.
"If you need anything, there's food in the fridge."
With that, he walked away.
Canta stood there for a moment before closing the door.
The click echoed softly.
He turned on the lights.
The room brightened instantly, revealing its simplicity more clearly. He placed his bag down, opened it, and began taking out his clothes. Each movement was slow, unhurried.
From inside his bag, he took out a folded poster.
He unfolded it carefully and looked at it for a second.
You can do this.
The words were simple.
He placed it on the wall.
It didn't change the room much.
But he stepped back anyway, as if checking something.
After a while, he lay down on the bed.
Sleep came quietly.
Morning arrived without announcement.
Canta opened his eyes.
The room looked the same.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then he sat up.
Getting ready felt heavier than expected, but he moved through it anyway. He washed up, got dressed, and picked up his bag.
When he stepped out, the apartment was silent.
Joseph was still asleep.
Canta didn't check.
He walked out.
The corridor was empty. The lift stood waiting. He stepped inside and pressed the button.
As the doors closed, someone else entered at the last moment.
A girl.
She stood beside him, wearing headphones, her attention fixed on her phone. The faint sound of a video played through them—indistinct, repetitive.
The lift began to descend.
It took longer than expected.
The silence stretched.
Then, suddenly—
"Hey," she said, glancing at him. "You're new here, right? Haven't seen you before."
She had black hair, slightly falling over her shoulders, and bright, observant eyes. Around his height, maybe a little shorter.
"I came yesterday," Canta replied. "With my uncle."
She nodded.
"Where are you headed?"
"Gruse National University."
She raised her eyebrows slightly.
"Oh. I study there."
There was a brief pause.
Canta looked at her.
"Can you show me the way?"
There was a hint of something in his expression. Subtle. Controlled.
But his eyes remained the same.
She noticed.
"Sure," she said. "I will."
Then she tilted her head slightly.
"Though… can I ask you something?"
"What?"
She looked at him more carefully this time.
"Your expressions… they don't match your eyes. Your face looks normal, but your eyes feel… gloomy."
Canta didn't react immediately.
"It's nothing," he said after a second. "I've always been like this."
She studied him for a moment, then shrugged lightly.
"Alright."
The lift slowed.
"Let's go."
The doors opened.
---
They stepped out onto the roadway, the morning light spreading softly across the city. The fog from the night had mostly lifted, leaving behind a clear view of Gruse. The air felt fresh, carrying a faint chill, and the distant outline of mountains stood quietly against the sky.
Jessica walked slightly ahead, relaxed, as if she had taken this path many times before.
"The university isn't too far from here," she said. "We can just walk."
Canta nodded and followed.
For a while, they walked in silence. The road was calm, with only a few people passing by—some heading to work, others moving without urgency. The city looked different in daylight. Cleaner. More defined.
Halfway through, Jessica suddenly stopped.
"Oh—sorry," she said, turning toward him. "It was rude of me not to introduce myself."
She gave a small, casual smile.
"I'm Jessica. Second year. Zoology, Gruse National University."
Canta looked at her for a moment.
"I'm Canta."
She nodded, as if that was enough.
They resumed walking.
After a few steps, she glanced around at the surroundings.
"Isn't this city beautiful?" she said. "It's clean, close to nature… and Lake Siesta, those mountains… it's kind of perfect."
Canta followed her gaze briefly.
"Yeah," he said. "That's why I came here. To study… and to enjoy all of this."
He paused slightly before continuing.
"In four years, I'll try things. Climbing, cycling… whatever I can."
Jessica didn't respond immediately. She simply looked ahead and kept walking, her expression unreadable for a moment before returning to normal.
They continued along the roadside.
After a while, distant voices began to rise—loud, rhythmic, and out of place in the otherwise calm morning.
As they got closer, the source became clear.
A small crowd had gathered near the side of the road. People stood in a loose formation, their attention fixed on something ahead. Above them, a temporary platform had been set up.
On it stood a man.
Canta slowed slightly.
Jessica didn't.
The man was dressed in a formal suit, but something about him felt off. Around his shoulders rested a ribbon-like rope, loosely tied, and on his head sat a large, unusual crown. It extended low across his forehead, almost touching his brows.
The crown was dark, embedded with strange shapes—circles, spirals, patterns that didn't seem to follow any clear design.
The man smiled.
Then he raised his voice.
"We don't force anyone to accept us," he said loudly. "We convince others to accept the truth."
The crowd responded.
"We demand the truth!"
The words echoed unevenly.
Canta's hands twitched slightly at his side.
Jessica didn't notice.
"It's just some random group," she said casually. "Elections are in a month. People like this always show up, spreading their propaganda."
She didn't slow down.
Canta followed, but his gaze lingered.
As they passed by the platform, the man's voice lowered—not enough for the crowd, but just enough—
Something shifted.
Canta heard it.
"I will prove," the man murmured, "that we cannot choose comfort over what is real."
The words were quiet.
Too quiet.
Yet they felt clear.
Canta's hands trembled slightly. A faint shiver ran down his spine, quick but sharp.
He didn't react.
Didn't speak.
He simply looked away and continued walking.
Jessica kept moving, unaware.
The noise faded behind them.
But something didn't