The sun was barely rising behind the rooftops blackened by soot when the first carts creaked over the damp stones. Shadows still clung to the alleys, as if unwilling to be driven away by the warm light beginning to slip between the brick towers and fogged windowpanes.
The city was breathing. Slowly. Like an ancient beast waking from its slumber.
In the central square, barefoot children ran among fruit stalls and empty barrels, dodging the sleepy shouts of vendors. The temple bells rang—not out of devotion, but out of routine.
On the hill farthest from the center, where the houses were lower and the cobblestones lighter, a dark-haired boy stood beneath the shade of a twisted tree. He watched without moving as leaves slowly fell, carried by the cold morning wind.
Vero approached with light steps, her voice breaking the whisper of the trees:
"Today you're here again, Taichi."
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on something only he seemed to see between the branches and the pale sky. Finally, he nodded.
"I like this place," he said.
"I know. You always come when you dream something bad."
She had a way of saying things—as if she knew more than she should, as if she saw inside him with a clarity that made him uneasy.
Taichi lowered his eyes. Vero smiled. She wore a long braid over her shoulder, a coat slightly too big for her slender frame, and a small notebook tied with string.
"Have you dreamed again about the city burning?" she asked, without fear.
He hesitated.
"Yes... but this time it wasn't just fire. There was a song... like someone was crying beneath the earth."
Vero sat beside him. The tree creaked softly, as if it too was listening.
"My father says the city is changing. That something is breaking."
"Why are you telling me this?" Taichi asked, feeling a knot in his stomach.
"Because you feel it too. Right?"
There was a thick silence, as if the air itself hesitated what to do.
Then, a new sound came from the valley: drums. Distant, hollow, but steady. Something that shouldn't be there.
Taichi and Vero looked at each other.
And then everything shattered.
---
The attack.
The skies, so pale minutes before, turned ash gray. From the horizon came figures that did not march… they advanced violently, hungry. There were no screams, only the brutal sound of flesh tearing through stone and metal.
The walls did not hold. There was no time. The fire erupted from within, as if it had already been waiting.
Taichi was swept away by the crowd. He saw bodies fall, heard the elders' wails, the crash of collapsing towers. Someone shouted his name, but it was too late.
He saw Vero one last time through the fog and smoke. Someone held her tightly. A man. Dark uniform. It wasn't monsters capturing her. They were soldiers.
He wanted to run, but something struck his head. Darkness fell like a dirty blanket over his eyes.
---
The temple.
He awoke among ashes. There were bodies. Many. The temple was broken, its roof open like a badly closed wound. The stained glass, once colorful, were blades of light through the mist.
Taichi walked. Aimlessly. Each step crunching over bones and burnt wood.
A figure moved among the rubble. It was Leira. Her leg was broken, and her dress was stained with dried blood. She held a knife in her hand, though she no longer seemed to know why.
"Taichi...?" she whispered.
He didn't know what to say. He knelt beside her. Leira trembled, but did not cry. There were no tears left.
"They told me to run. To save the children..." Her voice broke. "But the monsters didn't come alone. There were soldiers! Soldiers, Taichi!"
He hugged her. He had no answers. Only silence accompanied them until footsteps came.
---
Days passed. Or perhaps weeks. Time ceased to matter.
The survivors were gathered in what remained of the upper square. The city's ruins still smoldered. No authorities remained. Only fragments of what had been.
Taichi lived among makeshift tents, surrounded by wounded and nameless children. The nights were cold and the days worse. Hunger became a habit. Words, knives.
A man appeared. Gray hair, intact armor, calm voice. He introduced himself as Kael. No one knew where he came from, but he brought water—and that was enough.
He helped without speaking much. His gaze was sharp, but his presence brought calm. Taichi began to follow him. First out of necessity. Then out of instinct.
Kael taught him how to make fire with wet stones. How to distinguish rotten meat from salvageable food. How to detect movement in the fog.
One day, while the sun barely touched the stones on the hill, Kael spoke:
"I saw you when Count Fran arrived."
Taichi didn't answer.
"You were on the upper part. You didn't go with the others. Why?"
The boy lowered his gaze. His hands were covered in dirt and dried wounds.
"Because he lied," he murmured.
Kael nodded, as if confirming something he already knew.
"And what will you do with that?"
Taichi took a deep breath. The wind smelled of old smoke and dried blood.
"I don't know. But I don't want to forget it."
Kael sat beside him. He pulled out a small smooth stone and handed it to him.
"Then start by remembering. Every day. Every face. Every silence. All of that will be your weapon, later on."