Wednesday, April 25th, 2.37 miles Southwest, 5:41 p.m. CET — Via Paolo Rembrandt 13, Esso Gas Station, Bande Nere neighborhood, Zone 7, Milan, Italy
A dark green Range Rover glided off the main road and eased into a fuel station, its tinted windows catching the last amber light of the sun. The vehicle—a sleek, luxury SUV with black wheels and a glossy finish—seemed almost too polished for its surroundings.
From the back seat, Loconda peered out at the station—worn, tagged with faint graffiti, and gritty in a way that reminded her of Manhattan.
Francesca shifted into park but didn't move right away. Instead, she lingered, her eyes eventually finding Loconda's in the rear-view mirror.
"Dio mio," Francesca said softly, tilting her head slightly, "you're the spitting image of her."
"Of who?" Loconda asked.
Francesca glanced away, then back. "The woman whose apartment you borrowed, along with her hitmen problem." Without another word, she opened her door and stepped out, leaving Loconda alone with the weight of her words.
Francesca circled the car briskly, her eyes scanning the station as she moved. Through the windshield, Loconda watched her tap the pump's touchpad, muttering under her breath when the screen lagged. With a sharp motion, she slid her card in, then rested a hand on her hip as she waited.
Inside, the SUV smelled faintly of lavender and expensive perfume. The tan seats gleamed in the fading light—clean, supple, and clearly well cared for.
Beside her, Luca was slumped in his seat, strapped in by a seatbelt that strained against the bulk of his frame. He snored softly, head tilted back, one hand resting on his stomach. In Loconda's lap, Renata lay curled in a tight, purring knot of black fur. Both of them were so calm, so still, she didn't dare move.
A knock tapped gently on the passenger window beside her. Loconda turned her head. Francesca stood there, hand raised, motioning for her to lower the window.
She leaned forward and pressed the button. The glass slid down with a smooth hum.
"It's as clear as crystal—you and Acadia are related somehow," Francesca said, twisting the cap off the tank and inserting the nozzle with a practiced click. "Which means you're not safe in Milano. What I need to know now is—how are you related and why are you here?"
"Okay, well, I can explain all that," Loconda replied, gently shifting Renata into the space beside her and leaning toward the window. "But can you explain a few things for me first?"
"No, mio caro," Francesca snapped. "I ask the questions, and you answer them. Otherwise, you can get out of my car and fend for yourself. The choice is yours."
A tense silence followed Francesca's sharp ultimatum, hanging in the air like the last light slipping behind the station awning. Loconda rolled her eyes and looked away, heat rising in her chest. Who did this woman think she was, barking orders like that? But then she remembered where she was. She had no idea what city forces she'd stumbled into, no idea who to trust or what was coming next. And for now, this sharp-tongued stranger was her only lifeline.
She exhaled slowly, settling herself. "Acadia is my aunt," she said at last. "I came to Milan because I got an offer from Vivian Giordano to attend the Academy of Advanced Arts."
Francesca's expression shifted. A flicker of something—surprise, maybe even disbelief—softened the lines of her face. "Do you have proof of this offer?"
"I do," Loconda replied. She reached into her crossbody bag, careful not to jostle Renata, and pulled out a neatly folded letter tucked in a velvet green envelope. She passed it through the open window.
Francesca took it delicately, almost reverently. Her eyes moved quickly over the page, then slowed. Her face changed—first confusion, then something almost like awe.
With her free hand, she removed the pump from the vehicle and returned it to its cradle. She shut the gas cap with a snap and, still staring at the letter, pulled out her phone.
"I need to make a call," she murmured, already turning away.
Loconda watched her retreat through the back window, watched as Francesca crossed the street behind the station and stepped into an empty lot. There, framed by the crooked silhouette of an old newsstand tagged with fading graffiti, she began pacing—one arm folded across her chest, phone pressed to her ear, the letter still clutched tightly in her hand.
1.6 miles Southwest, 6:11 p.m. CET — Parco delle Cave, Baggio neighborhood
The Range Rover barreled down a dirt road, its sturdy frame rocking over dips and loose gravel. The headlights sliced through the growing dusk, casting long shadows that danced among the trees lining the narrow path. Dust swirled in the rearview like a trailing ghost, clinging to the fading light of the evening.
Ahead, the road began to widen, the dense line of trees pulling back to reveal a vast, empty field bathed in the muted glow of twilight. Francesca eased the car to a stop, the hum of the engine gave way to silence, broken only by Luca's resonant snores from the backseat. The field stretched endlessly, bordered by the towering silhouettes of trees, their tips swaying gently in the breeze.
In the passenger seat, Loconda stirred, blinking against the soft twilight that bled into the horizon. The sky was a vision of molten orange and blood-red hues, a fading memory of the day as the sun barely clung to the edge of the world. Renata shifted slightly in her arms, her small face buried in Loconda's chest, breathing softly in sleep.
Loconda's attention was drawn to something strange—a ripple in the air above the field, subtle at first, like heat rising from asphalt. Then, the ripple grew, spreading outward, warping the air itself, until the outline of something massive began to take shape.
"What is that?" she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.
The ripple grew, pulsing with a silent rhythm, until it took shape—a massive, trembling outline materializing in the field. Slowly, like ink spreading across a canvas, the invisible distortion resolved into the towering silhouette of a castle. Its dark spires pierced the sky, its stone walls reflecting a cold, ghostly sheen.
With a low groan, the iron gates of the castle creaked open, as though beckoning them inside.
"Welcome to Castello Resonare," Francesca said from the driver's seat, her tone calm but tinged with reverence. Without waiting for a response, she guided the Range Rover forward, the vehicle rolling smoothly past the gates and into the castle grounds.
Loconda could barely tear her eyes away as the castle's details became clearer: intricate carvings on the stone walls, gargoyle-like figures perched on the edges of its parapets, and glowing orbs of light floating near the arched windows like sentinels.
As the car came to a stop in the cobblestone courtyard, the air seemed to hum with energy, an almost imperceptible vibration that Loconda could feel in her chest. Francesca stepped out of the car, the sound of her boots echoing in the stillness.
Luca groaned from the backseat, lifting his head groggily. "Are we… here?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.
"Yes," Francesca replied, glancing back at him. "And I suggest you wake up fully. This isn't the kind of place you stumble into half-conscious."
Loconda hesitated, still clutching Renata as she stepped out of the car. The castle loomed above her, its presence overwhelming. She could feel something more than just its size—a vibe that seemed to press against her senses, both thrilling and unnerving.
"What is this place?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Francesca's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile. "This, my dear, is the Academy of Advanced Arts. And this side is designated as the women's entrance. Professore Venturi will have to use the other side."
She tossed Luca the car keys and he juggled them for a moment before getting a firm grip and heading for the driver's side.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss—," Luca paused, as he relished that he hadn't gotten her name."
"Toussaint," Loconda replied."
"Yes," he smiled nervously, half of his body hanging out of the window as he rubbed his head. "I teach in the Performance Arts Department, so I'm sure we'll cross paths again."
"Thanks for your assistance, professore," Francesca smiled.
Luca nodded, backed the car out, and disappeared down the dirt road.
"Why are women only allowed to enter through here?" Loconda asked.
Francesca's gaze lightened. "This entrance leads directly to the women's dormitories," she said simply. "I'm sure you can imagine why such a restriction exists."
"Oh, yes of course," Loconda blushed.
"Now then, Miss Toussaint," Francesca said, her voice shifting with authority. "From this point on, you'll address me as either High Professor or Alta Professoressa Bellavita. Capisce?"
"Yes, ma'am," Loconda nodded quickly, "I mean—yes, High Professor—essa?"
"Bene, va bene," High Prof. Bellavita replied. "I teach in the Department of Intellectual Design. I've spoken with Gran Professoressa Giordano—she confirmed your direct offer. If you choose to accept it, you'll be entering our program as a major in Intellectual Design. Is that understood?
"Yes, ma'am," Loconda replied.
"Bene," High Prof. Bellavita said, her brows knitting even tighter. "Before we go any further, I need to ask you something. But first—let me acknowledge the obvious. What you've just been through… it isn't normal. It isn't fair. You were thrown into something violent and vast, with no warning or guide. And I imagine your mind is still racing to make sense of it."
She paused, her voice softening. "But hear me when I say this: what happened to you doesn't define you. Not today. Not ever. What matters now is how you move forward, and who you choose to become in the face of it. You are not alone—and you won't be."
She turned slightly, gesturing toward the building ahead. "That entrance leads directly to the Administrative Hall. The enrollment office is inside. Getting you properly registered is the first step to making sure you're protected, informed, and not wandering through this blind. I know this may feel rushed. It is. We don't have the luxury of time. That's why I need to ask you plainly—are you ready to enroll?"
Loconda didn't hesitate. "Yes. Absolutely."
"Are you sure?" High Prof. Bellavita pressed, her tone carrying a hint of skepticism.
"A hundred percent," Loconda said, her voice low but unwavering. "Today was terrifying—like I was being dragged through a horror movie. But underneath all the fear, something in me clicked. I'm not here by accident. I came to Milan to study fashion. That was the plan before today, and it's still the plan now."
"I must admit, I find it… telling," High Prof. Bellavita said, her voice smooth but probing, "that your first stop was your aunt's doorstep—not ours. Are you certain she's not the reason you came to Milan?"
Loconda exhaled, her expression softening. "I won't pretend seeing my aunt didn't matter—it did. But that wasn't the reason I came. My father all but forbade me from studying fashion. Said it was a waste. So I lied, schemed and clung to what little hope I had. And just when I thought all hope was lost, Mrs. Giordano offered me a second chance. So no, I'm not here for my aunt. I'm here for me. For my work. For the life I'm trying to build." She looked up, steady and clear. "This is where I want to be."
High Prof. Bellavita studied her for a moment, the silence stretching between them. "Bene. Because as we speak, the Administrative Council is reviewing your enrollment—carefully. Your connection to Acadia complicates things. I don't know how much Professore Venturi shared about your aunt's current situation, but admitting you as a student may be an astronomical risk—incidents like today could repeat themselves."
Before Loconda could ask any more questions, the castle doors swung open, spilling golden light onto the courtyard.
High Prof. Bellavita turned sharply on her heel. "Come along, Miss Toussaint," she said briskly. Without waiting for a reply, the high professor strode across the cobblestone courtyard toward the castle entrance.
Loconda followed, clutching Renata tightly against her chest. The courtyard stretched wide before her, a grand expanse paved with smooth stone. Around its perimeter, spaces were marked for vehicles, though most remained empty except for a sleek black sedan parked to the side. The last blush of sunlight had nearly vanished, and one by one, ornate lamp posts flickered to life. Their golden glow bathed the lot, casting long shadows from the meticulously trimmed bushes that surrounded a central fountain.
The fountain itself was a marvel—water cascaded in intricate, tiered patterns, its spray catching the light and shimmering like tiny jewels. The gentle sound of splashing water mellowed the courtyard's grandeur, lending it an almost magical serenity.
Ahead, the entrance loomed. The door was a towering monument of craftsmanship, carved from dark, polished wood and inlaid with swirling designs that shimmered faintly as though they held a magic of their own. Heavy iron handles adorned it, their edges engraved with symbols Loconda couldn't decipher.
Standing guard were a group of women in sleek, lightweight tactical gear, their postures disciplined and alert. They moved with an air of quiet authority, their eyes scanning the area with precision. One of the guards stepped forward as High Prof. Bellavita approached, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of a blade sheathed at her side.
High Prof. Bellavita produced her identification with a flourish, holding it up for inspection. The guard examined it, then gave a curt nod. "Welcome back, Alta Professoressa," she said, stepping aside. The other guards followed suit, allowing the two women to pass through the checkpoint.
Loconda swallowed hard as she stepped past the threshold, feeling the weight of the guards' gazes on her back.
6:23 p.m. CET — Women's Hall, Ground floor, Castello Resonare
Inside, the castle's grandeur deepened. The hallway stretched wide and long, its high vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate frescoes depicting celestial scenes. Warm light from golden sconces cast a soft glow over the polished stone floor, reflecting the gentle hum of life within the walls.
Students filled the space, moving in small clusters or darting down side halls. Some were dressed sharply, their attire suggesting they were on their way to class—tailored blazers, flowing skirts, and crisp slacks. Others lounged in pajama sets, their expressions sleepy but cheerful. A few sported workout gear, their faces flushed from exertion, gym bags slung casually over their shoulders.
As Loconda and High Prof. Bellavita moved through the hall, heads began to turn. Murmurs spread like wildfire, the students' whispers barely audible over the sound of footsteps. Loconda caught fragments: "Who's that?" "Is that her?" "I heard she's related to Gran Professor…"
Her cheeks flushed under the weight of their stares. To distract herself, she focused on High Prof. Bellavita's back, her eyes tracing the professor's outfit. Bellavita's ensemble was a perfect blend of style and functionality: a tailored, deep emerald coat cinched at the waist, paired with sleek black trousers and ankle boots that clicked softly against the floor. Her hair was swept into a sophisticated twist, and a faint scent of cedarwood and citrus lingered in her wake.
High Prof. Bellavita spoke as they walked, her voice cutting through the whispers. "That hall," she said, gesturing to a passage on their right, "leads to the dormitories, often referred to as La Ala Rosa." Then pointing to her left, "And that hall connects to the gym and private study rooms."
Loconda nodded, trying to take it all in.
At the end of the woman's hall, a grand door stood open, its carved surface depicting scenes of female students engaged in various arts. They passed through the doorway, leaving the ornate chamber behind.
Beyond the door stretched a long, narrow hallway, a stark contrast to the space they had just exited. Its walls gleamed with subtle golden veins that seemed to pulse faintly, alive with an almost rhythmic energy. The muted hum of machinery filled the space, emanating from four horizontal conveyor systems that bisected the hallway. The movement was hypnotic—each conveyor gliding smoothly in opposite directions, their sleek surfaces shimmering faintly under the warm glow of recessed lighting.
High Prof. Bellavita stepped onto the outermost walkway, her emerald coat swishing elegantly, and gestured for Loconda to follow.
"The right walkways lead away from the Women's Hall; the left ones head toward it," she explained briskly. "This outer walkway moves faster, ideal for those in a hurry—or simply confident in their balance."
Loconda hesitated but stepped onto the walkway beside her, clutching Renata securely. Her breath hitched as the walkway accelerated beneath her feet, propelling them forward with unexpected speed. The motion was seamless, yet unnervingly fast, and Loconda found herself gripping the edge of the moving rail for support.
"You'll get used to it," High Prof. Bellavita remarked without looking back, her voice laced with a trace of amusement. "In fact, you'll come to appreciate the efficiency."
Loconda adjusted her footing, her eyes darting to the walls as they blurred by. The speed was exhilarating, almost as if the castle itself was alive and ushering them forward. Within seconds, the hallway opened into a wider space, and the walkway gently slowed before coming to a smooth stop.
The two women stepped off in unison, Loconda's boots clicking against the polished stone floor. Ahead of them stood a second checkpoint—a row of guards clad in sleek, black tactical uniforms. Unlike the previous guards, these faced away from the approaching traffic, their attention focused on the students heading toward the Women's Hall. Their presence was commanding, though they seemed uninterested in those moving in the opposite direction.
High Prof. Bellavita passed through the checkpoint with practiced ease, nodding briefly to the guards. Loconda followed, holding Renata, who stirred faintly in her sleep. The routine flow faltered as Renata's sleek fur bristled, her golden eyes snapping open and glowing softly. At first disoriented, the cat's gaze swept the room before locking onto a student lingering nearby.
The girl was tall and willowy, her sharp yet strikingly beautiful features framed by a cascade of raven-black hair, and though her immaculate uniform—a crisp negroni tan blouse tucked into a pleated tan skirt—was pristine, an undeniable edge lingered in her presence, shadowed by a faint, perceptible darkness.
Renata let out a deep hiss, drawing the attention of nearby students and guards. Before Loconda could react, the cat squirmed free, scratching her forearm before landing gracefully on the polished floor. Arching her back and puffing her tail, Renata planted herself defensively between Loconda and the student, her eyes narrowed into furious slits..
"Control your fedel!" one of the guards yelled, her hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of a baton.
"Fedel?" Loconda stammered, crouching down and extending her hands toward Renata.
Before she could attempt to calm the cat, the student in question stepped forward, her movements unhurried and calm. Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement, though the aura around her didn't waver. She knelt gracefully, her gaze meeting Renata's unflinchingly.
"There's no need for all this fuss, Renata," the girl said, her voice carrying a soft French accent. A faint smile played on her lips as she regarded the hissing cat.
Renata froze, her hissing faltering into a confused growl. The girl extended her hand, palm up, moving with deliberate slowness. Loconda opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, the girl's hand darted forward with astonishing speed, patting Renata on the head with a light, deliberate touch. Renata lashed out, attempting to bite, but the girl's reflexes were too sharp. Her hand retracted, unscathed, only to return with another confident pat.
"There, there," the girl murmured, her voice laced with something both soothing and unsettling.
Loconda finally managed to scoop Renata up, the cat's body stiff with tension but no longer struggling. She cradled Renata close, feeling the vibrations of her low growl.
The student stood, brushing her skirt. Her gaze shifted to Loconda, and her smile disappeared.
"How do you know this cat's name?" Loconda asked, clutching Renata tighter.
"I'm sure we'll meet again soon," she replied, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Au revoir."
With that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd without a backward glance. Loconda stood frozen for a moment, her heart pounding and arms full of a still-bristling Renata.
High Prof. Bellavita's voice cut through Loconda's daze, sharp and urgent. "Keep moving, Miss Toussaint. We're already behind schedule."
Loconda glanced up to see the professor disappearing into the crowd and quickened her pace, hurrying to catch up.
Beyond the checkpoint, the space opened into a massive atrium that stole Loconda's breath. The ceiling soared impossibly high, a latticework of glass and steel that revealed the deep indigo of the evening sky. A massive chandelier floated weightlessly in the center, its crystalline tendrils radiating light in soft, mesmerizing patterns. Conversations echoed off the walls, mingling with the gentle hum of glowing orbs that hovered above, casting a warm, ambient glow.
The floor below was a vast mosaic, its intricate designs shifting subtly as if reacting to the footsteps of those who crossed it. Students bustled through the atrium, their movements filling the space with life and purpose. For the first time, Loconda noticed male students and faculty mingling in the space, their presence adding a new dynamic to the academy's life.
"This," High Prof. Bellavita said, her voice carrying a note of pride, "is the West Nexus Atrium, the heart of the university. From here, you can access nearly every corner of the campus. It's designed not only for function but for inspiration. Every detail you see is a testament to what we teach here: the harmony of art and resonance."
"It's incredible," Loconda murmured, her voice barely audible over the hum of activity.
"It truly is," High Prof. Bellavita replied, gesturing toward a grand staircase at the far end of the atrium. Its steps flanked by sculptures of mythical creatures, their stone forms so lifelike they seemed ready to leap into motion.
Loconda followed her up the staircase, their footsteps fading as they entered a vast corridor beyond.
6:51 p.m. CET — Student Service Hall, Second Tower, Second Floor, Castle Resonare of the University of Advanced Arts, Baggio District
The hall was quieter here, a stark contrast to the bustling nexus they had left behind. The warm, ambient glow of sconces illuminated the smooth stone tiles, and the faint hum of distant conversations echoed softly against the high, arched ceilings. Loconda walked beside High Prof. Bellavita, her fingers absently stroking Renata's fur, as though soothing the cat might steady her own racing thoughts.
Ahead, the familiar figure of Otto, Vivian Gior's stoic bodyguard, loomed like a silent sentinel in front of the Admissions Office. His broad shoulders and sharp gaze gave him an air of quiet authority. Beside him stood David Callan, Vivian's production assistant, a well-poised young man with a lean frame and an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes tonight.
Loconda's heart fluttered with a mix of emotions. Relief surfaced at seeing two familiar faces—the first since her arrival in Milan—but anxiety quickly crept in. Their connection to Gran Prof. Giordano likely meant serious news.
"Miss Toussaint," David smiled, stepping forward, his British accent soft and precise. "Welcome to Milan. It's good to see you again."
"Thank you," Loconda replied, her voice faltering slightly under his piercing gaze.
David turned to High Prof. Bellavita, his expression shifting to something far more serious. "Professor," he began, his tone measured but heavy, "I regret to inform you that the council has made their decision, and Miss Toussaint's enrollment has been rejected."
Bellavita slowed her stride, the hem of her emerald coat flaring as she stopped. "I was assured we'd have time to present our case," she said, her voice calm but edged with frustration.
David shook his head, glancing briefly at Otto, who stood silent and unyielding, a statue of stoic vigilance. "Mrs. Gior anticipated this outcome. The purpose of bringing Miss Toussaint to Student Services was never about academy enrollment—it's to enroll her in the Havocacy Program."
"Brilliant," High Prof. Bellavita replied, a sharp edge in her voice. "Now that she's been denied, she meets all the qualifications to train as a Havocant."
"Exactly," David said with a faint smirk, turning to Loconda. "I'm sure you have questions, but we're racing against time. Tonight is the application deadline."
"Understood," High Prof. Bellavita interrupted. "May I speak with Miss Toussaint privately?"
David nodded. "Of course, but please keep it brief." With that, he and Otto stepped into the Admissions Office, leaving the two women alone in the hallway.
High Prof. Bellavita knelt to meet Loconda at eye level, her tone softening. "The Havocacy Program is the Catholic Church's way of giving resonate-sensitive children with complicated pasts a second chance. Over the summer, you'll face rigorous tests and challenges designed to instill discipline and moral clarity. Pass, and you'll gain immunity from the council's ruling. Fail, and the Church will block your ability to manipulate resonance—permanently."
Loconda blinked. "I've never manipulated anything in my life."
"You will, soon enough," High Prof. Bellavita replied smoothly. "Like your aunt, you're highly sensitive to resonance—it's in your DNA."
"But doesn't a permanent block seem… a bit harsh?"
"The stakes are high because the risks are higher. This program ensures that rejected students won't misuse resonance or succumb to the dark arts. So, knowing this, Loconda, are you ready to take the risk?"
Loconda glanced down at Renata, stroking the cat's fur for reassurance. After a beat, she looked back up, her expression steady. "I am."
High Prof. Bellavita smiled faintly, extending her hand. "Then let's go."
Loconda took it, and together, they entered the Admissions Office, hand in hand.