Bepnis Strait
Mount Albur – Hidden Base
AAA-Maxio Room
Brian was deeply asleep, lying in a cross-shaped position, with long, steady snores. His chaotic mind, powered by the Trait "Player Soul," was giving birth... to a wild dream.
And within Brian's dream...
On a long highway, the sound of an engine revving endlessly grew louder... the silhouette of the vehicle shimmered on the pavement, and for an instant, a sharp crimson hue flashed.
The speed kept climbing. A sharp curve, handbrake. The tires screeched, drifting with precision, leaving their marks on the asphalt.
Inside the car, music blasted at full volume: "September, 1978", while the driver—blond, white shirt, dark sunglasses—nodded to the beat of the song.
I was driving the red Pagani, that nostalgic roar of the engine, the beautiful German asphalt, each curve, the vertigo of speed. It was a meaningful memory.
"But why?... Why are my eyes wet? Why does my chest feel so heavy? That wasn't how that moment was."
I glanced at the passenger seat—and it wasn't her... I saw him. Was he terrified, or... happy? The truth is, a smile stretched across my face, but still:
—What the hell, Grandpa Brandom?
Brandom: —"And why are you crying, brat... don't tell me you want to see my abs?"
—This... makes no sense.
Brigitte: —"It doesn't have to." —said a voice from behind the seat.
—M-mom? —My pupils dilated instantly.
Brigitte: —"Hello, son... How's my little Andrew?"
—B-but, I'm driving a Pagani?
Brandom: —"Of course not, you're driving my truck." —the old man declared.
And just like that, it was no longer the Pagani... it was that 2008 truck, the same one the old man had back in that summer of 2009... and I wasn't the one driving anymore. In fact, I wasn't even on that German highway—I was arriving at that mansion in New Orleans.
I looked at the old man, searching for answers, but he only smiled, and suddenly had that guitar in his hands. I wasn't even in the car anymore—I was in that magnificent hall, and my body had shrunk small.
This was unreal; and yet... those notes, those movements of his hands across the strings, that effortless way of shifting tones... my intuition knew it: they were the same. That extraordinary melody... that whirlwind of rhythm, style, pure emotion and art.
I couldn't help but smile; the feeling was identical to the first time I ever heard him... and it hurt. My gaze dropped, my eyes filled with tears, though my smile didn't fade.
It was definitely him, that reverend old man: the great Brandom Murphy. Abruptly he ended his song, and his gaze—firm as steel, deep as the ocean—fixed on me. And that severe voice pronounced:
Brandom: —"I am going the way of all the earth; be strong, and show yourself a man."
I was about to respond, until... without any warning, a ball smacked against my head. Just a blink later, I found myself in a vast green field, and that sensation under my feet...
I knew: I was definitely on that soccer field. I didn't want to touch that ball, I didn't want to lose the beautiful words the old man had said... but then I saw a ghost— a small silhouette juggling the ball. He kicked it, and it hit my head again.
I fell back, sitting on the ground. I looked at my hands—they were... small, tender. The sunlight blinded me. But then he offered me his hand.
Santiago: —"Hey, Murphy, what would a recruiter think if he saw you catching a ball with your face?"
—Ow... it's not that I caught it with my face, it's that you kick way too hard.
Santiago: —"Peter does it better..."
—Peter is five, I haven't even turned four...
Santiago: —"Excuses. And you call yourself a genius at my level?"
—I'm a genius, not a super-athlete... besides, you know I can beat you in a game of—
Santiago: —"Video games don't count, what matters is the physical world."
—You'll see, I'll be... I don't know, but you just want to be a dumb soccer player.
Santiago: —"Dumb or not, that game brings more money, fame, and normality than wanting to be a freak for kids our age."
—Shut up, my head hurts because of you, Santiago.
Santiago: —"Your brain is recalibrating and discarding neurons that are useless."
—I'll sue you if you keep talking.
Santiago: —"With what proof? Technically we're just two kids playing soccer. Nothing illegal about that, my friend."
—I'll get an EEG and sue you.
Santiago: —"X-rays would hurt you, idiot. Besides, you need your parents' permission."
—You...
Santiago: —"Come to my house, I'll show you the case of Kim Ung-Yong, and maybe we'll play PlayStation."
—I'll ask my mom for permission.
I blinked once more... and now... a crimson hue covered the sky. Those were walls... no, ramparts... fire and people running, engulfed in flames. I approached the wall—there was a shattered mirror, and that face... those weren't my eyes, not my hair, not me. That was Sam...
A body made of shadows... no, as if darkness itself had chosen to take human form... descended from the heavens like a god, hovering above the burning city and chaos. From above, it looked straight into my eyes. And I felt...
I turned my gaze toward the forest that had begun to catch fire, and a silhouette looked back... my mother? The real one?
And almost like a whisper, I heard:
Brigitte: —"My little Andrew, you must know when to stop..."
I didn't hesitate a second. Even if this wasn't real, I had to answer:
—I know when to stop... but it's my responsibility what I choose.
I saw her smile, that smile of hers, that warmth... I only listened as she faded into the burning forest:
Brigitte: —"Then, don't stop."
I opened my eyes, staring at the metal ceiling with its red heater stripes, feeling the softness of the bed like cotton... it was a false perception of body, floating in anti-gravity.
"So it was a dream... what a damn twisted dream... but what the hell did the old man say? I don't remember..."
Without thinking twice, I called for Artia. She immediately reported that the «CI-Mask» had been completed four hours ago. Then I asked her:
—What time is it, Artia?
[It is 13:08 A.M. regional time, or as I prefer, 00:08 A.M.... exterior temperature is 10 °Celsius, Marshal.]
—Wait a second... what do you mean, 13?
[That is the standard schedule on this planet... it has 26 hours, did you never notice, Marshal?]
—Well... no, you see, time perception with me is complicated.
[How complicated?]
—For distances, I usually last seconds or minutes... and I have no damn idea how much time I lose daydreaming.
At that exact instant, Quincy cut in from his pink screen:
[Oh, I know, Master... according to my observations, you average about 3 hours a day lost in stupid thoughts (ㆆ_ㆆ)]
—Wait, three hours?!
[Correct, Master... that's why your mental cycle feels natural: it's ultra-boosted and you don't notice... (٥↼_↼)]
—Okay, thanks Quincy... Artia, I'll step outside to look at the stars. Can you give me the «CI-Mask» and a thermal coat?
[Marshal, I will provide you something to withstand exterior temperature, and I only ask you please to stop requesting stone-age technology.]
—Sure, sure, I get it...
[I have something very important to discuss with you, Marshal, regarding your condition, but I'll leave it for tomorrow along with the City's planning.]
—Understood.
Finally I received my mask/helmet, whatever it was... I had much to think about... Artia gave me a kind of sticker that emitted an invisible layer around my body; according to her, it was a thermal field.
I followed a RisaG-35 and took an elevator; finally I emerged through a secret hatch camouflaged as rocks at the mountain's summit... It could have impressed me, but I only wanted to be alone.
That night was moonless; only a scatter of stars and beautiful nebulae could be seen. The plain at the foot of the mountain no longer held water, but instead a kind of forest with meadows. Fireflies flickered in the distance. I smiled and thought:
"This is magnificent... but damn it, I hate this... why do I have to feel so damn alone?"
I didn't want to cry. No one had died, nothing had happened... so I used the «CI-Mask». The interface was excellent; I wanted to recall a song to test it.
But I couldn't stop my eyes from betraying me. Tears slid down my cheeks; I couldn't wipe them away because of the «CI-Mask», I could only breathe, trying to calm myself. But to do so I had to keep a cold head, even if my soul burned:
"I'm not in a position to cry. Even if this trait is shit and this world is trash... if it has these landscapes, it's not worth crying... I've broken over worse, and this damn feeling is not one of them."
After an hour of contemplation, I closed my eyes for a moment, a sensation stirring in my heart, I sighed and said:
—If the beauty of life is art... and art is the canvas where emotions are painted, then damn pain would be the best contrast.
Minutes passed, and finally sleep returned. I went back inside the base and found another room, where I managed to fall asleep again.
***
Property of Count Valentine – Raymond Family Cabin
Elisa woke with a dull anguish lodged in her chest. She looked at her beloved, still sleeping deeply, and rose in silence. Before the day began, before the new dawn's light touched the cabin window.
With dedication she cleaned the cabin and prepared the stew. That was her routine, though this time, something was different. Inside, she swept only nostalgia. The nostalgia of a mother who misses her son.
—Sami... when did you grow so much? —she said it almost like a whisper, like a silent plea.
Then, a memory struck her with force, dragging her back to a simpler time. A time of freedom.
Four years ago – Border between the Nordkrieger Kingdom and the Gregorian Empire, Balski MountainsTerritory of the Stone Axe Clan.
The small community thrived in the mountains: warriors, farmers, children with wooden swords and pickaxes in their hands, dreaming of battles or tilling the land.Richard worked in the garden. Ryan dueled with his friends in the square.Elisa, seated by the window, knit a coat while keeping an eye on her little Sam.
But in a moment's distraction, she lost sight of him.
She rushed outside, heart in her throat, and shouted:
—Sam! Sami! Where are you?!
A mischievous laugh drifted from above. She raised her gaze... and saw him.
The little boy walked across the roof as if danger didn't exist. A mix of anger, relief, and fear clenched her soul.
—Sami! How did you get up there?!
Sam: —"Hehehe..." —he laughed carelessly—. "It's fun up here."
—Get down this instant! —Elisa ordered in a firm tone.
Sam: —"Okaay!" —Sam replied... and jumped.
Elisa leapt on pure instinct, catching him midair. Her heart pounded furiously as she held him tight, pressing him against her chest.
Sam: —"Hehehe... I love you, Mom." —the little one said with an innocent smile.
Elisa looked at him, then at the coat lying on the floor, and the pent-up anger finally burst.
Without letting go, she hugged him even tighter.
Sam: —"Mom...?" —the boy asked, noticing the warm atmosphere had shifted.
She said nothing.
Sam: —"Mommy, you're choking me!" —he whined between laughter and gasps.
At last, Elisa spoke, still clutching him:
—Never do that again. Do you know how worried I was? What if I hadn't caught you?
Sam: —"I trusted you would."
Silence.
That simple answer disarmed her. She sighed.
—My beautiful boy...
Sam: —"Hehehe."
—Shall we go inside?
Sam: —"Of course, Mom!"
Back inside, Sam learned two valuable lessons:
One, never play with your mother's worry.
Two, never trust her if you did something wrong and she invites you back inside the house.
End of flashback – Back to the present
With the broom pressed to her chest, Elisa stood still, lost in memory. A broken smile traced her face. She looked out the window. The dawn had already begun.
And she whispered:
—My little one... you don't know how much Mommy misses you.