Dismal atmosphere
The sky was torn with clouds, and the air carried the scent of soaked earth. The raindrops were not ordinary, but heavy, striking Neuth's face like slaps meant to rouse him from a long coma.
The moon began to vanish behind a thick veil of clouds, and with it rose a strange sun. Its light was not the warm golden hue mankind had known, but a dark black, like a dying ember stripped of its glow. That ominous light reflected upon the city, draping it in funereal tones, as though the world itself was in mourning.
Dead leaves fell around his body, sticking to his drenched clothes. He opened his eyes slowly, his lashes trembling under their own weight, his features weary, as if carrying years of wounds.
He struggled to his feet, his legs shaking, his long black hair clinging to his dust-stained shoulders. His pale white skin bore every mark of exhaustion, and his dark eyes searched aimlessly for meaning.
Dizziness struck his head. He steadied himself against the trunk of a nearby tree, his breath shallow, clashing with the biting cold. Suddenly, fragmented images flashed in his mind:
The flare of a gunshot.
A searing pain in his shoulder.
A red haze swallowing everything, devouring his cries.
He staggered toward the edge of a small forest, staring at the black sun, gray clouds, and a crimson sky. A grotesque palette of shapes and colors… how had it led him to this moment?
Dropping to his knees, he pressed his hand to his shoulder, as though the pain had come alive again. He whispered inwardly:
"Why am I still alive?… And where in hell am I?"
The old coal train thundered through the night a metallic beast roaring into the void
No villages no lights no trace of life only a barren mountain road stretching beneath a sky burdened with heavy clouds
A long whistle tore through the silence its echo trembling against the cliffs while Newth sat on the trains step a lone figure facing the storm
A flask of water rested in his hand and a white owl perched calmly on his shoulder both silent witnesses to a journey whose end he could not see
His eyes never left the crawling darkness above clouds dragging themselves across the peaks as though hiding a secret meant for him alone
The roar of the wheels drowned everything until the driver turned from the cabin his voice hoarse as he shouted through the clamor
Hey boy Didnt you say you wanted to get off at Akrothias capital
Newth answered coolly without shifting his gaze from the sky
Yes It will do well enough You can stop here
The brakes screeched suddenly the rails crying out in protest
Newth rose handed the man a bundle of coins without another word then leapt down onto the hard ground
He did not look back as the ancient train roared once more vanishing into the darkness swallowed whole by the night
....
The capital of Akrothia was like a foggy spot of stone and iron, sprawling endlessly beyond the reach of sight. Its streets pulsed with unending crowds, as though the very earth throbbed with the rhythm of countless footsteps and the clamor of voices. From the markets rose the cries of merchants, from the alleys drifted the mingled scents of food smoke and sweat, until the city itself seemed like a living creature that breathed and stirred.
Yet what surrounded it was more daunting than its noise. Towering walls of dark stone coiled around it like a colossal shackle, crowned with watchtowers lit by burning flames. Soldiers stood upon them like vigilant shadows, unmoving, their eyes scouring every passing face without mercy. For all its vibrance the capital was nothing less than a fortress, a citadel hiding its secrets behind walls of fear and power.
A metallic clang echoed like a prison gate opening to receive visitors. A crowd poured in.
Before him loomed an old prison. Its towering walls crumbled with age, the stench of damp stone seeping outward, its narrow windows resembling eyes that scrutinized both inside and out.
He pulled on a heavy black cloak, concealing his face beneath its hood. In his pocket lay a forged badge, crafted by a relative skilled in deceit.
He approached the massive iron gate.
The guards stopped him, their faces stern, eyes merciless. They searched him thoroughly, their rough fingers probing every pocket. When he presented the fake "investigator" badge, they exchanged brief glances before letting him through.
The corridors echoed only with the weight of his footsteps. Dim light from old lamps deepened the dread of the place. At last, he reached a dark cell. Inside… was Ryo.
Ryo lifted his head suddenly, his tired eyes filled with terror. His body trembled as if the devil himself had entered the room.
Neuth sat before him with feigned calm and said to the guards:
"This is a sensitive case… leave me alone with him."
When the guards withdrew, silence pressed heavily.
Neuth spoke quietly, his voice strained as though fighting to keep from breaking:
"Don't worry… I'll get you out soon. The money will come. Your life won't end here. You don't have to bear the weight any longer… Father."
But Ryo screamed, his voice sharp and broken:
"Don't call me Father! You're the reason… the reason your mother died, the reason everything we had was destroyed! If only you had surrendered that day, none of this would have happened. You've done nothing but hinder me, always dragging me down. Enough. Leave."
The guards returned and escorted Ryo back to his cell.
Neuth's head hung low as he left, silent and regretful. He said nothing his eyes alone clung to his father for a moment that felt like eternity, before he slowly turned his back and walked away with heavy steps… out of the prison.
Outside, banners and signs screamed: "No More Oppression."
The world was collapsing.
Rumors of the cursed spread through every street. People whispered: Were those who carried the "Divine Sin" even human anymore? The government had imprisoned them, but hidden accounts spoke of secret executions—fathers, sons, brothers, slaughtered simply for being kin to the afflicted.
Neuth mounted his bicycle, wheels splashing through puddles on the broken streets. He tore off the black cloak, discarding it into the nearest trash heap, along with the forged ID.
He passed a towering black wall, blood-red words smeared across it:
"Killing souls in the name of an unknown sin."
As he lingered, screams burst from a nearby house. Police smashed through doors. Women shrieked, children wailed. Neuth turned away, unable to bear the sight, and kept moving.
In a shadowed alley, he parked his bicycle and stepped into an old weapons shop. Dust coated the shelves, the walls scarred with bullet holes.
He handed the seller an old ID that had once belonged to his father proof of a family steeped in weaponry. The old man examined it, then studied Neuth, and nodded silently. He sold him a pistol and several smoke grenades.
On his way out, Neuth collided with a stranger.
The man had brown hair beneath an old-fashioned hat, a long brown coat, black trousers, and high leather boots. His features were peculiar, his eyes half-closed, a short beard shadowing his jaw.
The man smiled softly.
"Ah… my fault. I didn't see you."
Neuth bent to gather what had fallen from his hands.
"No problem… carry on."
But the stranger did not move. His gaze dropped to Neuth's pistol, then to the strange mark etched on his shoulder. He was silent for a moment before murmuring, his voice strange and cryptic:
"Seems you're set on something… big. Good luck, boy."
Then he walked away, leaving Neuth unsettled, as if the encounter was anything but coincidence.
That night…
Neuth sat inside an abandoned house, a place once lived in but long forgotten, dust covering every corner. A white owl fluttered in the room, hunting insects and swallowing them whole.
He turned on an old radio. Static crackled before the news came through:
"Surveillance cameras captured an unidentified young man killing a policeman without apparent cause. Reports remain unconfirmed. Early sources say he has no fixed residence and has been on the run for months."
Neuth froze. His eyes widened.
Were they talking about him?
His body trembled, his grip on the pistol tightening until his knuckles turned white.
"Damn it… As if being one of the afflicted one of the 'Phantoms' wasn't enough. Now a murderer too?… Damn this all."
Fear was no longer just within him.
It surrounded him, closing in from every direction, a web with no escape.