Chapter 2 (B)
may16
May 16, Year 27. Second Era.
The road was wide, made of packed earth and old broken slabs that sank under the weight of caravans. On one side, rusted iron posts held lamps that no longer lit. Amid that flow of merchants, families, and soldiers, a man stood still, watching.
Before him rose a colossal structure. Stone and metal intertwined in a mass of patterns that defied all logic. From its base it seemed like a sleeping giant, but when looking upward, its edges vanished into the clouds. It was no ordinary building: it was a challenge to the heavens. People called it the Column, though no one knew whether it had been built by human hands or raised by some greater will.
The man wore a sleeveless black shirt and loose dark pants. Across them, yellow lines ran like lit circuits, pulsing faintly with each movement. His arms, sinewy and tense beneath the skin, gave the impression of being always ready for combat.
"Did you see that?" asked a woman hurrying by, her gaze fixed on the Column.
"Yes…" answered the man beside her, with a hint of envy. "It's one of those casual uniforms used by second-grade soldiers in the new empire."
"My cousin says they're insanely expensive," said the little girl walking with them, holding her mother's hand. "Almost nobody can afford them."
The observer barely furrowed his brow. His thoughts rolled silently:
"They're not wrong… but they don't understand. This weighs more than common clothes, like carrying a light armor. The high price isn't luxury: it's a wall. A wall to keep the curious and the ill-intentioned from parading around with weapons disguised as fabric."
A murmur was growing around him; eyes followed him as if he were a beacon.
"Looks like you're attracting stares," said a woman carrying a baby in her arms. She walked with an older couple, probably her parents.
"So it seems…" he replied, with a crooked, almost ironic smile.
The elderly man, gray-bearded and sharp-eyed, stepped forward.
"Congratulations on reaching the second grade."
The young man bowed his head respectfully.
"Thank you. You've helped me greatly, father-in-law."
The old man's eyes gleamed with restrained pride.
"Think nothing of it. I'm glad you learned so much from the Northern Star style. That art isn't given away easily."
The young man breathed deeply.
"Without a doubt, father-in-law. This style will sustain me… in the imperial hunting grounds."
A brief silence fell over the group. The passersby around them seemed to step aside, as if they had overheard too much. The echo of those words—the hunting grounds—carried weight. Few returned from such a place.
The wind blew with a strange whistle through the gaps of the Column, as if the structure itself exhaled. The young man lifted his gaze once more: high above, far beyond, he thought he saw a silhouette moving among the clouds. Or perhaps it was only a mirage, a play of light upon the dark metals.
But his instinct—the same that had allowed him to reach second grade—told him otherwise:
"Up there… something is watching."
And for the first time in a long while, he smiled.
The blare of a metallic horn thundered through the air, a summons that allowed no delay.
Loid straightened, breathing deeply, and looked at the elders.
"Master. Mother-in-law…" he said, bowing firmly.
At his side, his wife turned to her parents. Her voice trembled faintly, but she did not lose her dignity:
"Father. Mother."
The old master stepped forward, laying his hand on Loid's shoulder. It was a brief gesture, charged with everything words could no longer express.
"You've learned well," he murmured in a deep voice. "May the Northern Star light your path in the Hunting Grounds."
Loid lowered his head, silently acknowledging the blessing.
The young woman's mother, however, could not restrain herself. She approached and caressed her daughter's face, as she had so many times when she was still a child. Then her fingers brushed the baby's forehead.
"Kaep…" she whispered, with tender brokenness. "May your name protect you… until you are strong enough to choose your own."
The young mother pressed her lips together, holding back tears, and answered with a brave smile.
"Thank you, Mother."
The old father, who had remained silent until then, leaned down to look at his grandson. He wanted to say something, but upon seeing the child's innocence, he could only swallow and nod.
Sensing time was running out, Loid held Kaep in his arms one last time. He pressed him against his chest, murmuring inaudible words that the wind carried away. The child waved his hands, as if refusing to let him go. The young man closed his eyes, kissed his forehead, and returned him to his wife.
The couple held hands. The weight of the moment wrapped around them, but neither let go. She looked into his eyes and whispered barely, with a thread of voice only he could hear:
"Promise me we'll come back… the three of us."
Loid held her gaze. For an instant his soldier's hardness broke, and a fragile smile appeared on his lips.
"I promise. Even if it costs me my life."
She leaned her forehead to his, closing her eyes, sealing the promise in silence.
Then footsteps rang firm against the ground, carrying them toward the colossal entrance of the Column. The family remained behind, watching as the space between them widened with every step.
When the elevator's gears began to move and the echo of the metallic doors closed over the newcomers, the old master shut his eyes.
"May they return… all three."
***
Beneath a star-filled night sky, where the celestial dome seemed like an immense river suspended in the firmament, stretched a shoreless lake reflecting that very universe. The water's surface was so perfect one could not tell where the sky ended and its reflection began.
There, amid that vastness, a figure knelt. Its silhouette was wrapped in shadows that unraveled like smoke, wavering in the air as if more alive than flesh itself, though never fully dissipating. Before him, just a few inches away, flickered a small golden light, like a mirror embedded in the water.
"Father… Mother… how I miss you," he whispered, his voice breaking.
"Grandfather… Grandmother…" he raised his head, biting his lips to stifle a tremor.
He pulled away from the light, hugging his knees against his chest.
"What more could I have done?" he thought, lowering his head in despair.
Nothing.
"Forgive me…" he murmured. "I could have done more… I could have helped."
Tch.
Eilor let his body fall backward. The water held him as though it were solid crystal; it did not wet him, though the ripples spreading outward seemed to insist otherwise. He remained there for a moment, spent, until with a resigned sigh he stood again.
‹Now I am alone.›
"You were," Eilor answered by reflex.
The echo pierced him like lightning. His muscles tensed. He spun around in a leap, nearly losing balance, his eyes frantically searching for the source.
And then he saw it. Far away, barely discernible in the horizon of water and stars, stood a figure. He could not tell its age, nor even if it was human, but something in its outline shook him: it moved with the cadence of the living.
Eilor swallowed hard and took a step forward. Then another. And another.
By the tenth step, something stopped him. The water beneath his feet was no longer calm: it surged with growing violence. First centimeters, then tens, until the ripples rose into liquid walls.
Fear struck him full force. The wave rose, meters upon meters, until it reached inconceivable proportions. Hundreds of meters of water climbing into the starry sky, as though the entire sea had decided to rebel against him.
Eilor felt his jaw slacken, opening on its own in a gesture of pure terror. He knew it was the very path beneath his feet that caused it, but understanding did not free him from dread.
When he looked up again, the figure had vanished. Only the water wall remained, trembling on the horizon.
Disoriented, he spun around. Turned, hesitated, turned again. Nothing. Only the wave… and that small golden light behind him.
With almost desperate impulse, he returned to it. He knelt, leaning over the glowing surface. The warm radiance wrapped him like a breath of fresh air.
Eilor drew his face closer, and what he saw stole his breath away.
***
A boy, holding his father's hand, gazed in wonder at a monumental building. Its architecture rose majestically above walls that seemed tiny in comparison. Its towers stood like spears bathed in sunlight.
The man noticed how the child lifted his finger to point at it.
"That?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
The boy nodded eagerly.
"Well, that…" the father let out a smile, a mix of pride and nostalgia. "That is the Mixed Academy, Takran."