A bite was taken from that pastry filled with banana cream and sugar. A sweet and soothing taste. A treat that pleases a child's palate.
A girl of about 8 years old sits on a simple oak wooden chair in front of a round table. The fireplace warms the small, fragile body of the child, who snuggles into the pleasant temperature.
The young girl, with her black hair falling to her shoulders in a messy, disheveled way, licks her fingers, sticky with sugar from the pastry already eaten. Her loose white dress sways with the childish swing of her feet.
She gets up from the chair and starts walking around the place, which looks like a cabin.
Books and more books, piles and stacks of them lining all the corridors of the house.
The girl passes by them as if it were something ordinary for her. After all, right now she is looking for the one to whom all these books belong.
"Daddy!" she exclaimed as she entered a room resembling a simple kitchen.
In front of her, a middle-aged man turned his gaze toward the little girl at the kitchen entrance.
The man had dark brown hair streaked with white, showing signs of age. His forehead bore receding hairlines, and a striking monocle stood out against his simple attire—shirt and trousers.
He was holding a slightly dented kettle that let out steam, signaling that the water for tea had reached the right temperature.
He chuckled softly and gave a warm smile to the little girl. Then he said, "You don't need to call me 'Daddy.' Just Robin, little Aubrey."
The girl named Aubrey grabbed the hem of the man's shirt and said, "But I like Daddy better!" Her cheek puffed out on one side in mock annoyance.
Robin laughed and replied, "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm just finishing the tea, alright? Can you wait at the table for a moment?" He said this as sweat rolled down his forehead.
Aubrey noticed the sudden sweat on his brow but ignored it. She gave a sweet smile and ran back to the table, now sprinkled with sugar crumbs.
She waited… 2… 5… 7… 9 minutes. Nothing.
The little girl found it odd. "I'll go check if he's alright," she thought to herself.
Before she could get up, she heard footsteps. Robin appeared, carrying two cups and a teapot.
"Yay!" Aubrey exclaimed, waving her arms in excitement. The pleasant aroma of tea filled her nose, instantly calming her mind.
Robin and Aubrey enjoyed their hot tea in soothing quiet. Few words were exchanged; silence prevailed—yet it was a comforting silence.
This was their routine. Robin had always been a wise, studious man. His head full of ideas, often buried in books or in blank pages where he wrote with an ink quill.
He was also a kind and warm man. His gentleness emanated a comforting calmness to the souls of all who knew and lived with him.
Aubrey was among those who shared his life.
Aubrey was an orphan. Her parents either died or abandoned her—she didn't know. When her mind first began to reason and her awareness awoke, she found herself in an orphanage.
She stayed there for only a short time, from the age of four to six.
At six, everything changed. Robin visited her orphanage, and among all the children there—many children—he chose Aubrey.
Robin's book-filled cabin became the little girl's home.
Aubrey enjoyed happy, peaceful days with her "father." Happy days like this one. Drinking tea, eating sweets, calm conversation, and a comfortable silence.
Nothing was better than that.
Nothing would ever change. No one would take away these good moments.
That's what she cherished.
But that's not what happened.
One night, Aubrey was asleep in her room, in her simple bed covered with a torn blanket, when she woke to a loud noise coming from somewhere in the house.
She jumped up abruptly at the sound. She ran to the door, shouting, "Daddy? Are you okay?"
No answer…
She tried to turn the doorknob, but for some reason, it wouldn't budge. It was as if some force on the other side was holding it shut.
Aubrey opened her mouth to scream Robin's name, but… her voice seemed gone. Silent screams, clear desperation.
She pounded on the door, but no sound came. Nothing.
Suddenly, more pounding noises. A sound like clashing metal echoed from the other side of the door, along with the cracking and splintering of wood.
The metallic clashing continued.
"A fight?!" Aubrey thought, panic rising. Her muted pounding grew more frantic, but no sound emerged.
The metallic noises went on, mixed with footsteps—about three people, it seemed, moving around outside her room.
A blast rang out, but… nothing shook her room. Still, it was clearly an explosion… What's happening?!
The clashing ceased, replaced by the sound of liquid spilling onto the floor.
Aubrey grew more frantic, her heavy breathing silenced by some unknown force. "Daddy, Daddy!" she screamed in her head. Her worry was unbearable.
Then… silence. No footsteps, no clashing, no strange noises at all.
Aubrey exhaled—and she heard her breath! She could speak again!
She reached for the doorknob, and this time it turned. She opened the door—and froze at the sight.
The wooden corridor once lined with books was now destroyed. Books shredded, crushed, or burned littered the floor. The wooden boards bore deep marks of blows and cuts, as if a powerful blade had just passed through.
But what terrified Aubrey most was something else: a pool of blood, splatters staining several walls.
Her breathing grew heavier, as though the air itself had abandoned her lungs.
"Daddy…" She ran through the house, filled with signs of a violent battle, searching for Robin.
Room after room, place after place. Nothing.
He was gone. Aubrey dashed outside. The simple cabin was damaged from the outside too.
Snow fell from the sky with a force that whipped the girl's clothes and hair. Her cries and screams were drowned by the storm.
Between sobs, she cried, "He can't be dead… no… He can't be!"
Even faced with her guardian Robin's disappearance—or perhaps death—she clung to hope.
"Maybe he's alive. There was a fight, but no body was left. They might have taken him. But who…"
Her eyes wandered over the snow-covered ground and fell upon an object.
A sword. Its blade stood out against the white snow. Its red hilt was adorned with intricate golden details. The blade itself bore engravings.
"Power is loss and sacrifice. The sane are those who die. The fools, those who persist." The words were written in Ancient Heras, a language Robin had taught Aubrey. He had taught her many tongues.
The girl picked up the sword, her eyes brimming with tears, cheeks damp.
Her search, her investigation for the man she called father, began that day.
Her hope kept her standing. No matter how many years it would take, she would persist.
…
Twelve years later, in the city of Portford, known for its heavy industrialization, factories, steam machines, and more.
A city with architecture reminiscent of the Victorian era.
A train ran along the tracks toward Portford station.
The massive metallic body screeched to a halt in front of the platform.
People disembarked. Some headed out of the station, others reunited with family or friends waiting for them.
The last person to step off the train was a woman. A dress shirt tucked into black trousers. Black boots and a wide black coat. A neat black vest. Her black hair fell to her shoulders, contrasting with her pale skin. Her eyes, green like precious gems, lifted to the vast sky.
The sun shone on her face. A smile appeared there.
The woman carried two suitcases. One on wheels, likely filled with her clothes and belongings. The other, larger and stranger, as if holding some kind of wide instrument.
"Finally… Portford," the woman said, relief in her shoulders.
That woman was Aubrey—Aubrey Adams. Portford, the city of industrialization, was her target. After all, in this city, there were high chances of finding clues about Robin's whereabouts.
Her determination filled her heart with courage.
She had found leads after so long.
Finally…
To be continued…