The coffee released a thin white steam that curled into random patterns as it rose into the air.
This was already the fourth cup of black coffee Hannes had drunk in less than half an hour, and he decided it would be the last, closing the day with it. Night was falling as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. The fiery red was slowly swallowed by the somber blue, which carried with it the first stars.
Hannes liked Stoneland; it was his favorite city in the whole world because, despite everything, he was still fascinated by the history of that patch of land.
Three thousand five hundred square kilometers that, one hundred and thirty years earlier, had been nothing but desert rock and dry soil. What is known is that a certain wanderer roamed the world aimlessly. They say his name was Vanis, of uncertain origin. He was a man whose life had been marked by the pain of being seen as someone who brought misfortune. Wherever he went, conflict followed. Because of that, he wandered without direction, expelled from every place he passed through.
Cast adrift, with no one to take him in, Vanis eventually reached the great emptiness of stone and barren ground. He carried a few tomato seeds and other vegetables with him, along with just enough provisions to survive for a few days. The land he walked had a river. By day the heat was infernal, though sometimes mild; at night, it was cold, or refreshing.
Disheartened and with little to do, though much to think about, Vanis dug a hole in the seemingly dead earth and buried a tomato seed. A few days later, he forgot about it — until one morning, he saw a plant sprouting: the seed had germinated.
After long study and countless experiments, Vanis discovered joyfully that this land was anything but dead. And more: plants seemed to grow faster here, and the soil recovered quickly after each harvest.
Word spread gradually thanks to Vanis's efforts, and one day a city was born.
Today, it had around 280,000 inhabitants, while the rest of the land was farmland for planting and harvesting. Stoneland had no tourist attractions, because it was itself the greatest attraction in all of Amariz.
Look in any direction, and you saw truth. No one remembered what the desert of stone and dust used to be like, despite the river that still flowed through it.
This story pleased Hannes — the tale of an unlucky man who, by chance, discovered one of the West's greatest fortunes.
He finished his fourth cup of coffee, paid his bill, and began walking the relatively busy streets. The place was peaceful, the people neither too old nor too young. The whole region seemed to radiate an ideal of balance. There were no skyscrapers like in the great metropolises or in the cities that tried to imitate them. Only houses.
The largest houses had three stories, but nothing kept them from growing sideways. When people weren't farming for others, they farmed their own plots of land. One could say no one stood idle in Stoneland, and thanks to that rhythm, no one suffered from the curse of stagnation. For that reason, the whole region exuded health and life. It was the favorite place of artists and elderly people who came from other cities seeking rest and communion with the world.
Hannes easily drew attention wherever he went: a man 186 cm tall, with hair red as blood, eyes blue as the sea, and skin pale as salt. Some claimed it was all artificial, but Hannes always swore his appearance was as natural as any other, ever since birth.
The part that most caught the eye was always his hair. Those more informed on such matters would quickly suggest that Hannes must have consumed some priceless treasure from one of the divine towers scattered around the world. Recently, Lu Yaoting, heir to the Imperial Union throne, revealed that his own black hair had turned white after solidifying his status as a Heaven.
Whatever the explanation, Hannes didn't care. People believe what they want, and he couldn't change that — so it didn't matter. In general, he was popular with women, while men wanted to punch him.
Hannes was walking down the sidewalk of one of the avenues when he noticed two men coming his way. One wore a black leather jacket, the other a hoodie. They seemed to be about the same height, a bit taller than Hannes.
"Here we go again…" Hannes muttered.
They kept walking as if nothing had changed. Hannes passed them with his hands in his jacket pockets, confident as always. The one in the hoodie turned his head for a quick glimpse at their target and noticed the redhead slip into an alley just over fifty meters away. Immediately, the two turned back toward the same alley — but they weren't fools.
"He spotted us," said the one in the leather jacket.
"Of course he did! You look like a shady biker in a city of peaceful old folks!" snapped the one in the hoodie. "Hurry up, let's finish this quickly. You too, Mercedes, in position!" he warned into the earpiece he wore.
When they reached the alley, they found Hannes at the far end, leaning casually against the wall, simply watching them block the only entrance and exit.
"Let me guess: Lee?" asked the blood-haired redhead calmly, yet disdainfully.
"That obvious?" asked the one in the hoodie.
"It's just that usually my other employers send pretty women to meet me — long legs, curves. Only Lee scours the world to find me."
Hannes was talking about the spies who shadowed him in the streets he walked. Occasionally, he would notice them. No one could hide from him, but he pretended not to… until now. The two men at the mouth of the alley sighed in resignation, because this was their only chance; if they failed, they'd never find him again.
"Nothing personal, kid," said the man in the jacket, trying to ease the tension. Even so, he clenched his fists, ready to resolve things through violence.
"It never is," Hannes replied, hands still in his pockets, smiling carelessly.
The man in the jacket — Harald — approached slowly, scanning his surroundings, calculating carefully. In truth, no matter the angle, he didn't feel confident at all against the monster that was Hannes. The rumors said he was a Heaven, but a lone one, a drifter, loyal to no one but himself. Harald was at the Earth stage, which meant that under normal circumstances, he could never compare — unless he were blessed, which he was not.
Still, he was being paid. He was a soldier; he followed orders, whatever the situation.
A boxing specialist, Harald unleashed a rain of punches as he closed the distance step by step, trying to pressure Hannes. But he quickly discovered that the young man was untouchable. Hannes dodged every punch with pinpoint precision, in a deliberately provocative way, always with a mocking smile. Instead of feeling pressured, he moved like a dancer, gliding back and forth without the slightest concern, certain Harald would never land a hit.
"Why don't you use your real skills, Norseman?" Hannes teased.
"We don't want to draw attention, brat. This is a discreet mission!" Harald snapped, glaring. Things were getting personal; he couldn't stand being made a fool of.
That was when Pedro, the one in the hoodie, joined in. Unlike Harald, he carried a special knife tipped with poison. Hannes's grin widened as he dodged his attacks with the same ease he dodged Harald's. Soon, the three of them were moving back and forth in the narrow, dark alley in Stoneland.
At one point, Hannes simply grew bored and made Harald and Pedro crash into each other, leaving them dazed on the ground. Had they been in an isolated area, away from civilians, they might have fought harder.
"If there's a next time, tell Lee to send me a sweet-smelling beauty. Maybe I'll play along," Hannes mocked.
"Arrogant brat! Our success was never about beating you in a fight!" Harald pulled a pistol from inside his jacket and fired — but the shot burst into a cloud of smoke that filled the alley.
"You could've just walked away, you know? I wouldn't have stopped you. This smoke bomb can't fool my senses. And yes, I caught the hint of sleeping gas mixed in, but that's not going to wor—"
Before Hannes could finish, he felt a sting in his neck. It lasted only a second before a woman appeared out of nowhere behind him, as if stepping straight out of space itself. She smiled, triumphant, complacent.
"Careful what you wish for," she said mockingly.
Hannes collapsed immediately, but before losing consciousness, he looked at the woman again, and a name surfaced in his mind.
"Erina?"
Then he sank into darkness.
Hannes dreamed — the wildest dreams a person could have — while unconscious. One dream, however, was different.
He stood in an endless golden wheat field. Above, the sky was a shifting gradient of colors. On one side, night approached; on the other, the sun was setting. A woman twirled in a white dress, brushing the wheat with her fingers and the hem of her skirt. Hannes felt an anxious stirring in his chest. The woman noticed him.
Her hair was wavy, as golden as the field around them. Her eyes, green as emeralds. She smiled softly as she approached and touched his face — a touch too real for a dream, warm, gentle, and above all, innocent. When she spoke, for Hannes there was no other sound in the world — not the wind, not the wheat — only her voice.
"Itold you I'd find you again, didn't I?"
It was the only thing she said. But it was her voice — the voice Hannes had not heard in eleven years.
As the sun sank, everything darkened. Night swallowed all, but not with its natural calm; instead, a black, perverse mist seeped into the world, consuming everything it touched with its tyrannical aura. It consumed the woman too, little by little. Still, she smiled the same sweet smile, never faltering, never giving in to fear.
Hannes wanted to speak, but his voice died in his throat. Rage boiled in him, but he was powerless. He hated dreaming, because only in his own head was he stripped of his power. He reached out his hand, but the woman's touch was gone.
Then everything went dark again.