"Saevin saved me at the very last second…"
Arlon lunged at Rhuven, veins along his temples dark and pulsing — and in that exact moment, Saevin appeared out of nowhere.
A shove.
Arlon lost balance, crashed sideways, and hit the stone floor with brutal force.
"Rhuven, what's wrong with Arlon?!" Saevin shouted, stepping between them, ready to fight.
"I… I don't know!"
Arlon lay breathing heavily on the ground, but his fingers curled like claws — like some instinct deep inside him was waiting to strike again.
Rhuven swallowed hard.
"We need to restrain him. Now."
Together they dragged him to the wall and tied him with a thick rope usually meant for securing cargo.
Arlon didn't resist normally.
He tugged with raw, feral strength — the kind of strength that didn't realize bones could break.
When he was finally tied securely, Rhuven stepped back, breath uneven — then he started pacing.
Hands behind his head.
Eyes unfocused.
Panic creeping in.
"Shit— shit, shit— what do we do now?!"
He couldn't stay still.
Saevin stood motionless, watching Arlon.
His expression was a strange mix — regret and calculation.
Rhuven on the other hand, was everything but motionless:
"Is there… anything? A cure? A cure or something?"
"No. None known." Saevin answered.
No emotion.
No comfort.
"And you already knew that."
Rhuven froze mid-step, staring at him — like he wanted to argue.
"Shit… shit, sh—"
"Rhuven."
Saevin's voice cut straight through the panic.
"We'll ask the President, come on!"
Rhuven didn't answer — only nodded stiffly.
"We were too naive…" Rhuven to Noen.
"President! President!"
Rhuven and Saevin sprinted through the long corridors, until they reached the heavy door to the President's chamber and shoved it open.
The President sat slouched over scattered files, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"What is it?" he asked, voice thick with exhaustion.
Rhuven tried to explain — but the words stumbled out in fragments:
"Arlon— he— we think— he's been—"
"We explained the situation to him, but as—"
Rhuven's voice suddenly stopped.
The carriage slowed.
Then stopped completely.
Rhuven had pulled the reins tight.
The wheels creaked once before silence swallowed everything.
Noen blinked and looked around.
"…Uh? Why are we stopping?"
Rhuven didn't respond immediately.
His eyes scanned the area.
To Noen it looked like he was watching random stuff.
Noen's voice, kinda anxious:
"Rhuven…?"
"Something's wrong."
A rustle.
Soft — barely there — yet enough to put both of them instantly on alert.
It came from the forest.
Noen felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine. "…Did you hear that?" he whispered.
Rhuven gave the slightest nod, his eyes locked onto the tree line — sharp and focused.
The rustling came again. Closer.
Then — something stepped out of the shadows.
Noen stared.
"…A little boy?"
A child wandered out of the forest — no older than four.
His hair was messy and dark, and his expression was far too neutral. No curiosity, no fear, no confusion.
He… didn't blink.
Slowly, he walked toward the cart.
Rhuven instantly lifted an arm in front of Noen — like a barrier.
His eyes never left the boy.
"What are you—?" Noen whispered.
"Stay back," Rhuven said quietly — his voice calm, yet filled with a tone Noen rarely heard:
Warning.
Noen frowned and whispered back:
"Rhuven… it's a small child."
Then — way too loud:
"HEY LITTLE GUY! ARE YOU LOST?!"
The boy did not react.
He just kept walking — straight toward them.
Noen squinted.
"Bro… what is wrong with him? That's insanely rude. pff—"
The boy suddenly stopped.
Exactly five steps away.
He looked at Noen.
Not just looked — his gaze traveled slowly from Noen's face… to his hands… to his feet… then back up.
Then the boy reached into his tiny backpack and pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil.
He began writing.
Calm and controlled.
When he finished, he folded the paper neatly — way too neat for a four-year-old — put it back into his bag…
…turned around…
…walked back into the forest.
Without a word.
Without a single glance back.
And vanished between the trees as abruptly as he appeared.
Silence.
Noen was the first to breathe again.
"…Creepy kid."
His voice was shaky — half annoyed, half unsettled.
Rhuven lowered his arm but kept staring at the spot where the boy disappeared.
"You said it," he muttered.
Then, steadier:
"Let's move."
The sun had reached its highest point by the time Rhuven finally stopped the horses.
"We'll take a lunch break."
Without saying much, he stepped off the cart and pulled eggs, bacon, and a small metal pan from a leather bag. Soon, the smell of sizzling fat drifted into the air — blending with cool wind and the scent of dust and travel.
But while the food cooked, something became painfully obvious:
Neither of them talked.
Noen sat in the grass, tearing blades apart and rolling them between his fingers.
Rhuven adjusted the bacon in the pan — but the tension in his brow wasn't from cooking.
It was from thinking.
The boy.The note.And everything still ahead.
Eventually — after a few bites — Noen whispered:
"About Arlon… you were going to tell me how—"
"Actually, I…"
Rhuven's voice cut through the sentence.
He didn't look up.
Not at Noen.
Just into the flames.
"... don't want to talk about it."
Noen opened his mouth — then closed it again.
He recognized that tone.
It wasn't "later. "It was a wall.
So he let it rest.
And time passed — hours, then days.
Three days later
"WE'RE HEEERE!!"
Noen jolted awake.
His eyes shot open, and it took him a second to understand what was happening. The world swayed beneath him — the cart had stopped.
"Five more minutes…" he mumbled automatically, dragging the blanket over his head.
"Nope."
Rhuven grinned — rare — but real.
"Welcome to Roseshire.The safest city in the world."
Noen slowly sat up, looked around — and his whole expression collapsed.
"…why… is it COLD?!"
He shot upright.
"AH—! MY HANDS?? WHY IS IT FREEZING?!"
Rhuven laughed softly and pulled two thick fur jackets from the cart.
Noen grabbed one instantly.
Then he finally looked around — properly.
The city was beautiful —but in a cold, unreal way.
Roofs glittered with icicles. Lanterns sparkled under layers of frost. Snow crunched beneath the footsteps of passing people.
Yet overhead —the sun shone high in a clear sky.
"But… it's almost summer," Noen muttered, completely thrown off.
Rhuven nodded.
"Yes."
His voice lowered — heavier.
"But because of… special circumstances…"
He lowered his gaze.
For a second, his shoulders sagged — burdened.
Then he forced a smile.
"But anyway!"
Noen raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
Before he could ask anything, Rhuven extended a finger forward.
His voice held a quiet hint of reverence:
"See that hill up ahead?"
Noen followed the gesture and nodded slowly.
"And that building on top—"Rhuven smiled — this time genuine.
"That's it. The headquarters of the Black Synod."
"But first we're getting something from the bakery," Rhuven said, clapping his hands together. "I'm hungry."
Noen followed him across the clattering, frozen cobblestone street, wrapped tightly in the thick fur jacket Rhuven lent him. The bakery by the roadside blew warm air out its door, smelling of fresh bread and sweet pastries. A stark contrast to the frosty city outside.
"Welcome, dears!" An older lady, round, smiling, with rosy cheeks, stood behind the counter.
Rhuven walked straight to the shelves, picked out bread, a few rolls, and two sweet pastries. Then he placed everything on the counter.
The woman calculated briefly, counting on her fingers, then:
"That would be 15.66 please."
Rhuven nodded — and opened his jacket to reach for his coin pouch.
But in that moment, the fabric shifted a bit to the side, and his colorful, unmistakable Black Synod uniform flashed into view.
The shopkeeper froze.
Her eyes widened.
Then her expression brightened even more.
"Ah! You are a member of the Black Synod." She placed both hands over her chest. "Then of course you get this for free."
"Thank you very much!" Rhuven said kindly, immediately closing his jacket again and taking the pastries — but still slipping a coin into the tip jar.
As the two stepped outside, Noen asked:
"Uh… wasn't Black Synod supposed to be a secret organization?"
Rhuven shoved a piece of bread into his mouth." No. It never was."
Noen blinked, surprised.
"Only in Halmswick the young people don't know about us anymore," Rhuven continued, chewing. "Because now we never officially existed there."
He brushed a few crumbs from the corner of his mouth.
"And it isn't allowed to be taught in schools anymore. You know, because of Beldrin and all. Parents arent even allowed to tell their kids."
Noen thought about that.
— Makes sense… —
The two climbed back onto the cart. The horses snorted, the frost crackled, and they set off again.
They rolled slowly through the busy marketplace, past stands full of frozen fruit, shimmering goods, and people who — despite the cold — cheerfully traded and chatted.
Then the cart turned, and they were already heading upward.
The mountain path grew steeper, and the horses had to pull harder. The frost lay thicker here, as if the mountain itself exhaled constant cold. Noen pulled his jacket tighter as tiny ice particles drifted in the wind.
But then…they had arrived.
Noen's jaw dropped.
Before them stood a massive black building — surprisingly modern, completely out of place in the icy mountains. The entrance was wide and imposing, framed by dark, glossy metal beams. The walls were made of fine, dark-stained wood, coated with shimmering black lacquer that sparkled in the sunlight like frozen stars.
And windows. Everywhere windows. Huge, continuous glass fronts on every side of the headquarters, as if the building was proud to be seen.
Around it stood four watchtowers — tall, narrow, and steady despite the snow. In each tower, silhouettes moved — guards watching every corner of the landscape.
"Woaaah… that's really cool!" Noen exclaimed.
"Isn't it?" Rhuven said with noticeable pride.
Two men in heavy dark coats stood at the entrance. One of them stepped forward as they approached.
His expression was strict, professional.
"Number and uniform, please."
Rhuven stepped forward.
"Nine-one-two." While speaking, he opened his jacket, revealing his colorful Black Synod uniform.
The man nodded, pulled a small slip of paper out, looked at it, then at Rhuven, then at the paper again.
His finger traced the list.
Without lifting his eyes from the paper, he pointed at Noen.
"Good. Then that must be Noen."
Noen flinched slightly.
"Alright. You may enter. "The man stepped aside and gestured them through.
Rhuven turned to Noen and immediately noticed how tense he was — shoulders raised, hands clenched, and yes… a slight tremble.
"Noen," Rhuven said gently, "relax. Everyone here is super nice."
Noen swallowed, his thoughts spinning.
— Puhhh… okay. Alright then. —