Light pierced her eyes like a rope thrown to someone falling off a cliff, but to the girl it was the rescue of her consciousness—of her freedom. She felt the warmth of the sun like a gentle touch against her face and took a deep breath, panting as the air filled her lungs. She felt along her arms and legs, noticed her throat itch, her mouth fill with saliva, the scent of dry grass and flowers, while a single tear slid down one of her eyes.
Kneeling, she lowered her hand to the ground, fluffing the grass and feeling the blades slip between her small fingers. She tried to breathe more deeply, attempting to calm her racing heart. The grass feels nice, she thought. Her body ached, as if she had awakened from a long coma—burning eyes, muscles that seemed not to have been used for a very long time. The tear rolled down her face and fell onto a blade of grass between her hands; she watched closely as the droplet slowly traced the edge of the leaf before finally seeping into the soil. She grabbed the ground tightly, almost ripping out a clump of grass. She wanted to throw herself onto the ground, scream, forcing herself not to cry.
She stood up, brushing her hands against her knees to remove the leaves clinging to them. She felt a slight dizziness, a sharp twinge in her head, while in her mind that mysterious sound of a tolling bell was replaced by thousands of questions. She looked around without drawing attention: the children in white pajamas remained in the same catatonic positions. She tried not to make any sudden movements, but for the first time in who knew how long, she felt a cool breeze pass through her hair, tossing it forward and revealing a very white lock that fell over her eyes.
The yard, surrounded by a tall hedge, had a certain charm—or perhaps it once had, as now it looked old and worn. The bushes were poorly trimmed; toys scattered across the ground were rusted, and the wooden ones had loose nails, ready to tear the hand of an unwary child.
Studying the vegetal barrier, she estimated it was at least four meters high and, without a doubt, full of thorns, making climbing nearly impossible. She looked underneath, above it, examined one of the seesaws on the other side of the yard; maybe she could hang from it and, with the right counterweight, jump over. But she decided first to focus on understanding the place better. The only obvious route was the door leading into the main house, which, from the outside, looked more like a beautiful and imposing mansion.
She glanced around, trying not to draw attention, and a few steps away a dark-haired boy was playing with a set of dice, mechanically tossing them onto the ground and then picking them up again. With her heart pounding, she approached cautiously.
"Hi…" she said softly. Her voice was high-pitched and gentle.
The boy showed no reaction.
"Please, answer me!" she continued, now with urgency, raising her voice slightly. She tried to touch the boy's arm; for a brief moment, he froze, but soon returned to collecting the dice from the ground.
A little nervous, she took a deep breath, trying not to panic. For some reason, she knew that in that situation the best thing to do was remain calm. She looked at the boy's face: he was perhaps a few centimeters taller than her and had white patches scattered across his skin. She looked at her own arm, rolling up her sleeve, and saw the same pale, opaque skin. She didn't remember her own appearance until she paid closer attention to the boy's ears—rounded and short. When she touched her own ears, she felt them longer and pointed.
In her mind, she glimpsed a girl with pointed ears, very pale skin, strikingly lilac eyes, and white hair. As if before a mirror, she saw her full reflection.
Giving up on the boy, who continued his meaningless game, she observed the other children more carefully, perhaps searching for someone who had awakened like her or made any non-automatic movement. The first thing that came to mind was how different they all were from one another, yet none seemed much older than her. Some were larger and sturdier, others small and underweight. Then a number surfaced in her mind: eleven. That was her age.
The headache returned with force, along with the sound of the bell. She pressed her hands to her temples, trying to ease the pain, but it felt as though something were pushing her skull from the inside out. Images burst through her mind—books, landscapes, gigantic maps, an armchair. Then a blur appeared: total darkness, as if a black hole were devouring everything inside her memories. Emptiness.
And then, like the final line of a poem, a word reached her, whispered by a sweet, feminine voice:
"Elara."
The girl remembered her own name.
"Woof…"
A rough, threatening sound made Elara freeze. A chill ran down her spine, leaving her unable to react. She decided to remain still, avoiding sudden movements, imitating the other children. The bark came from a small doghouse at the far end of the yard. The wooden house, of fine quality—she could tell at a glance—was made of the same refined material as the mansion behind it. It stood just over eighty centimeters tall and was strategically positioned with its opening facing the glass door. In front of it, two ceramic bowls rested on the ground: one overflowing with food that Elara immediately realized looked better than what she had eaten earlier; the other likely meant for water. A wooden sign hung from the eaves, and in bold indigo-blue letters it read:
"Ruffos," Elara read softly, trying to organize her thoughts.
No one besides her seemed startled by the barking—at least that was what she thought—until two large, pudgy paws appeared in front of the doghouse, followed by a wide snout and drooping ears.
Ruffos emerged fully, sniffing the air with his flattened nose pointed toward the sky. His sagging fur, forming large folds mottled in brown and gray, made him look as big and fat as the red-bearded man Elara had seen earlier. To top it off, he wore an indigo-blue bow tie fastened around his neck, swaying as he sniffed.
"Woof…"
The next bark had a specific target—and thankfully, it wasn't her. A small group of children at the center of the yard caught the dog's attention. Among them, Elara noticed something unusual: a young boy with grayish skin and a red mohawk, kneeling on the grass. Only then did she realize why—despite kneeling, he was as tall as the other children standing upright. With long, well-defined arms, he didn't seem more than a year older than her, though his body was surprisingly strong for someone so young. Staring at his own hands, he muttered confused growls, likely what had drawn Ruffos's attention.
The dog walked slowly toward the boy, snout pointed forward, the base of his ears bristling.
Elara realized that the boy might be struggling to wake up, just as she had moments earlier. Everything changed when the young man lifted a hard, defiant gaze toward the dog. Ruffos barked frantically, lowering his head and dragging his enormous belly across the grass. For a few moments, the two studied each other—until even the dog fell silent.
Then, to Elara's surprise—and the dog's—the boy suddenly stood up and, raising his arms, bellowed:
"Uhaaaaaa!"
The tone of the barking shifted as Ruffos recoiled. The boy screamed toward the sky, clutching his own head, then began striking it violently. Between screams and blows, he completely lost control, shoving a small girl toward a flowerbed.
"Careful!" Elara shouted instinctively.
In the next instant, leaves and branches grew at an absurd speed, forming a vegetal cushion that softened the impact. The boy, however, remained unaware, until long tusks began to protrude from his lower jaw. Elara took a few steps back, yet she couldn't stop herself from being fascinated by what she was seeing.
She crouched and, moving as stealthily as possible so as not to draw the attention of either the dog or the boy, reached the corner of the flowerbed where the girl had fallen—fortunately unharmed. The child lay nestled among giant leaves, as if cradled in a green embrace. Relieved, Elara released the breath she'd been holding.
Like a switch being flipped, the boy ceased his movements and became motionless once more. The battle in his mind had ended. Elara remained crouched beside the girl and the flowerbed, waiting for what would come next. Ruffos, on the other hand, continued barking frantically, alternating between a defensive posture and short advances. The boy now scratched his own head.
He lifted his gaze toward Elara and the girl protected by the foliage. His amber eyes glinted beneath the sun. A faint smile crossed his lips before he turned back to Ruffos.
"Hey, shut up, you flea-ridden mutt!"
Without hesitation, the boy charged toward the fat dog. In desperation, Ruffos let out a bark mixed with a whimper and darted between the seesaws.
"I'm the one who's gonna bite you, you obese animal!" the boy shouted.
The chase was frantic. Incredibly, Ruffos was more agile than he looked. The two crashed into everything along the way, but Elara noticed that the boy made an effort to avoid the children, who remained frozen like statues. Reaching one corner of the yard, the boy managed to corner Ruffos, who now trembled before the boy's fury.
"Now you're mine!"
He leapt onto the dog. The two rolled across the grass, the boy trying to restrain him while Ruffos struggled with all his strength. Grabbing the dog's hind legs and wrapping one arm around his neck, the boy finally pinned him to the ground. With his free hand, he tore his already ragged clothing, improvised a rope, and tied all four of Ruffos's legs, leaving him immobilized like a pig ready for slaughter. Exhausted, the dog let his tongue hang out, panting.
"Muahahaha! Another fight, another victory!" the boy shouted, raising his arms as if being cheered by an invisible crowd.
Elara watched the scene, incredulous. Ruffos lay immobilized, his indigo bow tie crooked around his neck, breathing heavily. The boy then turned toward the center of the yard and began walking toward Elara.
She froze.
As he approached, Elara closed her eyes and curled inward, bracing for the worst.
"Is she okay?" he asked, in an impatient yet slightly embarrassed tone, his voice clearly that of a teenager.
Elara slowly opened her eyes, looked at the gray-skinned boy with the red mohawk, and nodded.
Unexpectedly, he began removing the small girl from the nest of leaves.
"Hey!" Elara protested.
"She's fine," the boy replied, carefully turning the girl over, awkwardly checking for injuries. "Phew… I almost screwed that up," he said in relief, smiling. "Did you do this?" he asked, holding one of the giant leaves from the flowerbed.
"No… it wasn't me," Elara replied cautiously.
He placed the girl back among the leaves, shook his head, and leaned closer to the unconscious child's face.
"Hey! Anyone in there?"
No response.
"I don't think that's how it works," Elara commented, analytically.
"Doesn't hurt to try, right?" he shot back. "What's your name?"
Before Elara could answer, they both heard a noise coming from one corner of the yard. Someone had bumped into a toy, and one of the swings began to move on its own. Both immediately went on alert. Elara felt a chill crawl up her spine and hid herself deeper among the leaves of the flowerbed.
Then a vivid lock of purple hair appeared, swaying from side to side. Next, a pointed-eared child slowly rose onto one of the benches, peeking at the two of them.
"Eek…" the girl let out a sharp sound when she realized she'd been spotted in her failed attempt to hide.
A clack echoed through the yard, accompanied by a knot in all three of their stomachs. The door leading to the mansion burst open. A fat, red-bearded man entered the yard, oddly wearing heavy snow boots and a large coat that partially covered his belly. His small eyes immediately locked onto Ruffos, tied up.
Elara saw the purple-haired girl run toward the back of the yard, while she herself tucked even deeper among the leaves to escape the man's gaze. The vegetation became her perfect hiding place.
The red-mohawked boy, however, did the opposite.
He moved away from Elara and the sleeping girl and positioned himself squarely in the center of the yard, completely exposed.
"What the hell did you do to poor Ruffos?!" the red-bearded man roared.
Like a memory being violently forced to the surface, Elara felt she recognized that man. She had known him for a long time.
That was Ghinorf—one of the helpers.
"It's your turn, you fat bastard…" the boy growled, clenching his fists. "You're about to meet the fury of Baruk!"
And he raised his fists, ready to fight.