Yggdrasil

Curled up under a thick blanket, I snuggled closer to my mother as she told me yet another story. Her voice was soft, and the flickering candlelight made the shadows dance on the walls. Outside, the wind howled, but inside, her words wrapped around me like a warm coat.

“Once upon a time.”

She began.

“A man and a woman fell in love. Not just any love, but the kind that makes your heart feel like it’s going to burst. They decided to marry, and to celebrate, they planned a big, beautiful trip to a faraway island. Back then, people could fly in the sky like birds – on machines called airplanes. Metal giants with wings that soared higher than the clouds.”

I tilted my head.

“Like the story from the other day about the flying man in the cape?’

Mother laughed softly.

“Yes, a bit like that. But instead of capes, these people sat inside the planes, looking out tiny windows at the world below.”

Her smile faded just a little.

“But not every town had an airport, so the couple had to travel across many cities to reach the place where their plane would take off. One of those towns was called – Procyon.”

“Wait a second, isn’t that where we live in? Tell me more about its past!”

She laughed, brushing my black hair gently behind my ear.

“Fine.

Procyon was built in the distant past, in the middle of a dense forest.

With no contact with the outside world, the bishop ruled with an iron fist.

However, all changed around sixty years ago.

A corporation’s agents entered the town from the outside and visited the bishop.

They proposed a contract, claiming that Procyon was the perfect place for a valuable train route for their corporation.

The bishop – the old leader of the town – accepted the deal to build train tracks through Procyon. Many people moved in to build the train station, and a revolution began in the city. The older citizens’ discontentment was muffled down by the growing happiness that came with the bishop’s decision.

Food was delivered on the trains, and no one went hungry anymore. Medicine and other medical advancements came, so people stopped getting sick. Everyone thought the future would be bright.

Back then, Procyon wasn’t like it is now. It was full of life, with trains passing through every day. People from all over the world came and went. It was bustling and bright, a town that felt alive.”

“Really?”

I asked, my eyes wide.

It was hard to believe that the same gray, boring town I lived in was ever exciting.

Her voice grew quieter.

“But one day, around fifty years after the revolution.

The same day the couple was traveling through the city.

May 21st, 2002.”

Whispering, as though the weight of the words could shift the room into silence. I felt the steady rhythm of her breath as the story thickened like a mist around us.

“The train stopped without warning.

The couple and the other passengers were confused, but at first, no one was worried. It was just a short delay, they thought. The conductor had tried to speak over the intercom, saying it was a technical issue, but his voice never reached the passengers.

Time dragged on.”

I imagined it – people sitting on old leather seats, peeking out of windows at nothing but the cold and dark town beyond.

“Confused murmurs had filled the train cars as they noticed that all the lights of the town had gone off.”

I held my breath as if the silence between her words carried the same tension the passengers must have felt.

“They thought it was a power outage. But the longer they waited, the stranger things became. Then came the first sign that something was very, very wrong.

The doors of the train wouldn’t open. At first, people thought it was just a malfunction.

And that’s when the conductor tried to leave the control cabin. He couldn’t.

Every door had locked tight… As if the train was never meant to leave.”

A chill ran down my spine. I wanted to tell her to stop, but my curiosity had latched on like a fishhook, dragging me deeper into the tale. I could hear the wind outside howling against our house, and it suddenly felt as if the walls weren’t thick enough.

“One by one, the passengers started to notice things – little things that didn’t make sense. The air in the train seemed too stale for just a few hours. The few who had cell phones couldn’t figure out why the screen wouldn’t turn on. Their watches stopped ticking, all frozen at the exact same time: 00:00. And worst of all… No one could remember how long they had been waiting.”

“Was it just the train?”

I gripped my mother’s sleeve.

“Or the whole town?”

“The whole town, any and all electronic appliances had stopped working. Soon enough, engineers were called, and they weren’t able to fix the train. Everything seemed fine, all parts in pristine condition, even so, it wouldn’t turn on.

The same was true for the entirety of the city, all the lights went off and all radios went silent.”

Ohhh…

“On that day, Procyon Town had been separated from the rest of the world.”

Mother’s voice lowered to a hush, almost as if afraid the story would reach ears beyond the walls of our home.

“The passengers tried to remain calm. They told each other that it would be fixed soon. Unease began to creep in like a slow, spreading shadow. Families huddled together, strangers whispered in hushed tones, and the staff finally were able to force the doors open. But that would be just the beginning of the nightmare.”

She then glanced at her hand, where her wedding shone like a light amidst the darkness.

“The couple decided to spend the night in Procyon. The chaos hadn’t truly settled in yet, just an outage, they said. The electricians at the power plant couldn’t figure out the problem either, or even brand-new backup generators weren’t able to generate electricity.

They found a small inn near the edge of town, cozy enough to wait out the night. The innkeeper was friendly, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He apologized for the lack of electricity but offered them extra blankets.”

I couldn’t help but continue asking.

“What happened to the city, when did the electricity return?”

She forced a smile, maybe trying to hold back the grim atmosphere.

“Days turned to weeks, and the civilians’ discontent grew slowly but steadily.

No trains had arrived on the town ever since.

For a town so reliant on outside food deliveries, it wouldn’t be long until the town reserves began to empty.

Teams were sent outside to ask for help, and the days after their depart were filled with anxiety.

However, they never returned.”

“What did the couple decide to do? They still have to go to that island, right?”

“The city soon divided into two groups:

One formed from the original families that lived in Procyon before the revolution, they said that something had happened to the outside world, that it was dangerous to go there.

And the other formed from the ones who had moved in after the revolution, the ones who worked there, and the ones travelling through. They thought that something had happened to Procyon, and they had to leave to the outside world.”

“So, they did leave!”

“No… The wife had soon discovered her pregnancy, if not for that, they would have stayed. The teams who left never returned. They decided that the town was safer in the end.

Unlike them, many families had begun a great exodus. The motives were many: trying to escape the growing hunger from the lack of food, to return to their families and loved ones, or their longing for technology.”

Mother’s eyes darkened as her fingers traced idle patterns on the blanket, as if lost in the weight of the story.

“What happened to them?”

Her voice dropped to an ominous whisper.

“They were never heard from again.”

Her words like frost on a winter morning.

“They walked into the forest, hoping to find their way out, but they never returned – some say they got lost forever in the woods, that the forest swallowed them whole. Others believed that the black wolves from the stories ate them.”

Something didn’t sit right with me.

“What if… The world outside was so beautiful and bright that they decided to never return?”

Mother’s expression shifted, a mix of sadness and wistfulness flickering in her eyes. Her hand, still tracing the soft patterns on the blanket, froze for a moment.

“Perhaps.”

She whispered, as if she wanted to believe it too.

“Maybe they found a paradise beyond the forest... a place where the lights never go out, and the trains run on time. A place where people aren’t trapped by the shadows of the past.”

Her words drifted into the room like a breeze through a cracked window, carrying with them a strange kind of hope. Yet, I noticed the way her voice faltered, as if even she didn’t believe it.

“But the story within the town did not end there. With the opposing group gone, it was only a matter of time before rebellion stirred among those who remained. At the heart of this movement was a priest – a man who claimed to have received a message from God.

‘Humanity…’

He preached

‘Became arrogant, believing they could play the role of gods with their machines. They conquered the earth, traveled to the moon, and forged weapons capable of annihilating entire cities. In their hubris, they forgot humility and faith. Thus, God cleansed the earth of their sin, leaving only ashes where pride once thrived.’

He declared that Procyon had been spared, not by chance, but as a reward for the townspeople’s faith in the one true God – faith from a time before they had embraced progress. But their salvation came with a warning.

‘All technology…’

The priest proclaimed.

‘…Must be abandoned, for it is the very manifestation of human sin. The train station, the power plant – any place tainted by machines – must be forsaken. The town must undergo purification to prepare for a divine trial.’

He set a grave deadline.

‘In one year after the lights went off.’

He warned.

‘Procyon will be judged. If even a single person clings to the sins of technology, God’s mercy will end, and the entire town will perish. The fate of Procyon now rests in your hands. Will you remain faithful... or follow the path to oblivion?’”

My mother continued.

“And so, the town changed almost overnight. People began to fear even the smallest remnant of the old world. They boarded up the train station, trashed the non-functioning radios and televisions, burned all the medicine, and stopped using the tools that once made their lives easier. The power plant was left to rot, and with it, all the progress they had made. Soon enough, the priest took the bishop’s place

Even so, there were some who couldn’t let go. Quietly, they kept their old possessions, like an old photograph stored inside a drawer. They couldn’t abandon the memories they carried - memories of the world before.”

“What happened to them?”

I whispered, almost afraid to know.

Her gaze turned distant.

“Some were accused by their neighbors, and the town turned against itself. Others tried to leave through the forest, desperate to escape their judgment. Trials were held in the church, and those found guilty were… On the town square, together with the past bishop…"

She hesitated, her voice trembling. The candle sputtered, and the shadows on the walls seemed to shudder along with me.

I held her hand.

“You can stop now.”

My mother was trembling, but she gently squeezed my hand in return, giving me a sad smile.

“No, my precious. You need to hear the rest.”

Her voice wavered, but she pressed on, as if compelled by the weight of the tale.

“The trials were not about justice. They were spectacles - performances meant to instill fear. Anyone caught with forbidden objects or suspected of defying the priest’s new doctrine was dragged to the square. There, under the looming gaze of the wolf statue and the bishop’s lifeless eyes, they were judged.”

I squeezed her hand even tighter.

My mother looked away for a moment, as if the memories of the story were too much to bear.

“They called it purification. They claimed that those who clung to the past needed to be cleansed… cleansed in fire.”

The room seemed to grow colder despite the warmth of the blanket wrapped around us. I felt my heartbeat echoing in my ears, each thump heavier than the last.

“They were... Burned?”

I asked, horrified.

“They called it mercy, saying the flames would cleanse their souls, freeing them from the sin of technology.”

She shook her head.

“It wasn’t mercy. It was fear. Pure, mindless fear.”

The wind outside howled louder, rattling the windows, as if the ghosts of the past were stirring. My mother took a deep breath, steadying herself before continuing the grim tale.

“May 21st, 2003 – the final judgment fell upon the town. A year had passed, and with it, fear and paranoia grew into a monster of its own. By then, the townspeople had fully embraced the priest's doctrine. They gathered in the town square, beneath the towering wolf statue, waiting with bated breath for the divine trial to unfold.

The priest stood at the center of the square, draped in ceremonial robes embroidered with ancient symbols, his voice rising above the anxious murmurs of the crowd. He declared that the moment of truth had arrived. At exactly 00:00, every man, woman, and child knelt as one, heads bowed in reverence to the town's deity.

Procyon - the True Wolf God.

The true protector of humanity.

The one carved into the countless statues scattered throughout the town, watching silently over them all.

As they prayed, offering their words and hopes to Him, something stirred.

[Hatred]

A wave of searing emotion descended upon the town – an overwhelming presence that froze the air and weighed down every heart. It wasn’t a gentle blessing or divine mercy. No, this was something far more ancient and terrible. It was the wrath of a god, a hatred so profound it crushed every soul beneath its unseen weight.

The townspeople, paralyzed by fear, felt their bodies stiffen as if they were turning to stone, pinned under the sheer enormity of the divine presence. Panic rippled beneath the surface, but no one could move. Not a whisper escaped their lips. It was as though the world itself had stopped breathing.

Amidst the suffocating silence, the bishop – his voice trembling – ordered the priests to investigate, to search for the source of the divine presence. The priests obeyed, venturing beyond the town's borders. When they returned, their faces were pale, and their news carried both salvation and horror.

‘The forest...’

One priest whispered.

‘It’s... gone.’

Beyond the borders of Procyon, the lush green forest that once surrounded the town had been reduced to blackened ruins. What remained was a charred wasteland – a barren husk where life no longer dared tread. The earth, once vibrant and full, was now buried beneath layers of pitch-black dust. And from that dead soil sprouted only jagged, skeletal trees – bark as black as coal, branches brittle and lifeless.

It was as if the very heart of the land had been scorched by the fires of divine retribution.

The priests exchanged anxious glances, knowing what the townspeople would believe. For generations, the church of Procyon had preached that after the Wolf of Truth had defended humanity from the black wolves – the demons – those creatures had been cast into the depths of a cursed place called the Black Forest, where only darkness and death could survive.

Now, the land surrounding the town reflected those ancient stories perfectly.

Fear spread through the citizens like wildfire. The legends were true. The world beyond their borders had been consumed by darkness, leaving Procyon an island of safety amidst an ocean of ruin.

The bishop, however, stood unmoved by the priests' fear. As the townspeople cowered, he raised his hands in joyous exaltation. His eyes gleamed with fervor, and a smile spread across his face, wild and triumphant.

‘Don’t you see?’

He cried, his voice booming across the square.

‘It is exactly as the sacred words foretold! The world beyond has been purged, cleansed of sin and corruption! The Wolf of Truth has shown His mercy upon us! Procyon alone has been spared, and within our borders, the trees still stand green, and the sun continues to shine!’

He clapped his hands together in rapture.

‘This is not a tragedy – it is a cause for celebration! The judgment has come and passed! The demons have been cast out, the outside world burned to ash, and we have been chosen to inherit the future!’

The crowd stirred, caught between awe and fear, but the bishop's words rang with certainty. They were alive. They survived the purge. And according to their faith, it was no accident – it was divine grace.”

My mother then patted my head.

“The story then finally comes to a close.”

I snuggled deeper into the blanket, unsure whether I wanted to hear more, but unable to stop myself from asking.

"That can't be the end, right? What about the couple? What did they do after the judgment?"

My mother’s eyes softened, though a shadow of sadness lingered in them.

"The couple stayed. They had no other choice. With the town cut off from the outside world, they had to build a life together – for their little girl. She was the light that kept them moving forward, the reason they endured. As she grew, her hair turned as dark as the night sky, and her spirit was fierce and unyielding, like a flame that refused to be extinguished. They named her Nanfaz, a name that means ‘one who dares,’ hoping it would give her the strength to face whatever came her way."

I sat up, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Wait… That’s me! You and father – you were the couple!”

I felt like the whole room was closing in on me. My head spun as pieces of the story began to fall into place. The strange rules in the town, the constant fear of technology, the cold resentment from the townspeople – everything suddenly made sense.

In Procyon Town, it’s forbidden to speak of the world beyond. The mere idea of anything outside our borders has been abandoned, erased from the minds of everyone in the village. To them, the world beyond the forest might as well have never existed. But that was never the case with my mother.

She would tell me stories – stories about places she had seen or only heard of during her life. While others lived as if the outside world had ceased to exist, she kept its memory alive, sharing fragments of it with me like forbidden treasures. But that one night was different. That night, she told me the entire history of Procyon – a story no one else would dare to whisper. And it became something I knew I could never forget, even as the rest of the town tried to bury it.

From that night onward, I began living in two worlds.

There was the physical world – the dull, unchanging reality of Procyon, where the days dragged on beneath the same gray sky, each one blending into the next, as lifeless as the forest beyond. Every moment felt heavy and stagnant, as if the town itself was frozen in time.

And then, there was the world in my mind. In my dreams, I walked through towering cities with shining skyscrapers that pierced the clouds. I soared through the sky in airplanes, gliding above oceans and mountains. I rode sleek trains that sped through open fields, taking me to places beyond imagination.

Each day, I floated between these two worlds – the suffocating present and the vast freedom of my dreams. Reality in Procyon remained the same, as unchanging as the dead forest surrounding it. But in my mind, every journey was new, every adventure filled with endless possibilities.

And then, without fail, it was always time to wake up.Parte superior do formulário

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!"

The first sound of the day is the crowing of the roosters from the chicken coop. It’s quickly followed by the second sound – the soft hum of the wind slipping through the cracks in the wooden shutters. No alarm clocks, no phones. Just the steady rhythm of the town – and my mother’s gentle voice calling me from sleep.

“Time to get up, Nanfaz.”

I blink my eyes open slowly, the dull gray light of morning filtering through the cracks of the wooden shutters. The room is cold, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones before you even step out from under the blanket. I curled deeper under the quilt for a moment, trying to hold onto the warmth for just a few more seconds.

But there’s no point in lingering. In Procyon, the morning waits for no one.Parte inferior do formulário

With a sigh, I pushed the blanket aside, the chill of the floor biting at my bare feet. There’s no heater to keep the house warm, no hot water pipes to heat the rooms overnight. Just the fire we lit last night, now reduced to glowing embers in the hearth downstairs. The house always feels heavy in the morning, thick with the quiet silence that comes from a place that’s long forgotten joy.

I pull on my wool socks and wrap myself in a heavy cloak before stepping out of my room. There’s no light switch to flick, only the soft flicker of a candle that I keep on my bedside table. With a match I strike it awake, and the tiny flame dances, casting long shadows on the wooden walls.

Downstairs, I find my mother stirring the fireplace back to life. She’s using the same iron poker she’s had since I was a baby. No stove or electric kettle – just iron pots, a cast-iron pan, and a slow fire that takes its time to grow. Procyon doesn’t allow technology, so everything is done the old way: Slowly.

“Your bread is on the table.”

She says without looking up, feeding another log into the fire.

“Hurry and eat before it gets cold.”

Ho I sit down at the small wooden table. The bread is stale – yesterday’s leftover loaf. I tear off a piece and chew it slowly, washing it down with a sip of water from the clay jug. Breakfast is always simple here. No eggs unless the chickens happen to lay. No fruit, except when it’s in season. No milk unless we trade for it.

It’s always the same, day after day.

Once I finish eating, I grab a pail from the corner of the room and head outside to the well. The cold morning air presses against my skin, but I’m used to it by now. The streets are eerily quiet – just the whisper of the wind and the distant sound of horses. No train whistles, no rumble of engines, just the natural rhythm of a town lost in time.

The well is old, built from uneven stones, and it takes me a few tries to lower the bucket smoothly. The pulley squeaks with every turn, and the rope scratches against my hands. Finally, I pull up the bucket, the cold water sloshing inside. I take a moment to breathe, my breath fogging in the crisp air, and glance toward the Black Forest in the distance. It looms beyond the fields, dark and still. Even in daylight, it feels like the forest is holding its breath.

The townspeople say that it’s cursed – that anyone who goes in never comes back. I don’t know if that’s true. But I do know that the forest feels more alive than the town ever does.

Back inside, I fill a basin with water to wash up. There’s no hot water, so the cold stings my skin, but I scrub my face and arms quickly. No soap – just a rag and some water. My hair, as dark as charcoal, falls messily over my shoulders. I brush it out as best as I can with a wooden comb, tugging at the knots.

Then it’s time to get dressed. The clothes are simple – the exact same nun-like outfit every girl at school is required to wear. A plain, dark dress that reaches my knees, with long sleeves and a stiff white collar. There’s no room for individuality here. Everyone wears the same thing, as if to erase any sign that we are different from one another.

The fabric is scratchy against my skin, stiff from too many washes. As I pull on my wool stockings and lace up my scuffed boots, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. A young girl stares back – black hair that refuses to stay neatly tucked, brown eyes that carry more questions than the town is willing to answer.

I think of myself as ordinary, but I guess others don’t see it that way. A few boys have even confessed to me before, stumbling over their words and blushing as if I were something more than just another girl in this dull, lifeless town.

I never knew what to say to them. What was I supposed to do – pretend to care about boys and dating when I’m barely holding on to my own dreams? All I could do was apologize and walk away, leaving them with their crushed hopes. Love is just another game people here play to pass the time, another routine in a town where nothing ever changes. And honestly, I don’t think I fit into their version of love.

It’s not that I hate them. It’s just... They only see the surface. They don’t really know me. None of them would understand the restless ache that keeps me awake at night, the feeling that this town is nothing more than a cage disguised as home.

The only interesting thing about Procyon is its mysteries.

The same unspoken rules keep the town running, the same rigid routines tying everyone to a lifeless cycle. But beneath the surface, there are cracks – remnants of the past that people willfully ignore.

The Black Forest and whatever lies beyond it are subjects no one dares to mention – like uttering the name of the devil. My mother once told me that every culture has its own version of the boogeyman, each story twisted to scare children – and, sometimes, even adults – into obedience. Here in Procyon, our warnings are no different, though they come with a sharper edge. They aren’t just bedtime tales; they are rules etched into the very soul of the town, passed down from generation to generation.

Never venture into the Black Forest.

Never stop praying to God.

Never defy the church.

And never, ever be tempted by sinful technology.

These aren’t just words of caution – they are commandments. Disobedience means more than just punishment; it means inviting ruin, for the black wolves are always watching, waiting to devour those who stray from the righteous path.

There must be some truth to the myth – no one who leaves the town has ever returned. And ever since the forest became the Black Forest, the danger lurking within has only grown.Parte superior do formulárioParte inferior do formulário

Then, there's the train station – a place no one dares to speak of, though everyone remembers what happened. They boarded it up long before I was born, leaving the trains to rust in silence. Sometimes, when I walk near the tracks on the way to school, I imagine the metal giants waiting in the dark, engines still as if asleep, dreaming of journeys they’ll never take.

The wind outside picks up as I grab my school bag. My mother stands by the window, gazing out toward the forest with a distant look in her eyes. She hasn’t spoken since breakfast, lost in her own thoughts. It’s not unusual.

Before I leave, she calls my name softly.

“Nanfaz.”

I turn to face her, and for a moment, she looks like she wants to say something important – something heavy, resting on the tip of her tongue. But instead, she just smiles sadly.

“Be careful today.”

Stepping outside, I’m greeted by the cold bite of the morning air. The streets are empty, as they always are this early. There’s a strange comfort in the stillness, even though it feels unnatural – like the calm before a storm. I make my way through the winding paths toward the school, following the cracked pavement.

As I walk through the quiet streets, the town feels both familiar and alien, as if I belong here but never truly fit. The same crooked lamp posts lean over the narrow roads, and the same cracked walls of old stone buildings seem to watch me pass with weary, unchanging eyes. Shadows cling to every corner, the cold morning light struggling to illuminate Procyon’s secrets.

The journey to school always feels longer than it should. It’s not just the distance – it’s the weight of the unspoken, the sense that something is always lurking beneath the surface of this place, hidden in plain sight.

Suddenly, someone catches sight of me. It is the bishop.

The bishop stands at the corner of the street, draped in his ceremonial robes, the hem brushing against the cracked stones beneath his feet. His presence is unsettling, like a shadow that stretches too far, even under the dim morning light. He holds a wooden staff adorned with symbols of the town’s faith, and his pale, sharp eyes glimmer with an eerie intensity.

“Oh, what a surprise, Nanfaz. This too must be a miracle. It has been long since I last talked with you.”

I freeze, unsure whether to bow, greet him, or simply walk away. The bishop’s voice is smooth and deliberate, like a snake slithering through dry leaves. There is no warmth in his words, only the weight of expectation – a conversation I can’t avoid.

“Heading to school, are we?”

He asks, stepping closer. The staff in his hand taps softly against the ground with each step.

“Such a diligent child.”

I force a small smile, though it feels unnatural on my face.

"Yes, Bishop. I don't want to be late."

“Have you thought about my offer? You would fit perfectly as a priestess.”

The bishop’s words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. His pale eyes search my face, waiting for a response I don’t want to give. The idea of becoming a priestess feels like a trap, a chain disguised as an honor. I know what accepting his offer would mean: a life dedicated to the church, to its rules and rituals, with no room for anything else – no freedom, no dreams, no escape.

I force myself to respond, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.

"Thank you, Bishop, but I still want to focus on my studies for now."

His thin smile deepens, but there’s something predatory in it, like he knows I’m not telling the whole truth. The staff in his hand shifts slightly, tapping against the ground, the sound echoing like a warning.

"Ah, yes. You are quite the dedicated student, aren't you? But remember, Nanfaz… Faith has its own wisdom. And the church always welcomes those willing to walk the righteous path."

I nod politely, saying nothing more. The weight of his gaze lingers, pressing down on me like a stone. After what feels like an eternity, the bishop’s smile fades, and he takes a step back, signaling the end of our conversation.

"Be careful on your way, child. The path can be treacherous for those who stray."

With that, he turns, his robes trailing behind him as he moves deeper into the winding streets, disappearing into the shadows as if he were never there. I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my heart pounding in my chest.

I continue toward the school, my steps faster now, eager to put distance between me and the bishop. There’s a chill running down my spine – not from the cold, but from the sense that his eyes are still watching me, even when he’s gone.

The narrow streets open up into the town square, where the wolf statue stands like a silent sentinel. Its stone eyes seem to follow me, unblinking and unmoving, as if waiting for something. I shiver and avert my gaze, hurrying past the square and onto the path that leads toward the school.

I keep to the edge of the road, my boots tapping against the pavement in a steady rhythm. In the distance, I hear the church bells chime. Their deep, haunting tones echo across the town like a reminder – or maybe a warning. No one knows exactly how old the church is, only that it’s stood at the heart of Procyon for as long as anyone can remember. Some say the statues of the wolves are even older, their eyes carved with secrets lost to time.

Before long, the school gates come into view. The building sits on a hill overlooking the town, gray and stoic like everything else here. From the outside, it looks abandoned, as though it gave up on being a place of learning long ago. But every morning, we gather here – all the children of Procyon, dressed in our dull uniforms, following the same routines like clockwork.

As I approach, I catch sight of some familiar faces. A few of my classmates are clustered near the gate, whispering among themselves. Their eyes flick toward me briefly, their expressions unreadable, before they go back to their hushed conversation.

I keep my gaze low, pretending not to notice their glances. It’s easier that way – to stay invisible, to avoid their stares and whispered judgments. I grip the strap of my school bag a little tighter and slip past the group toward the gate. They say nothing as I pass, but I can feel the weight of their curiosity lingering in the air, like a shadow following close behind.

As I step inside the school grounds, the familiar scent of chalk and old wood fills my senses. The building looms over us, tired and indifferent, like a monument to all the things that have withered in this town. I glance around, making sure to avoid eye contact with the others, and head toward the entrance.

As I walk through the heavy wooden doors, the school’s dim interior greets me like a tomb – quiet, cold, and indifferent. The floors creak beneath my boots, and the stale scent of dust and neglect clings to the walls. The hallways are empty for now, the sound of my footsteps echoing faintly. I know it won’t be long before the building fills with the low hum of chatter, footsteps, and the scraping of chairs, but for now, I enjoy the solitude.

I take my usual route toward my classroom, my feet moving on autopilot. Every day feels the same in this place, as if the clock has stopped and we’re all just waiting – waiting for something to change, waiting for something to happen, waiting for a miracle that never comes.

As I reach my classroom, I push the door open with a soft creak. It’s empty, save for a few stray papers left behind from yesterday. I slip into my seat at the far corner of the room, right next to the window. This is where I always sit – where I can keep an eye on the world outside, even if it’s only the same dreary view of gray skies and withered trees.

I pull out my notebook and start doodling absentmindedly in the margins. My mind drifts to the encounter with the bishop earlier, his strange words lingering in my thoughts like an itch I can’t scratch. The path can be treacherous for those who stray.

What did he mean by that? Was it just a warning, or something more? The way he looked at me, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes – It felt like he was hinting at something. Or maybe I’m just overthinking it. I don’t know. Everything in this town feels like a puzzle with missing pieces, and I can’t tell if I’m supposed to solve it or just live with the gaps.

The bell rings, breaking my thoughts. The sound is sharp and jarring, like a crack in the silence. One by one, my classmates file into the room, their chatter filling the space like static.

The teacher arrives shortly after, a tired-looking man with a perpetual scowl etched into his face. He shuffles to the front of the room, slaps a textbook onto his desk, and clears his throat.

“Nanfaz Incuria, you’ve been called to the director’s office.”

Whispers ripple through the room like a gust of cold air. My classmates glance at me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and unease. Even the teacher’s tone felt heavy, like it carried more meaning than normal.

I stare down at the desk, gripping my notebook tightly. This is unexpected. The director hardly ever calls anyone – most students live their lives unnoticed, blending into the fabric of routine. Something about this feels different, ominous.

"Well?"

The teacher taps his foot impatiently, snapping me from my thoughts.

"Go on. Don’t make him wait."

I gather my things slowly, feeling every eye on me, letting my school bag rest carefully over my desk. The weight of their stares clings to my back as I stand and shuffle toward the door. My steps feel sluggish, like I’m walking through thick mud.

The hallway outside is eerily silent. Only the distant murmur of other classrooms fills the stillness. My mind races, trying to piece together any reason why the director would call for me. But nothing makes sense. I’ve done nothing wrong – at least, not that I can remember.

As I walk toward the office, I pass the wolf statue standing in the courtyard, its stone eyes unblinking and ever watchful. There’s something unsettling about it today, as if the wolf knows something I don’t.

Finally, I reach the door of the director’s office. It’s old, with peeling paint and a brass knob worn smooth from years of use.

I take a deep breath, approaching the door.

“Come in.”

A deep voice calls from within.

Without even knocking on the door, he already knew I was here? That would only be possible if he heard my footsteps. Considering how silent the hallway is, it is not surprising.

The door creaks open, and I step inside, the air heavy with the scent of old books and dust. Office feels like a place out of time, filled with shelves lined with ancient tomes and objects that don’t belong in this world.

The director sits behind a large, oak desk. His sharp blonde hair glimmers under the dim light filtering through thick curtains, a smirk curls on his face – both knowing and unsettling. His eyes gleam as they meet mine, piercing straight through me like they can see every secret I’ve ever kept.

“Ah, Nanfaz.”

He says smoothly, his voice velvety and calm.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Not you specifically, I actually wanted to meet all of my dear students.

Unfortunately, as I’m a year late, that won’t be possible anymore.

That is why I’ve chosen you as the first one.”

The air in the room feels heavier, thick with unspoken intentions. My heart races as I try to make sense of the director’s strange words. ‘A year late’? What does that mean? And why me? His gaze doesn’t waver as he leans back into his chair, the smirk on his face never fading.

He gestures to the chair in front of his desk.

“Please, take a seat.”

I hesitate for a moment but realize there’s no escaping this conversation. Slowly, I lower myself into the chair, my hands gripping the edges to stop them from trembling. The silence between us stretches thin, like a thread ready to snap at any moment.

The director watches me with an unsettling calm, his blonde hair catching the faint light. The way he smiles, it’s as though he knows more about me than I know about myself. There’s a strange familiarity in his expression, but I can’t place it.

He clasps his hands together.

“Nanfaz, how do you find life here in Procyon?”

The question catches me off guard. I blink, unsure how to answer. Does he expect me to say it’s fine? That I enjoy the lifeless routine, the cold mornings, and the oppressive rules? Or is this a trick question – a test to see if I’ll stray from the “righteous” answers they expect from us?

“It’s... Quiet.”

I manage, keeping my tone neutral.

The director chuckles softly.

“You’ve been keeping the good girl mask for a long time, so I’m sure you won’t be sincere with me. That is why I will be very clear about what I know about you.”

Hm?!

“I know you know way more about the world than your peers, and I know you have an immense interest in resolving the mysteries about this town. But I want to hear from your mouth, what do you think of your life here in Procyon?”

The room feels colder, and the director’s eyes remain locked on mine, waiting. There’s no point in lying – he’s already peeled away my mask. But what does he really want? Why me, and why now? My heart races, and a flicker of defiance rises in my chest. If he knows so much about me already, then why hide anything?

“I hate it.”

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. But it feels good – like exhaling after holding my breath too long.

“This place feels like a grave. Everything about it... The rules, the fear, the people pretending they don’t remember anything beyond this town... It’s like we’re all already dead.”

I grip the arms of the chair tighter.

“And I know there’s more to the forest and the trains. I know there’s something everyone is hiding, and I want to know what.”

The director’s smile widens – not a friendly one, but something sharper, as if I’ve just confirmed what he suspected all along. He leans forward, his elbows on the desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“I feel like you’re waiting for something.”

The director’s words hang in the air like a lure, daring me to take the bait. His gaze is piercing, but there’s a strange eagerness in it, as if he’s been waiting for me to say exactly what I did. For a moment, the room feels like it’s tilting, as though the world outside is slipping away, leaving only the two of us in this heavy, suffocating space.

I narrow my eyes.

“Waiting for what?”

He tilts his head slightly, considering his words carefully.

“For the door to open.”

The director’s words feel like a key turning in a lock, releasing something that has been caged inside me for far too long. I lean forward, gripping the edges of the chair, my heart pounding against my ribs. His gaze is unwavering, sharp as a blade, and yet there’s a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Will you help me?”

My eyes shine, as the opportunity I’ve been waiting for so long finally appeared before me.

His expression suddenly falls down, like an anvil to the bottom of the ocean. It’s like watching a mask slip – his carefully crafted smile evaporates, leaving behind something raw and jagged. His eyes, once glimmering with amusement, now darken, filled with something dangerous, something volatile, like a storm gathering in the depths of the ocean. The shift is so sudden, so severe, that it feels like the air in the room has thickened, pressing down on me from all sides.

His jaw tightens, the muscles beneath his pale skin clenching as if he’s holding back a flood of words that would scorch the air between us. The pleasant veneer he wore just moments ago has been replaced by a grim, unsettling intensity – a rage too cold to be called an outburst, but far more threatening because of how tightly it’s controlled. His lips, drawn into a thin, bloodless line, twitch with unspoken fury.

For a moment, it feels as though the room itself has dimmed, shadows creeping in from the corners. The faint candlelight seems to flicker in response to the darkness brewing within him, as if it, too, senses the gravity of his mood. His eyes – once calm, calculating – are now filled with a seething, quiet anger. Not the kind that flares and burns out, but the kind that festers, cold and deliberate, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, sharp, and tightly coiled – like a serpent hissing through clenched teeth.

“You’re a disappointment – an immense hypocrite. You say you hate this city, that you want to uncover its secrets. But you’ve never done a single thing to change anything. You sit here day after day, rotting away, just like everyone else you claim to despise. You want more out of life? You crave answers? Then why have you never lifted a finger to get them? Do you think the mysteries of the world are going to unravel themselves and fall into your lap? Don’t make me laugh.

You’re waiting for someone to come along, to take your hand and pull you out of this miserable existence. Waiting for someone to give you meaning. But here’s the truth: No one is coming. You talk big about change, but you’re just as stagnant as the people you judge so harshly. You sneer at their complacency, but you’re no different – you just dress your cowardice up in self-righteousness and call it frustration.

The difference between you and them isn’t that you know more. It’s that they’ve accepted the reality they live in, while you sit here paralyzed by the fear that doing anything might make things worse. You talk about wanting freedom, but the truth is you’re terrified of the cost. As long as you do nothing, you don’t risk anything. No failure, no danger – and no progress.

You’re not stuck because of the town or the church or the forest. You’re stuck because you’d rather stay safe in the shadows than step into the light. And if you don’t change that, you’ll spend the rest of your life exactly where you are right now - just a prisoner of your own fear.”Top of FormBottom of Form

The director’s words hit me like a slap to the face, each one digging deeper into wounds I didn’t even know I had. I feel my stomach twist with a mix of anger, shame, and frustration. My fingers curl into fists on my lap, the nails digging into my palms hard enough to hurt. I want to scream, argue, tell him he’s wrong. But deep down, a small voice whispers the truth.

He’s not wrong.

I have spent most of my life waiting – waiting for something to happen, for someone to show me the way. Every day I’ve told myself that I hate this place, that I don’t belong, but I’ve never had the courage to do anything about it. I’ve dreamed of leaving, but never taken a single step toward the edge of the forest, never dared to pull back the curtain and see what’s really beyond Procyon’s borders.

I’ve been afraid. Afraid of what might happen if I take that first step – and afraid of what might happen if nothing changes at all.

The silence between us stretches, heavy and suffocating. The director watches me with that same cold, calculating gaze, as if daring me to prove him wrong. His words are a challenge, and the weight of them presses down on me like a stone on my chest.

“So, what do you expect me to do?”

I ask, my voice low and bitter.

“You say all of this, but what do you want from me? Just tell me – what do you expect?”

“I’m done with you now. You may leave.”

The director waves his hand dismissively, as though whatever fleeting interest he had in me has already evaporated. His gaze drifts, like I’ve become an afterthought – a piece on the board no longer worth moving.

“At least the next one will be far more entertaining. Lucky me.”

He mutters the words under his breath, almost as if I’m not even here.

I turn toward the door, my mind still spinning from everything that just happened. But just as my hand grazes the doorknob, his voice cuts through the air again, sharp and sudden.

“Wait a second – I’ve got an idea.”

His tone is casual, careless, as if the idea that just struck him is of little consequence, but he’s curious to see what will happen.

“You’ll be transferred to Class B. Starting today.”

I blink, confusion flickering through me.

“Transferred? At the end of the year? No one ever gets transferred this late – what’s the reason?”

He leans back in his chair with a lazy smile, his expression brimming with that same strange detachment.

“Your time is nigh, little cat.”

The words drip from his lips like a riddle – dismissive, cryptic, and wholly uninterested.

“I don't even care enough to make this sound like an interesting prophecy. Now run along.”

He snaps his fingers, and the world shifts.

It’s like someone has pulled a thread loose from the fabric of reality, unraveling everything I know. The air around me crackles, and I feel it – the weight of existence bending, twisting, as if history itself is being rewritten on a whim.

Memories slip through my mind like grains of sand through my fingers. I try to grab hold of them, to anchor myself, but it’s no use. Fragments of thoughts – of who I am, what just happened – begin to drift away, scattered on an invisible wind.

A strange dizziness washes over me, making it hard to tell what’s real and what’s not.

And then…

Silence.

I find myself standing in the hallway, facing a blank stretch of wall. My heart pounds in my chest, though I can’t quite remember why. Everything feels... strange, like I’ve woken from a dream I can’t fully recall.

Why am I here?

I shake my head, trying to clear the haze clouding my thoughts. I need to get back to class. Right? Yes... My class. That’s where I belong. Isn’t it?

I pull my bag higher onto my shoulder, forcing my legs to move, but unease lingers in the back of my mind – a nagging feeling that something is terribly, terribly wrong. As if, somehow, a part of me has been lost.

But what?

I glance over my shoulder at the wall. For a moment, I feel like I shouldn’t leave – that I need to remember something, something important. And then, like a whisper on the wind, the thought drifts away, just out of reach.

With a deep breath, I turn away and head back toward my class – or at least, where I think it is. But something inside me knows: Nothing will ever be the same again.Top of FormBottom of Form

As I walk down the hallway, the lingering sense of wrongness clings to me, heavy and disorienting, like trying to recall a word stuck on the tip of my tongue. My footsteps echo louder than they should, as if the walls around me are pressing inward, amplifying every sound. Even the air feels strange – thicker, heavier – making it difficult to breathe deeply.

I reach the classroom door I think is mine and push it open. This is the classroom I’ve studied in entirety of the school year, Class B. I wonder what I was thinking about, if I’ve forgotten, it is not important.

"Oh, it is you, Nanfaz. Class started ages ago, why you’re late?”

The voice comes from the front of the room – a stern, sharp-faced teacher with narrow eyes that feel like knives. The question bugs my mind for the entirety of a minute, why am I late? I can’t quite pinpoint the reason.

“Oh, you’ve visited the church before coming here, right? If so, then there is no problem.

Go to your desk already.”

I scan the room, feeling strangely out of place. It’s the same classroom layout I know—the same rows of desks, the same worn chalkboard – but everything feels... Off, like an old photograph with the edges slightly blurred. Even my classmates, their faces familiar, seem distant, as if they’re pieces in a puzzle I no longer fit.

I force my feet to move, heading toward the desk the teacher pointed to. I slide into the seat assigned to me and set my bag down. The wood of the desk feels cold beneath my fingertips, grounding me in the present, though the disorienting sensation in my head doesn’t fade.

“Turn to page 104.”

The teacher orders, snapping his book open with a sharp, practiced motion.

“And for those of you falling behind, you’d best catch up. The final exam isn’t waiting for anyone.”

I open the textbook in front of me. It is about history, something about of how the priest, who received the word of God, took Procyon to the correct path, saving it from the purging of the world.

The subject is one that I somehow have mastered over the years, but it is hard to differentiate between the myth taught at school to the true story taught by my mother.

I can only feel joy as the time for break finally comes, the loud screech of chairs being dragged marks the end of this class. I need a break from everything, at least a few minutes to get my thoughts in order. The students are getting up for the break, I follow them in silence, some boys do look at me, I still don’t know how they can be interested in someone like me.

I drift through the classroom door, blending into the crowd of students as they spill into the hallway. Their chatter fills the air, loud and chaotic, but it feels like background noise – like the buzz of a distant hive. My mind swims, like puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit.

My fingers trace the strap of my bag absently as I wander past groups of students. They huddle in small clusters, whispering and laughing, locked in conversations that seem far removed from the strange storm brewing inside me. My footsteps feel heavier with each step, and that nagging unease sharpens – like I’m forgetting something important.

I stand there, motionless, indifferent to the laughter and excitement of the students around me. My gaze drifts toward the stone statue in the center of the courtyard – a familiar yet enigmatic figure that has always piqued my curiosity. Who sculpted it? When? And why? My mother once told me that gods and their enemies are often depicted in stark contrast, their forms mirroring the struggle between light and darkness, good and evil.

But that rule doesn’t seem to apply to the religion of Procyon. Intrigued, I spent hours in the library searching for anything beyond the usual propaganda, hoping to uncover fragments of knowledge that would satisfy me. In the end, the only story worth my time was the tale of this town's origins.

Long ago, humans ventured into the untamed wilderness that would one day become Procyon. They wandered too far into the deep, verdant forest, unaware of the danger lurking within. Out of the shadows came black wolves – silent and ravenous. One by one, the beasts tore through the trespassers, leaving nothing behind but fear. The survivors fled, driven deeper into the forest, helpless against the relentless pursuit.

However, just as all hope seemed lost, the true god of the universe revealed himself. Procyon – the Wolf of Truth – emerged from the shadows, his presence radiating both majesty and terror. With a single command, he banished the black wolves to the depths of the Black Forest, sealing them within its borders for all eternity. Under his watchful gaze, the humans were granted sanctuary and the freedom to build a life upon his lands. And so, from the chaos of fear and blood, peace was born, and the town flourished under Procyon’s divine protection.

Both are wolves, which begs the question: What is the true connection between them?

None of the students around me would ever think about something like this. I feel completely isolated – like no one in this entire town could ever understand me. That’s why I prefer being alone. It’s easier that way. I walk back to the classroom, just like I always do.

During breaks, everyone else rushes out to socialize and play, like their energy never runs out. Sometimes, I seriously wonder if I’m even the same species as the people in this town.

I peeked inside the classroom, making sure no one noticed me sneaking in early. Most students were still outside, scattered across the courtyard or lingering in the hallways before the bell rang. I hated the crowd – too much noise, too many faces. So, I slipped through the door quietly, as I often did, hoping to find a few moments of peace before the chaos of the day resumed.

That’s when I saw her.

When I step into the classroom, expecting the usual silence… I notice it isn’t quiet at all. A faint, unfamiliar sound echoes through the room. In one of the far corners, someone is sitting there. I’ve never seen her before – how is that even possible?

She was sitting at the back of the classroom, head down, completely absorbed in something. For a second, I thought she might be reading, but her fingers were moving too quickly – tapping, swiping. A game. My heart skipped a beat at the sight. I hadn't seen anyone in this town use something like that. Electronics are a relic of the past, yet here she was, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

I approach her slowly, my curiosity outweighing my hesitation. But as I get closer, it’s not her presence that draws me in – it’s the device she’s holding. An electronic gadget, glowing with two small screens, both flashing as she taps the buttons with rapid precision, lost in whatever world she’s exploring.Top of Form

As I step closer, the soft click-clack of her rapid button presses fills the room. I stand there for a moment, watching her fingers dance over the buttons of the strange, glowing device. It looks modern, like something I couldn’t imagine in my wildest dreams. A mobile console... I’ve heard about the existence of mobile consoles from my mother, living with her so long means I basically know everything she knows about the world from the past.Bottom of Form

But, that thing in her hands, it is not from the past. It is from the future, a future that Procyon Town wasn’t able to experience. How is that possible?

She’s completely absorbed, her brown bang falling over her eye as she leans forward with fierce concentration. There’s something oddly peaceful about her presence, like she belongs in a world that’s entirely her own – separate from the dull, lifeless routine of Procyon.

I clear my throat softly, hoping not to startle her.

“What is that?”

She jumped, her wide eyes locking onto mine, startled and a little annoyed. For a second, we just stared at each other. She had this look about her – like she was holding the whole world at arm’s length. I knew that look too well.

She glances up, her black eyes narrowing with suspicion, but she doesn’t respond right away. It’s as if she’s calculating how much she can say – or how much she’s willing to say.

“Leave me alone.”

Her words are sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife. There’s no trace of friendliness in her tone – just a wall, firmly in place. I take a step back, unsure whether to press on or retreat. But something about her draws me in, like the light of her console is a small flicker of hope in this dreary town, a glimpse of something different, something interesting.

I had no choice but to turn around and leave the classroom. Why couldn’t she talk with me like a normal person?

As I leave the classroom, a strange heaviness settles over me, like I just missed an opportunity I wasn’t sure I would get again. I glance back one last time, but she’s already hunched over her console, her world clearly somewhere else.

The hallway is empty, filled with the faint echo of distant footsteps and the low hum of chatter from other classrooms. I let out a frustrated sigh. What was I expecting?

As long as you do nothing, you don’t risk anything. No failure, no danger – and no progress.

I head down the hallway, my footsteps dragging a little slower than before. The encounter lingers in my mind, gnawing at me. Her black eyes, sharp and guarded – like she’d already decided that trusting anyone here was a risk not worth taking. I get that. I do. But still, it stings more than it should.

Why did I care? It’s not like I don’t have enough to deal with. Everyone in this town walks around like they’re carrying invisible weights, and somehow, I thought she’d be different. Or maybe, I just hoped she would be.

The school feels colder somehow, the air heavy with the same unchanging rhythm of monotony. It’s not just the weather or the peeling walls – it’s the whole place, suffocating, as if it's always pressing you back into your shell. I pass a window and glance outside. The dead forest looms just beyond the school grounds, its brittle black trees swaying slightly in the windless day. Even nature here feels... off.

As I approach the stairwell, voices drift toward me from around the corner, accompanied by laughter – sharp and mean. My steps slow instinctively.

I peek around the edge and see a group of boys huddled together, their backs to me. From their whispers and occasional bursts of snickers, it’s clear they’re talking about someone.

They are from my class, I think. Then I hear it:

“That damned witch, it is too bad we’re prohibited from doing anything to her.

She always looks as us like we were trash, why don’t the bishop just punish her already?”

Another voice chimes in.

"She for sure deserves it. Freak shouldn’t even be here."

They’re talking about her. The girl from earlier – hunched over her console, isolated from the rest of us by choice or necessity. I grit my teeth. I could just keep walking. I could ignore them, blend back into the shadows of this town like I always do. No risk, no involvement – no consequences.

But something inside me rebels against that thought. It would be easier to do nothing. Safer, even. But the memory of her sharp eyes, narrowed with suspicion, tugs at me. She already believes the world is against her. If they mess with her now... it’ll just prove her right.

Before I can stop myself, I approach them.

"Leave her alone."

The words are out before I even think them through. The boys whip around, their faces twisted in smug surprise, like they can’t believe someone would stand in their way.

“Who do you think you are? You can’t order us around just because you’re pretty.”

I narrow my eyes, keeping my expression steady even though my pulse is pounding in my ears.

“I’m not trying to order you. I’m telling you to stop.”

The boys exchange glances, their smirks deepening, amused by my sudden defiance. One of them – a tall, blonde kid – steps forward, tilting his head like he’s sizing me up.

“What’s your problem, huh? Why’re you defending that witch?”

I hold my ground.

“She’s done nothing to you. Just leave her alone.”

The blonde boy sneers.

“You think you’re some kind of hero?”

His voice drips with mockery.

“You think she’ll thank you? That freak doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”

“She doesn’t need to thank me.”

I say, my voice low but steady.

“I’m not doing this for her. I’m doing it because you guys are acting like cowards.”

That strikes a nerve. The sneers slip off their faces, replaced by scowls. His fists clench at his sides. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake.

“You better watch yourself.”

He hisses, taking a step closer, invading my space.

“We’re only prohibited from touching her.”

The blonde boy’s words hang in the air, thick with a warning. His friends shift uneasily behind him, like hyenas uncertain whether to bite or back off. I can feel their animosity – sharp, heavy, and simmering just below the surface. It would only take the smallest push to set them off. My heart hammers in my chest, but I hold my ground, refusing to back away.

"I get it."

I say, my voice steady despite the knot tightening in my gut.

"You can’t do anything to her because of the bishop. But that doesn’t mean you have to act like this."

The boy scoffs, but I catch the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

"We’re just having fun. What’s it to you?"

"Fun? Is it fun to gang up on someone who’s already on their own?"

I keep my gaze locked with his, unflinching.

"She just wants to be left alone while she plays her game!”

His face suddenly shifts, as if he is thinking about something.

“What exactly is your involvement with her?”

He grabs me by the collar, yanking me forward until I’m face-to-face with him. I stumble back, the fury burning in his eyes like a warning.

“Do you even know anything about her?”

He growls, his voice low and sharp.

“I bet if we told you all her secrets – her sins – you wouldn’t be so quick to defend a freak like that.”

“She’s just a person, same as the rest of us.”

I reply, forcing my voice to stay steady.

“Sure, she’s rude sometimes and spends too much time on that device, but deep down... I think all she really wants is to fit in, to have friends.”

His sneer deepens, as if I’d just told him a joke.

“That’s all you know? Of course. You have no idea that she lives in the Black Forest, do you? Or that she walks along the train tracks every single day with that same sour expression, knowing no one would dare touch her.”

He leans in closer, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper.

“You don’t get it, do you? Because of that cursed life of hers, she knows things no one else does. She’s better than everyone in every subject—not because she tries, but because she’s just... Different. She doesn’t even need to come to school, but she does it anyway. Just to remind us how much better she is.”

His grip tightens for a moment before he shoves me back.

“Here’s a little advice.”

He says with a cold smirk.

“Stay away from her. You’ll thank me later.”

With that, he releases me, turning away with his friends in tow, leaving me standing there, heart pounding.Top of FormBottom of Form

I stand there, frozen, my heart racing, and my collar still slightly crumpled from his grip. The cold weight of their words lingers in the air long after they’ve gone.

She lives in the Black Forest? Walks along the train tracks every day? The pieces don’t fully fit together in my mind, but their disdain and hatred are crystal clear. It’s not just normal school bullying – there’s something deeper behind their words. A fear, perhaps, or something worse.

I exhale slowly, trying to steady my breath. Every instinct tells me to walk away, let it go. I barely know her, and the smart thing would be to steer clear. But somehow, the idea of leaving things as they are doesn’t sit right. It’s not just about them bullying her. It’s the way they spoke about her life, like her mere existence was a crime.

Soon enough, classes resume, and I make my way back to the classroom. The boys wave at me as I walk in, smug grins plastered across their faces, but I brush them off without a glance, heading straight to my desk. So, they were from my class after all. I sit down, letting the noise of the room fade into the background as I sink deeper into my thoughts.

The Black Forest... It has always been a puzzle I could never solve. What really lies beyond those lifeless trees? Why did it emerge overnight on Judgment Day? It’s like a wall separating this place from the unknown, shrouding whatever secrets lie on the other side.

But someone actually living there? That was beyond anything I could have imagined – even in my wildest dreams. And if she lives out there, then she must know more. Much more than the rest of us.

She holds answers – answers the town has buried beneath layers of fear and superstition. And now, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s carrying a truth far greater than I had ever realized.Top of FormBottom of Form

"Miss Elewp."

A sharp voice called to her. She looked up, the teacher standing at the front of the room.

“Yes?”

"The ⬛ has called you to his ⬛."

The brown-haired girl blinked. So, her name was Elewp? She rose from her desk and quietly left the room.

The tension in the room shifted the moment the teacher called out Elewp’s name. I felt it before I saw it – like the air thickened with something unspoken. My eyes flicked toward her, watching as she froze at her desk. The color drained from her face.

She didn’t move at first, her hands gripping the edges of her desk as if she could hold herself steady against the weight of whatever had just been dropped on her. I could almost see her mind racing, trying to process the words. The other students noticed, too. Some glanced over, curiosity sparking for just a moment, but as usual, they quickly turned away, disinterested. We all knew not to get involved in someone else’s business here. Especially when the director was involved.

The ⬛? That’s never good.

She didn’t move at first, her hands gripping the edges of her desk as if she could hold herself steady against the weight of whatever had just been dropped on her. I could almost see her mind racing, trying to process the words. The other students noticed, too. Some glanced over, curiosity sparking for just a moment, but as usual, they quickly turned away, disinterested. We all knew not to get involved in someone else’s business here. Especially when the director was involved.

I watched her stand, forcing herself to appear calm, her expression a careful mask of indifference. But there was something off. Normally, she didn’t care about being noticed – or about anything, really – but today felt different. Something was bothering her, though she was doing her best not to show it.

The teacher gave a slight nod as she walked past, not even bothering to look at her. It was as if this was a routine occurrence.

As the class went on, I struggled to focus. My thoughts wandered until I noticed the teacher leaving, probably heading to the bathroom. That’s when Kyros, the blonde boy, stood up and moved towards Elewp's desk. With a sly grin, he rifled through her bag, searching for something.

Moments later, he found it – the video game. I could have intervened, stood up to stop him, but as always, I stayed still. Watching, just as I’ve always done. I’ve spent my whole life listening to my mother’s stories, never daring to create my own.

The teacher returned, and class resumed, as if nothing had happened. Kyros had already stashed the stolen device in his bag. I wondered how Elewp would react when she found out what had been taken from her.

Soon, the door creaked open and Elewp stepped in. I couldn’t help but watch her. The teacher asked her something, and they exchanged a few words, but it was like the sound had been muted. Everything felt distant, muffled.

Then, Elewp reached her desk and opened her bag. The moment she realized the video game was missing, panic spread across her face. She frantically searched, but it was gone. She stood there, frozen in disbelief, much like I was – unable to move, unable to act.

The bell rang, snapping me back to reality.

As Kyros walked past, something stirred inside me, and this time, I couldn’t just sit there. I stood up. He had already been quite far in the hallway, and I followed him.

I followed Kyros through the crowded hallways, my heart racing with every step. The cacophony of students chatting and lockers slamming made it hard to focus, but I kept my eyes on the back of his blonde head as he weaved through the throng of bodies.

I swallowed hard, feeling my palms sweat. But I didn’t move.

“Give it back, Kyros.”

He scoffed, looking back at me.

“Why do you care? It’s just a stupid game. Elewp shouldn’t even have it here. You know the rules – no tech allowed.”

I took a step closer, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“That doesn’t make it yours.”

"Okay, let’s say I give it back to you. Will you return it to her? I doubt it."

Kyros smirked, his words sharp and deliberate.

"You’d probably try it out yourself first, wouldn’t you? Bet you couldn’t resist. If you come with us, though, I’ll let you play it too. My dad used to tell me stories about these things – said they were fun. I’m just curious, you know?"

His words cut deeper than they should, stirring anger and shame.

"Just... Give it back!"

Kyros shrugged, his grin widening.

"You won’t tell a teacher, because they’ll confiscate it. And you can’t take it back, either. You're too weak for that."

His eyes gleamed with mockery.

"And you won’t tell Elewp, will you? Not after how pathetic you looked hiding while we grabbed it. So why don’t you go crawl back into whatever hole you came from and stop getting in my way?"

Before I could react, Kyros shoved me to the ground, leaving me sprawled on the cold floor. He shot me a smug glance over his shoulder, then turned and walked out through the school gate without another word.Top of Form

I’m pathetic, aren’t I? I couldn’t stop him—again. Before I can gather my thoughts, someone passes by me. She moves with purpose, her eyes darting around as if searching for something – or someone. But no matter how hard she looks, it’s like she can’t see me. It’s almost as if I’m invisible.

Her expression is strained, her hand pressed against her forehead as if in pain. Then, I notice it – blood. A thin trickle begins to drip from her nose. What’s happening to her?

Suddenly, she breaks into a sprint towards the school gate. My instincts kick in, and I scramble to my feet, following her. Kyros – that’s where he went. But how does she know? She didn’t check any device to track him, yet it’s like she knows exactly where he is. I’ve heard about things called GPS trackers – could her console have something like that? But she isn’t using anything… it's like she’s following some instinct.

Elewp... The walking mystery. She still hasn’t noticed me, her focus locked ahead as she approaches the hill. Wait – this path leads to the mountain shrine of Procyon. What if there are believers up there? The thought doesn’t seem to cross her mind as she climbs the worn steps without hesitation, her pace unwavering.

I follow closely, staying low and out of sight. At the top, Kyros and his two friends huddle together, fumbling with the stolen console, their faces lit with amusement. I duck behind a cluster of stones, heart pounding, watching as the conflict begins to unfold.

The stone statue of Procyon stares at the ones below him. Just like I was. Their conflict escalated to the point Kyros broke the console in half.

Elewp stands at the center of it, surrounded by Kyros and his goons, the broken pieces of her console at her feet. Kyros’s smug grin, the way he sneers down at her, makes my skin crawl. He thinks he's invincible. They all do. Bullies always do – until the world reminds them that they’re not.

I see everything: how they taunt her, laugh at her, kick her while she’s down. They treat her like she’s nothing, like hurting her makes them more powerful. And then, Elewp changes.

It’s subtle at first – just the way she sits still, too still. The laughter falters, and Kyros pauses, uncertain. He can feel it too, I think. Something is... Wrong.

I shift slightly, just enough to see her expression. It’s a look I’ve never seen before, something terrifying in its calm. There’s no fear left in her eyes – only anger, raw and sharp, simmering beneath the surface like a fire about to explode.

I watch her stand slowly, blood dripping from her mouth, her bruises already blooming dark across her skin. But she doesn’t even seem to notice the pain. She looks at Kyros with such terrifying clarity, like she can see right through him, down to his deepest insecurities.

And for the first time, I see it – Kyros is scared.

He stumbles back, his cocky grin slipping into something desperate. I’ve never seen him like this before. None of us have. His fear spreads like a virus, infecting the other two boys. They fidget nervously, the bravado leaking out of them as Elewp takes a step forward.

"The bell rings, calling for thy name."

She whispers, her voice quiet but carrying an eerie weight. The words hang in the cold air like a curse, and I feel a chill crawl down my spine.

Kyros’s hands tremble. He tries to hold onto his smirk, but it’s gone. There’s nothing left for him to hide behind. Sal takes a step back, mumbling something about her being cursed. Dren just stands there, frozen like a rabbit staring at a predator, his eyes wide with panic.

I should do something – I know I should – but I can’t move. It’s like I’m stuck in a trance, watching this strange, horrible moment unfold, powerless to stop it. I’ve never seen someone so small, so beaten, take complete control over her enemies without even raising a hand.

Elewp takes another step, and Kyros stumbles toward the edge of the hill. My heart jumps in my throat. One more step and he’ll fall. One little push is all it would take, and I can see in her eyes that she knows it too.

Kyros begs now, his voice shaky and weak.

"No... please..."

Elewp’s hand brushes against his chest – just a touch, but it sends Kyros reeling. He gasps like the air’s been knocked out of him, clutching his heart as if her touch carried all the rage, fear, and hurt she’s ever felt. I swear I see something shift inside him – something breaking.

For one terrifying moment, I think she’ll push him. I see it in her eyes, the dark temptation to let him fall, to let all the years of anger, isolation, and injustice end right here with a single shove. Part of me wonders if she should – if maybe the world would be better without him.

But then, something flickers in her expression. A memory, maybe, or a thought – something that softens her just enough to stop her.

"Be not afraid."

She whispers.

"It won’t come by my hands."

And just like that, it’s over.

Kyros stumbles back from the edge, gasping for breath, too weak to meet her gaze. Elewp doesn't say another word. She steps away, letting the moment pass, leaving them to their own shame.

Sal and Dren take the chance to bolt, dragging Kyros with them. They vanish down the hill, their laughter gone, replaced by the sound of panicked footsteps.

I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, the tension finally easing from my chest. But Elewp... She just stands there, alone under the cold sky, her shoulders slumped, broken pieces of her console scattered around her feet. She kneels down, cradling the shattered remains in her hands.

I want to say something. I want to go to her, to tell her she doesn’t have to be alone. But my legs won’t move. I can only watch as she gathers the pieces quietly, her expression unreadable.

The wolf statue looms behind her, its stone eyes cold and distant, as if it has witnessed everything and passed silent judgment.

And then, without looking back, she begins the long walk down the hill, her blood-streaked body swaying slightly with each step. I stay hidden behind the stones, watching her disappear toward the train tracks, leaving a faint trail of blood behind her.

I should follow her, say something – anything. But I don’t.

I just sit there, the weight of everything I’ve seen pressing down on me. The cold wind bites at my skin, and for the first time in a long while, I feel truly small – just another invisible kid in a town that chews people up and spits them out.

She spared them. She could’ve killed Kyros, but she didn’t. And now she’s walking away, carrying every bit of pain with her.

I stay there for a long time, staring at the empty space where she stood.Top of Form

You say you hate this city, that you want to uncover its secrets. But you’ve never done a single thing to change anything. Bottom of Form

The words echo in my mind, and before I know it, I’ve gotten up. The door finally had appeared before me, and I wouldn’t let the key get away. I already knew my destination, the train tracks, that is where she is. The nearest one from here would be…

I need to know what she is, and what she is hiding, and I won’t stop until I do.

The Black Forest looms in the distance like a shadow swallowing the edge of the world. There, I see her, pressing her back against the cold iron rail of the abandoned train track.

The air shifts slightly. And then, she returns my gaze with her black diamond eyes.