Everything was black… but not a cold, empty black. It was a warm, soft, welcoming darkness. As if the darkness itself were rocking me against its chest.
Only there was something wrong with it.
A rhythm.
Thump—thump. Thump—thump.
An urgent heartbeat, quickening with every moment, as if the shadow had a restless heart… or as if it were answering my own fear.
Then the wind began to sing. At first a timid breath. Then a fierce howl, like invisible fingers trying to tear pieces off me.
My feet felt no ground at all. My skin trembled under that breeze turned lash. And yet… something there held me, firmly, like an embrace that refuses to let go.
The darkness wanted me for itself. And I no longer knew whether I was breathing… or whether it was breathing for me.
I hovered between panic and the strange peace that washed over me, until an answer, born from the void itself, reached me.
“Don't worry, Alexander…” The voice… familiar, warm. “Everything will be all right.”
My eyelids trembled. Light broke through the blackness like a blade.
And there she was.
The face I knew better than my own reflection, light brown hair floating as if she were underwater, eyes that always told me the world was safe, even when it wasn't.
“M-Mom?” The question came out fragile, crooked. “Why are we… upside down?”
The wind was no longer just wind. It was a roar. The ground, a giant racing toward us.
She didn't answer. She only held me even tighter against her, as if her arms were the last wall between me and the end.
The sky spun. The earth grew. And her heart beat for the both of us.
“Close your eyes, my love.”
That was what I heard.
I wanted to obey. I wanted to be the good boy she always said I was.
But… there was something in the beat of her heart. Something in the almost invisible trembling of her hands.
Something in that smile, too beautiful to be fake, yet too fake to be real. Too broken to be soothing. And too soothing to be broken.
And so, I couldn't.
My eyes stayed fixed on her, as if I feared that, if I blinked, she might disappear.
The wind roared. The world spun. And the ground, the ground was so close it seemed ready to welcome us with teeth.
At last, I turned my face. The earth came rushing toward us in fury.
I blinked.
Just once.
And the whole world swallowed us.
✦ ✦ ✦
GASP!
I shuddered.
My body leapt before consciousness could catch up.
I woke in a combat stance, fists clenched, muscles taut as ropes about to snap.
My eyes swept over everything, every corner, every shadow, every scrap of silence,
but nothing made sense. I wasn't processing any information, and yet my instinct screamed at me to search.
'Search for what…?'
I didn't know. But still, I searched.
My heart hammered against my ribs as if it wanted to flee before I did. The pain still echoed on my skin, a living reminder that I had to stay alert.
Alive. But not safe. Never safe.
A danger that perhaps wasn't even there. But still, I searched.
My body remembered the death that had nearly touched it, even as my mind still stumbled over its own confusion.
Finally, after long minutes of blind alertness, a slow wave of clarity reached me. I woke… for real.
'By Velmior's beard…'
my mind murmured, hoarse on the inside.
'What the hell is happening to me?'
I looked at myself: My hands, small, trembled as if holding a ghost. The hair on my arms stood on end, betraying a fear I had not yet named. And my legs… they wobbled as if the floor might vanish at any second.
I was alive. But something inside me was still falling. Falling without end.
As if my chest were collapsing from within. As if that fall had never ended.
And then I realized what was really streaming down…
In free fall, just like the liquid sliding from my eyes.
“Huh…?” I wondered, my own weakness surprising me as I raised a hand to my face.
Salt stung my fingertips. Tears. Slipping down slowly, as if trying to whisper stories my body remembered, but my memory still refused to accept.
The shock and confusion didn't last long. Something redirected them.
Plop.
My body stiffened. The touch was firm, but silent, almost as if the darkness itself had taken form. Something warm and heavy rested on my head, holding me caught between fear and curiosity.
I looked up.
Sharp talons, delicate and precise, rested firmly on my skull. For a moment, everything around me vanished: the world fell silent, and there was only the beating of my heart and the motionless presence above me.
Its golden eyes pierced me even upside down. Metallic glints danced on the feathers framing that intense gaze, large, deep, like embers that wouldn't go out even in the dim light. Its head tilted slightly, curious, almost playful, but with a calm attention, almost studying every tremor of my body.
“Huh?” was the only sound I managed, hoarse and tiny before that silent majesty.
A subtle breeze moved through the air, as if its very presence gave off motion, even without a beat of her wings.
“Nocturn…” The voice was soft, almost childlike, tired, floating like a whisper. “How many times have I told you not to land on other people's heads without permission?”
I kept my eyes fixed on it. Finally, it moved. Gently, pushing itself upward, revealing its full form.
It was an owl, yes, but far beyond any ordinary creature.
Its dark gray plumage, almost black, shone with silvery glints that ran along her wings and chest like metallic streaks, catching every fragment of light that dared to touch its silhouette.
Its golden eyes gleamed with intelligence, watching the world with an almost ancient serenity. Its body, sturdy and well-proportioned, carried a wide, majestic wingspan. The blue-black beak and sharp talons, silver as blades, completed its almost lethal, yet still serene, presence.
It flew a few meters, beating its wings lightly, until it landed on the arms of a brown-skinned boy. His loose hair fell to the middle of his neck, and he sat at the window, whose bars seemed to hold back only the world outside, while the light of the stars illuminated the room.
He smiled, tilting his head to look at the owl naturally, with a touch of humor. “Sorry… as if the crazy old man weren't enough… it must also be uncomfortable to wake up with an owl on your head, right?”
He then turned to me, flashing a broad smile, teeth showing, lips parted, cheeks raised. His brown eyes glowed in the dimness of the window, radiating a light, captivating energy.
“Especially after whatever you dreamed about.”
✦ ✦ ✦
Meanwhile, in the capital of Alythéon, inside the royal palace, Alice found herself immersed in a silent dilemma.
The name still echoed inside her like a distant bell:
"By Alfonse Heisenberg Van Allytharion,"
heavy, solemn, almost familiar, yet indecipherable.
Alice walked alone through the palace corridors, her footsteps echoing at a slow pace over the cold marble. To the left and right, a gallery of portraits, each showing faces with stern expressions. They all had something in common: golden eyes and hair, as if molded by the same ray of sun.
She ran a gloved hand along the gold-carved frame of one of the paintings, while the fine fabric of her scarlet velvet dress rustled softly with each step. The light crown, merely an adornment for strolling, glittered under the light filtering through the tall windows, where the morning mist still clung to the glass.
"As if what happened last night weren't enough..." she murmured to herself, frowning, but keeping her chin raised as befits a princess. Something inside her seemed to insist on keeping that event in her memory, yet she felt something was forcing her to forget.
The evening before, in search of knowledge and mysteries to share when she finally reunited with her friends, she had ventured into one of the deepest sections of the royal library.
A place that smelled of old dust and burnt-down candles, where the silence had weight. She had found, with the reluctant help of the librarian, a book on the founding of Alythéon. A tome that seemed to promise answers... but which, when opened, revealed only blank pages, except for the first: the title, and a single name written in faded ink, Heisenberg.
That image would not leave her mind.
The sound of her own breathing grew louder. Without realizing it, she had stopped in front of a portrait larger than the others.
A sturdy man, with the royal insignia embroidered on his blue and gold mantle. A massive crown rested on his head, and a golden cane was propped in his left hand. A thick beard framed his face, and his features, though imposing, were indecipherable, except for the eyes.
Eyes that, for an instant, seemed to move.
Alice blinked, stepping back a few barely perceptible paces. She straightened immediately, smoothing her skirt with an automatic gesture, as if to erase the hesitation.
"Imagination..." she said to herself in a low voice.
But then, in a sudden movement, or perhaps one too slow to be real, the figure in the painting raised its hand.
First, the thick, heavy fingers, golden rings gleaming under the cold light of the corridor. Then, in a firm gesture, he removed the crown, as if undoing an ancient oath.
His other hand gripped the golden cane… and now Alice saw: its tip was not rounded. It was pointed. A disguised spear.
He advanced. Not fast, but with a step that seemed to tear the air, and every sound of the cane touching the floor echoed like a distant drumbeat.
The man's eyes glowed, a vivid, almost feverish gold, and in that instant something invisible came crashing down on her.
A crushing pressure, cold as stone, that enveloped her entirely.
It was as if the air had become too dense to breathe. Her muscles turned to stone. Even her eyelids felt heavy. Her mouth… would not move.
'This…!'
The urge to step back was born in her feet, a simple, instinctive command.
Nothing.
She tried to force her ankles, then her legs, as if she only needed to remind her body how to move. The floor did not give way. Her body did not respond.
The command climbed. Thighs. Hips. Abdomen. The strain grew, but it was like pushing against a wall from the inside.
Her shoulders burned when she tried to raise her arms. Her hands trembled… or perhaps it was only wishing. Her fingers did not close. Did not open. Did not exist.
The scene stretched into eternal seconds. The dry crack of the cane against the marble. The heavy cloth of the mantle rippling as if it had a life of its own. His shadow swallowing the light behind him.
She was frozen. Completely defenseless.
Her vision began to fail, not darkening, but slowing. As if the world were falling out of sync with her. The figure ahead seemed ever more distant and, at the same time, inevitable.
In Alice's eyes, the reflection of the blade grew, inch by inch.
Even her breathing had stopped. Her chest burned. Her body begged for air, but the command would not come.
Inside, she writhed in silence, suffocating within her own consciousness.
And the figure's expressionlessness only made everything worse.
No hatred. No haste. No emotion.
Until, for a moment, his eyes aligned with hers.
And in that moment, something broke.
Not like a muscle giving way, but like a chain snapping under tension. The rigidity did not vanish at once; it cracked. A spasm ran through her body, violent and disordered.
Air flooded her lungs in a raw, painful gasp.
And Alice felt her own body again.
"AAH!" The scream burst from within, loud and shrill, almost out of tune with panic. Her body whirled in an abrupt movement, the light tiara tinkling against her pinned-up hair, the hem of her dress brushing the marble floor like a terrified whisper.
The sound of boots and hurried footsteps flooded the corridor.
"Princess Alice!"
"Your Highness!"
"Princess!"
"Highness!"
Guards and servants rushed in, surrounding her. The guards drew their swords, forming a protective barrier. The maids knelt, reaching out trembling hands to her.
But the corridor behind her remained unchanged. The painting was as before: the sturdy man with the crown on his head, the cane calmly propped. No menacing point. No movement.
Alice was on the floor, her heart racing, her face covered in cold sweat. Her hands, when they finally began to move again, trembled slightly, hidden in the fabric of her skirt.
Inside, a shiver climbed her spine, as if something were still watching her. And the name echoed again… louder, but different. "Alf… Heisenberg Van Allytharion…"
The syllables seemed to dissolve inside her, fragmenting. As if, little by little, someone were… erasing it from her memory.