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DATE:4th of December, the 48th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Genova
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I woke up with my skin burning, the welts from yesterday's beating slowly healing but still tender to the touch.
At breakfast, my father was strangely also there, devouring his customary half-kilogram of meat—a bloody steak that matched his imposing physique. His muscular frame was a stark contrast to my own, making me wonder about our relation. But I knew my mother would sooner die than break tradition.
My mother hated his cooking. Sometimes I think she hated him too. She kept me on a "moderate" diet, constantly preaching that humility was humanity's greatest asset. "We are slaves to the gods," she'd say. "We must accept it." I couldn't bring myself to agree.
My father's philosophy was different: "Every man is his own god." Looking at him, I often thought he truly believed himself to be one.
The welts on my back burned like brands as I trudged to school, the morning sun already searing the cobblestones. Matteo's gang lingered by the gate, their usual swagger dulled. They had visible bruises on, but no one would think it was unusual. Though did the news come out about who inflicted them? Judging by how they still had the courage to come to school I doubt it. They avoided looking at the green-haired girl, now sitting alone under a gnarled oak. Her briefcase lay beside her, the leather too fine, too unblemished for this place.
She didn't glance up as I passed, her fingers tracing the spine of a book with a title I couldn't read. Unified Alphabet, maybe, but the letters seemed to shift.
School passed without incident. Matteo and his thugs kept their distance from the green-haired girl. She sat alone, just as I did. I told myself I should forget about her too.
Midday brought our gardening apprenticeship—a recent mandatory addition to our curriculum due to falling grain production. None of us were destined for fieldwork, but questioning it wasn't an option.
Our head teacher, Mr. Nicholas, led us to an industrial solarium at the city's edge, wheezing from the effort and chain-smoking the entire way.
The solarium, a glass-and-iron cathedral sweating under the sun. Inside, the air clung thick with humidity, the sharp tang of fertilizer mixing with the reek of Mister Nicholas's cigarettes. He herded us through rows of hydroponic tanks, their murky waters choked with algae.
"Group assignments," he rasped, ash flicking onto his crumpled clipboard. "Matteo—divide 'em."
Matteo's smirk returned, weak but venomous. He split the class with deliberate cruelty—, timid girls clustered together, Tobias paired with his bullies... actually he changed that. It surprised me. He looked around as if to decide where to send him. Finally his gaze landed on me.
"Church boy," he said, jerking his chin toward the green-haired girl. "And her. Take the freaks."
The three girls assigned to our group bolted outside, whispering about shade and lemonade. Tobias hesitated, clutching his bruised side, but Matteo shoved him toward us. It was also a boy I barely talked to named Marik who I think is a little slow to put it nicely.
"Four's a crowd," he sneered, sauntering off.
I was surprised at first that he didn't try to put Tobias with his guys, but thinking about how the unusual girl looked at him, he probably felt threatened. Did he still try to play off the beating he suffered yesterday?
A worker, his skin leathery from years under the solarium's harsh lights, pointed us toward a raised bed. "Peas," he grunted, wiping sweat from his brow. "Check for bugs, then water. Simple enough for you lot."
I squinted at the plants, their tendrils reaching skyward. In all my years in Genova, I'd only seen pea plants in faded textbook illustrations. The real thing was... underwhelming.
Marik, ever eager to please, bounded toward the bed. Tobias and I hung back, exchanging wary glances. The heat pressed down on us, the air thick and cloying.
"What kind of bugs?" I asked Tobias, my voice low.
He shrugged, eyes darting nervously. "I...don't want to talk," he muttered, shuffling toward the plants.
His dismissal stung more than it should have. I bit back a retort, reminding myself of the bruises still fresh on his face. Does he want another set?
The heat became unbearable. I tugged at my shirt, trying to create some airflow against my skin. The fabric clung stubbornly, damp with sweat.
That's when I noticed her again. The green-haired girl. Emily, if that was really her name. She wore... something else entirely. Shorts and a t-shirt, yes, but made of a material I'd never seen before. Black, sleek, perhaps elastic? it was almost shimmering in the greenhouse light. It clung to her frame like a second skin, yet she seemed utterly unfazed by the heat.
Before I could look away, she approached, her hand reaching out. Her fingers brushed my back, and I recoiled instinctively. The welts beneath my shirt screamed in protest.
"What's your problem?" I snapped, my voice sharper than intended.
Her eyes widened, a mix of concern and... something else. Recognition? "I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft but clear. "Did your parents...?" The question trailed off, but its implication hung heavy in the air.
Fury rose in my chest, hot and choking. "Mind your own business," I growled.
She hesitated, then gestured to herself. " I can help you, if you'll let me."
"Emily," I replied curtly. "I don't need help. Especially not from you."
I turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of her face. She didn't look hurt or offended. Just... determined. It unsettled me more than her touch had.
We set to work, checking the pea plants for pests. Emily moved with practiced ease, her fingers gently probing leaves and stems. "This one's infected," she murmured, pointing to a plant with mottled leaves. "See the discoloration? It's blight."
I found myself watching her, curiosity warring with my desire to keep my distance. How did she know so much about this?
The worker who'd been overseeing us approached, his weathered face creased with concern. "You kids have done enough," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Take a break. It's too damn hot in here anyway."
Grateful for the reprieve, we made our way outside. A small orchard surrounded the solarium, trees heavy with what looked like lemons or maybe small oranges. We settled into the shade, the relative coolness a blessed relief.
Marik, most likely charmed by the attention he thinks he got from the girl, struck up a conversation with Emily. "So, where are you from? What do you like to do?"
I pretended not to listen, but found myself straining to catch her words.
"I'm interested in devices," she said, her voice carrying clearly in the still air. "And information. How things work, how they're connected...."
Tobias perked up, his earlier reticence forgotten. "Devices? Are you from Normandia? I've heard they have incredible machines there."
"Concord, actually," Emily replied.
The name tickled something in my memory. Concord. A metropolis near the border, straddling Ventia and the Unified Kingdom. A place of contradictions, if the rumors were to be believed.
"Why Genova?" I heard myself ask before I could stop the words.
Emily's gaze met mine, steady and unreadable. "I'm here to study," she said simply.
Before I could press further, Mister Nicholas's voice cut through the air, ordering us back inside. As we trudged back to the stifling solarium, I couldn't shake the feeling that Emily's presence here was more than mere coincidence.
What kind of "study" would bring someone from Concord to our forgotten corner of Ventia? And why did I care so much?
The questions nagged at me as we re-entered the greenhouse, the door hissing shut behind us like the closing jaws of some great, humid beast.
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We worked on the plants for a while longer before Mr. Nicholas finally dismissed us. He'd apparently "forgotten" about our other classes, and since we'd already missed them, he told us to go home. He didn't even bother escorting us back to the school. I think I saw him heading towards the market, but I couldn't be sure. He just left us there.
Matteo and his gang went off to hang out, and the others left too. Soon, it was just me and... Emily.
I started walking, trying to ignore her, but she grabbed my collar, yanking me into the shade of a crumbling archway. Her green eyes burned brighter here, untethered from the solarium's sickly glow.
"You really don't remember?" Her voice quivered, almost pleading.
Frustration welled up inside me. "You keep saying that. What exactly am I supposed to know?"
"Surely you have some memories of what happens in the future," she said, her voice tinged with desperation. "I don't even know how to help you—"
My mind flashed to those strange, violent dreams. Could she mean those? But that was impossible.
"I did have some kind of nightmare," I admitted reluctantly, "but you can't honestly be talking about that!"
I tried to walk away, but she caught my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. I couldn't break free from it.
"Yes, that's exactly it!" Her face lit up. "It was about your future... our future."
I raised my eyebrows, a strange tingling sensation creeping across my skin. "Who are you to me anyway? I don't remember you."
She blushed, letting go of my hand but keeping pace beside me. "We were really close," she said, fiddling with her fingers.
I didn't understand. Close how? Why be so vague?
She shook her head and looked at me again. "This may sound strange to you now, but this is a dream. All of this already happened. That's how I know your parents treated you badly. You told me."
My heart started pounding. Could it be true? The thought terrified me.
"So why was I so unhappy in that dream?" I asked.
She hesitated, clearly struggling to find the right words. "It's... I'm really not sure how to explain it..."
But I'd already made up my mind. I shrugged. "I don't care about that bad dream. It was a premonition of a possible future at most. Saturn," I said, gesturing towards the sun, "He showed me a path I need to avoid."
Emily frowned. "You can't change what happened," she insisted, but I was already tuning her out.
Yes, Saturn had protected me. That's what I wanted to believe.
Eventually, she got the message and left, heading down another road. It was better that way.
When I got home, my mother beat me again. In my conversation with that strange girl, I'd forgotten about my prayer time.
My mother didn't want to hear any excuses. I hate it...
The welts on my back sang as I knelt before the altar. Saturn's stone idol leered down, his sickle raised in mock blessing. Incense smoke curled around my mother's silhouette as she muttered verses behind me—prayers that smelled like guilt. Was I really such a sinner for arriving late?
Why would I choose this?
The question slithered through me, unwanted. I focused on the pain instead, let it burn away the girl's words. Emily was a liar. A witch. A threat to the fragile order I'd carved here.
But later, as I lay on my thin mattress, the moon painted a single truth across the floor: It was unjust.
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I jolted awake, sweat beading on my forehead. Sleep eluded me, the conversation with Emily echoing in my mind. Sighing, I decided to prepare my clothes for tomorrow, hoping the mundane task might calm my nerves.
My hands brushed against something unexpected – cold, heavy, metallic. The shape was unfamiliar, yet... not. Heart racing, I pulled the object into the moonlight streaming through my window.
A revolver gleamed in my palm, its weight both foreign and disturbingly familiar. It was massive, my hand barely able to close around the grip. The metal seemed to shimmer, almost alive in the pale light. What was this doing in my wardrobe?
Without thinking, my fingers found the cylinder release, pressing it down. I pushed the cylinder out, exposing the chambers. Loaded. Six brass casings stared back at me, each one a potential life-ender.
I snapped the cylinder shut, the click unnaturally loud in the silent room. Raising the gun, I pointed it at my small mirror. The stance felt natural, ingrained. But how? I'd never held a gun before... had I?
Frustration and fear mingled as knowledge surfaced unbidden. This was a Chiappa Rhino, a Ventian-made revolver. I knew it by the distinctive low-bore axis, the barrel aligned with the bottom chamber instead of the top. But *how* did I know this?
A fragment of memory – gunpowder residue on my gloves, Emily's voice urgent in my ear – flashed through my mind, gone before I could grasp it.
My hand began to shake. What would Father do if he found me like this? The thought of his rage, of Mother's mallet, made my stomach churn.
Hastily, I returned the revolver to its hiding place, my fingers lingering on the cool metal. Questions swirled: Who had I been? Who was I now? And why did part of me long to feel that weight in my hand again?
I crawled back into bed, squeezing my eyes shut. But sleep, when it finally came, was filled with the scent of cordite and the echo of gunshots. I could hear people die, screaming around me. There were screams of pain and hate.
Who were they? With each bang another scream joined this cursed choir. All crying and screaming over my name. Kassius they called me. Then Zaun. Then the Nameless. That calling especially riled them up. Then William. Then Aionis. They hated me. All of them. Who were they? I felt scared. I felt so, so terrified. I could only wastefully ask myself, what had I done to deserve this?-*-*-*-*-*