Prologue 2

I found a concrete bench in the inner courtyard, away from the commotion.

I put on my headphones. The noisy world of the factory turned into a distant murmur, a sound curtain I could ignore.

The wind began to blow, bringing the first promise of rain.

I opened my video app.

On the small screen, a documentary about the origin of coffee began to play.

I saw the harvest, the delicate hands of those who knew how to wait for the red and ripe fruit. I saw the slow and manual process of drying, of separation.

The way water and fire were manipulated to transform a bitter seed into the drink that sustained civilization.

Then, I watched another video, this time about sugar.

Sugarcane being cut by hand, the crushing in old mills, the long boiling, the sweet and sticky smell in the air, the liquid crystallizing, grain by grain.

As I watched the inventions and processes of centuries ago, my chest filled with a strange admiration and a sharp pain.

The people of the past. They were the architects.

If it depended on me to come up with ideas for these inventions, civilization would still be behind. It would be in ruins.

The sentence hit me like a punch in the stomach. I was a mere consumer. A useless product of the civilization they built.

I looked at the digital clock on my phone. The blue light of the screen blinked, alerting me. End of lunch.

Time to go back to the heavy reality of the warehouse.

The rest of the afternoon dragged on.

Counting, sorting, the sound of heavy rain hitting the tin roof. It seemed like the cyclone was closer than we had predicted.

When the final bell rang at five in the afternoon, it felt like the end of a sentence.

I said goodbye to Leo with a wave and a grunt, grabbed my backpack, and headed to the bus stop.

I already had my headphones on, the music acting as a shield against the fatigue and the noise of the world.

I got off the bus at the isolated stop on the avenue.

The still-wet asphalt shone under the weak light of the streetlights that struggled against the early darkness of the storm.

Before crossing, I stopped to check the avenue.

It was supposed to be full, with the end-of-day traffic flowing like a furious river; I had almost been run over several times there.

But now, it was completely deserted.

No vehicles, no souls.

The absence of engine noise was more disturbing than the intense sound.

I crossed.

As I adjusted my backpack, my phone beeped, cutting through the music in my headphones.

It was a message from the government:
"Imminent Danger: Extreme Wind and Heavy Rain. Seek Shelter."

The warning was formal and cold, contrasting with the dark weight of the sky.

I read the message, let out a melancholic sigh, and continued on my way.

I entered the narrow street, and the sound of traffic, or the lack of it, faded behind me.

I’ll figure something out.

The promise echoed in my thoughts.

But what would I do?

Changing life was heavier than lifting a pallet.

The calm on that isolated street was almost exaggerated.

When I reached the final stretch, I felt a strong wind that made me stagger.

It wasn’t the constant wind of the storm, but a gust that seemed to come from a mountain.

The trees swayed violently, and a rain of fallen leaves spun around me.

On impulse, I climbed the dirt slope running, seeking a shortcut and a wider view.

It was a habit.

From the top, I used to have a glimpse of the city center: small buildings and a single imposing skyscraper.

But today’s view was different.

On the horizon, where the urban center stretched forty-five minutes away on foot, there was a gray and colossal mass.

The cyclone.

It was huge and strong enough that its winds, even from afar, could be felt violently where I stood.

I wasn’t seeing a storm, I was seeing annihilation.

Frightened, I took off my headphones.

The sound of the real world, the roar of the wind, hit me hard.

I’ll run home. I need to warn everyone.

But suddenly, the rain came. Much stronger.

The sky closed into darkness at a speed that defied nature.

In an instant, the gray gave way to night.

Damn it. I forgot my umbrella in the locker room.

I started running down the street, the wind now against me, seeming to push me back.

Then, in the middle of that violent gale, I felt a lighter, warmer wind.

A comforting heat that nestled into my skin.

And when the soft wind passed by me, it brought a sound:

Arven.

It was a whisper, as if someone was standing right beside me.

I stopped automatically, turning my body in one swift motion.

I looked around, my heart beating in the rhythm of the distant thunder.

There was no one.

The intense rain and cold wind returned, intensifying, snapping me out of the trance.

I felt a strange and unbearable sensation on the back of my neck.

I looked behind me, toward the path I had just taken.

The trees and the slope were disappearing into darkness.

A solid and absolute darkness was coming toward me, silent, swallowing the asphalt.

Frightened, I started running.

The wind and the rain were liquid and invisible barriers, but I ran.

I looked ahead, but the landscape there was also turning into darkness.

The darkness was coming from all directions.

The feeling of falling came before the darkness reached me.

The ground beneath my feet simply vanished.

I was floating.

A void.

There was no light, no sound, only my body isolated in the infinite darkness.

The soft and comforting wind returned.

And the whisper, sweet and fleeting:

Arven.

For a moment, I felt like I could reach something, a certainty.

I stretched out my hand, trying to grasp that certainty.

But before my fingers could touch anything, I fell.

The impact was dry, like falling out of a bed during a nightmare.

The pain hit me first.

I got up, trying to ignore it and understand what had happened.

The darkness had dissipated.

I looked around.

I was in a large hall, with stone walls adorned with tapestries.

And then, the shock: a moderate number of people were watching me.

Their clothes, made of heavy fabrics and noble colors, looked like they had come out of a period series.

At the center of my vision, in the background, seated on imposing chairs, were a King and a Queen, unmistakable by their crowns and attire.

My eyes saw everything, but my mind was malfunctioning.

The weight of all those stares fell upon me.

It was a look I knew very well from my own self-evaluation, but amplified by dozens of strangers: disappointment? anger? it was a destructive mixture.

I turned my head to the left and saw six other figures, six young people who, like me, were observing everything with curiosity and fear in their eyes.

What was happening there? Where was I?