Chapter 1- Cold Nostalgia.

The city was in ruins.

Screams and shouting engulfed the area.

Buildings hugged and kissed one final time, like dying embers. The embrace they held, the sight of it could only be described as an eternity. Red dust hung in the air, just below the bright red sky.

In the distant sky, a planet-sized sword pierced the never ending horizons, snapped in half from its impossible weight. Its edges were crumbled and buried among towers of debris. The pieces still glowed faintly, desperate as if the world refused to admit they’d stopped being divine.

The divine shards pulsed slowly, releasing hot and thick air resonating from them. Without its glow Velronia could only be described as…

Empty.

A white feather fell from the sky. The heavens believed it belonged to an angel.

Between the lanes of concrete and ash that were left behind —
A girl walked. Her footsteps left no sound, her white sleeves brushed against walls that were stained, stripped of all purity.

She didn’t call out, she didn’t ask if anyone was there.

The girl walked through the wasteland and saw what could only be described as a living…

Corpse.

Yet, it was still breathing with a heavy and wheezy gasp.

The smell of iron punched her nose first — it was overpowering. She caught her breath, trembling and fragile. Despite that she continued moving.

She knelt, as her eyes stayed closed. Dust slept on her hair as she leaned forward and held the body in her arms.

The world paused.

No breeze, no voices — the only thing surrounding them was the weight of the world.

As her arms embraced the living corpse, it recoiled slowly and answered without words, only in movement and it began to —

sob.

She felt her chest squeeze — a familiar sight.

The sound was thin like string, human, far too small beside the surrounding ruin. The girl tightened her grasp, and the broken world kept turning.

Lythen answered with a lone, haunting hum.

One trembled from pain, the other trembled from memory.

The canvas.
It wouldn’t stop painting — not for him and not for her…
Not for anyone or anything.

800 golden chains remained…

Chapter 1 - Kairo

The scent of iron rose from the damp ground. Grass was left drenched from the tears of the world, for the loss of the man everyone in Lagos had loved. Rain from the previous nights still clung to the stones, crawling through the cracks.

Footsteps echoed heavily as each step sank deeper into the grass with a soft and gentle sound.

His casket rested on marble, its wood dark and bitten by the weather, corroded by time. A thin strip of red cloth peeked through the lid of the man’s final slumber.

Side by side, rows of men and women stood in silence.
Black suits, red ties, faces that had lacked warmth.
The suits were far too prestigious.

The sight of mourning looked wrong against the mud — the suits, the casket, all of it too polished and alien in a place like Lagos.

The young man’s cold eyes drifted between the crowd — a field of black and red, humans stood yet they remained still as if he had walked in a lost field full of tombstones.

DONG.

DONG.

DONG.

Heavy bells rang, consuming all remaining sound and movement.
Eating all emotion and grief.

The man watched the casket. He analysed each carving.
And each mistake.
Each scratch.
Each regret.

Tears hadn’t left his eyes.
He couldn’t remember the last time they’d said goodbye.

DONG.

The final clang from the church bells had faded from his ears. He raised his arm up and loosened the grip of his red tie from his neck. The red fabric felt unfamiliar to him, far too rich and far too kind between his fingers.

Drop.

Rain fell to the ground as he walked.
The crowd scattered in silence.
Boots and heels scraped the surface.
Their shoulders were stiff and full of tension…

Yet no words were spoken.

Eyes tracked his movement, yet they weren’t harsh — just distant, missing warmth.
Watching a man that didn’t belong.

The gravity around Lagos stretched around him as if it distorted; smoke from the morning flames and glass drops from the rain avoided his grasp. He watched his reflection scatter just as they did.

Even though he had walked like them.
Dressed like them.
Inhaled the same air as them.

He just wasn’t one of them.

It wasn’t new to him.
He had always known.

Upon the crowd a few whispers cut the silence.

“I remember…”
A woman spoke as she took a deep breath.

“I remember when my sweetheart met that man.”
She whispered to the child beside her.

Drop.

“Didn’t believe me when I told her to stay away — now look at her…
Gone just like the rest.”

The child's voice came out like a gentle cry.
“Is that what happens…
When you talk to an Abynt?”

She tugged on her mother’s sleeve.
Two men's voices drifted in the distance.

“Matthew… What on earth are you doing?
Are you pleading for death?”
One of the men hissed.

The tremble dug into his voice.
“That man… he’s nothing more than an Abynt, his father was strong like a horse — now look where he ended up…

Just like the rest.”

Drop.
A final drop of rain landed on Lagos.

The man couldn’t move, his throat tight as if he were drowning — his lips moved, yet no words left his mouth. His eyes opened wide.

“Matthew…

Move.”
The first whispered softly.

The young man walked past as Matthew felt his feet lighten. His eyes stayed glued to him — watching the passing man in fear.

The man didn’t turn.
He didn’t speak.
He had heard it all before.
None of it was new to him.
Same tales with different sayings always found him, even if they weren’t about him.

He kept walking and the road opened before him like a wound that would never…

Be healed.

The house still smelt like home, just like his father.

Yet instead of laughter, shouting, crying or any sound the room was engulfed with silence.

He was tired.

The kind of tiredness that hadn’t come from endurance but one that came from one’s life feeling heavy.

Creak.

His boot caused the floor to creak — yet he stood in the same spot.

Minutes — no hours had passed as he listened to…

Nothing.

The house felt far too big, far too alive — he could hear the house breathe in and out yet all that life and no warm voice could be heard. He didn’t know it back then but he was awaiting a welcome home.

One that would never be granted.

He stared at the mirror — it stared back.

Silver hair.

He let out a tiny laugh that came out of his throat like it was desperately trying to come out, to cut the eternal silence.

“It’s all…

Because of this.”

He gently brushed his fingertips on his hair.

“This…

Silver hair.”

He blinked.

“Father never had it, neither did mum…

So…

Why me?”

His words vibrated in the silent house, digging into his ears over and over.

Crack.

The glass began to crack — his hand gripping the mirror.

His breath caused the mirror to fog up.

“That’s why…

That’s why they call me that word.”

Abynt.

The words stayed in his soul.

His fist slammed on the desk.

Dust and shards of wood scattered from the impact.

His eyes twitched as he slowly lifted his face to watch the mirror.

There it was again.

“I never asked for this.”

His fist gripped as silver threads of hair stared back at the man.

***

He wanted air.

No, he was desperate for it.

His lungs and chest felt heavy, his vision blurry.

He felt like his entire being was going to implode.

Creak.

The door opened — a cold chill danced past him.

Outside, the world kept walking, kept singing, kept talking as if nothing had changed.

Grass bent under the wind.

The trees sang, clouds crawled through the sky.

He stepped forward — the world paused its grasp.

Branches stopped all movement.

The air had lost the weight it once had.

Grass remained still.

It was cold and alone.

The wind picked up as a breeze began to dance.

Thump.

Blood had rushed and beat in his heart — the dance had ended. He wondered to himself if the world was mocking him.

So even nature is afraid of me.

He watched the clouds as he awaited the breeze to pick up once again…

Silence.

His wish was granted — yet something came with it.

Smoke.

Burnt wood and a smoky sensation filled his nose.

The man turned his head slowly — why did it make his skin shiver?

The winds blew and then he heard it.

Those words.

One he hadn’t heard in so long.

“Kairo.”

The word came in warm yet it made him cold.

His entire being froze. He felt like his feet couldn’t move and his entire body was chained.

“Kairo…”

The words came out faster this time.

Yet he refused to move as his eyes stayed glued on the tree in front of him.

THUMP.

THUMP.

“I know you can hear me.”

She stopped walking as ash fell out slowly — faint cracks could be heard from the cigarette she held.

Six years.

Why now?

The man’s head scrambled with questions.

Questions that desperately wanted to leave his tongue — yet they wouldn’t come out.

Crackle.

A trail of ash dripped as she blew into her cigarette once again.

The smoke curled through him.

“You’ve grown.”

He didn’t answer.

THUMP.

THUMP.

“You look like him.”

I don’t.

His chest heavy as he finally relearnt how to speak.

“Six…

Years.”

His voice cracked.

His eyes burnt.

Trembling.

The lady let out a slight deep breath.

“Don’t…

Make me laugh, why are you here? Why now… why not yesterday, why not a month ago — but today of all days?”

He turned to face her.

She took a step back.

“You’ve…

You’ve been gone for so long and everyone still adores you — everyone still loves dad…

But me?

They look at me like I'm a…

Leech.”

She raised her hand as she blinked.

His feet tapping the ground.

The air between them felt so tight, that the world would slice in half.

“So tell me…

Mum — what the hell do you want?”

“Is that any way to speak to your mo-”

“— To what?

To my mother?

His words cut her words.

His voice began to shake.

Eyes dried up like sand.

“Is that how people should… treat me?

How they should talk to me?

How they should look at me?

Talk to me?

Stare at me?”

His words snapped through the air, his teeth clenched.

Her eyes opened wide.

He blinked heavily as he took a step towards her, his voice shaking.

“Is that…

Is that, any way to talk to someone who’s barely seventeen.”

His words came out quicker, harsher and far more relentless.

Messy.

“Is that what mothers do?”

He scoffed.

She gripped her cigarette.

“Don’t…

Give me that shit!”

“Never ever — try to use that mother card on me.”

THUMP.

THUMP.

THUMP.

His heart raced.

His body tensed.

He moved forward.

His voice came out messier than last time.

“You don’t get to. I don’t care if everyone in this village loves you, I couldn’t even give a shit if Athena herself was in love with you.

The words came out harsh.

She fumbled back.

“Kairo, that’s not — you don’t understand — there were people chasing us, chasing me, I didn’t mean to they were chasing your fath—”

Her words were interrupted.

“Didn’t mean to what?”

His voice cracked.

“Didn’t mean to leave? To pretend nothing ever happened — to show up only when it was safe?”

His nails began to dig into his skin as he gripped his fist hard.

Crackle.

“It wasn’t…

It wasn’t safe back then — you were too young, you wouldn’t understand!”

The words crawled outside her mouth begging to be heard.

His chest began to hurt.

“You left dad…

You left me, and now you’re trying to justify your actions?

His neck tensed as his eyes burned hotter than any cigarette.

“You… don’t know what it’s like — to walk through that village. To see the way they stare at me, the way they talk to me, the way they act towards me.”

He wiped his eyes, yet no tears fell.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be me.”

Silence engulfed the sky.

“You left because… it wasn’t safe?”

He spoke exhaustedly.

She gripped her fingers tight.

“There were people after your father…

It wasn’t safe…

I had things I needed to d—”

The words came out in a blur from her mouth.

“Things?"

That’s a new one, I hadn’t heard that one before.”

He stared at the floor.

She took a deep breath.

She felt her throat tighten.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

She whispered.

A half assed laugh came out from the man.

“You’re right…

I don’t.”

He took a deep breath.

THUMP.

“You’re so busy…

Making up lies, trying to make yourself feel better, trying to make yourself look better — you can’t even apologise, not to me, you never have.”

The words came out harsher.

Water began to flow inside his eyes.

“You’re..”

The worst type of trash.

The words never came out — even now, even after everything.

He never could.

“A terrible mother.”

He spoke softly, no anger inside his soul.

Crackle.

“I’m tired.”

No energy inside his voice.

The words vibrated in her ear drums.

Smoke spiralled into the sky.

They never left her almost as if they were now a part of her very DNA.

She froze. A cigarette slipped through her fingers — falling slowly and quiet. It hit the ground without making a sound. The world became muffled and cold. She trembled — staring as she watched the young boy she had left six years ago had become an entirely different man. Her feet became part of the ground — she stayed trying to process everything that occurred.

The canvas never forgets what it draws.