The sound was difficult to name. One might have mistaken it for the whistling of wind — but the room was absolutely still, the kind of silence that does not truly exist in the world of the living.
The space seemed to exist outside of time, suspended between two states that reason refused to reconcile : above, a cloudless azure sky, luminous and serene ; below, a deep and starless night, mute as an abyss. Neither yielded to the other. They coexisted, simply, as though they always had.
The expanse opened as far as the eye could see, vast and silent, indifferent to the laws that governed the rest of the world.
On either side rose islands and structures of every kind, from every era, painted onto this half-azure, half-dark-violet canvas like fragments torn from history. Castles with eroded towers stood beside warships with hulls blackened by forgotten battles. Rust-flanked chariots rose up near slender rockets, silent in their stillness. Swords, bows, cannons, modern weapons with cold clean lines, everything was there, piled together without apparent logic. Each object a mute witness to a bygone age.
One might have thought this space had been designed for the sole purpose of cataloguing every invention, every ambition, every obsession mankind had stubbornly dreamed of, built, and perfected across the centuries.
The whole thing gave an impression of chaos. And yet, something in that disorder breathed. A strange beauty emanated from it, grave and melancholic, like the memory of a greatness that had never quite known what to do with itself.
At the centre of this abstract masterpiece stood a human silhouette. Seated on the void, without support, without gesture, barely present. It was not looking at the surroundings. It was enduring them, with the quiet weariness of someone who knows a painting too well to see it anymore.
Drawing closer, one could gradually make out the features of a young man, barely into adulthood. His skin was a warm brown, almost golden where the azure light grazed it. He wore nothing, or so it seemed, as though the space itself clothed him, wrapping him in its strange clarity like an invisible fabric.
But something was wrong.
A distorted halo surrounded him, blurring the outlines of his body in places. The left half of his face faded like a half-torn page. A large part of his torso was transparent. His thigh, his right forearm, visible then not, depending on the angle. It was not a wound. It was not an absence. It was something else, something more elusive : as though certain parts of him existed in a space slightly offset from the rest of the world.
One might have said a silhouette cut into fragments, hastily reassembled by a distracted hand. Strange, profoundly strange, much like this space of which he seemed to be, at once, the guardian and the prisoner.
"I have to create the thirteenth… before I disappear entirely…"
His voice was halting, almost inaudible, as though some interference scrambled each syllable before it could reach the air. The words blurred together, frayed, grew less and less distinct, like a dream dissolving at the edge of waking.
Then nothing.
Everything went black. Glitched. Deafening and strange.
"Yero!" "Yero!!"
The female voice intensified in waves, until it wrenched the person it called from their sleep.
He opened his eyes abruptly, two light brown irises that immediately swept his surroundings with a quiet, attentive gaze, as though searching for something to hold onto.
Before him sat a white porcelain cup, smooth and immaculate, filled with a café latte whose gentle aroma was already mingling with the air around him.
"Were you even listening to me?!"
That was the voice he had heard.
Across from him sat a young woman of around twenty-two, radiating an elegance unsettling for her age. Her warm brown complexion contrasted strikingly with her silver-white hair, neatly braided to her shoulders, lending her an air that was at once refined and singular. Her deep violet eyes looked at him with an unnerving familiarity, as though she had known him forever, and that forever was a very long time. Her short-sleeved sky-blue dress completed the picture with an effortless simplicity.
"Yes, sorry. I didn't sleep enough last night…"
"Learn to go to bed before ten o'clock!" she said, sipping her coffee, her gaze drifting lazily toward the view beyond the window.
The young man followed her gaze and caught a furtive glance at his own reflection in the glass.
It was the face of a man barely out of adolescence, one you would easily place at nineteen, twenty years old. His light brown complexion carved serious, almost austere features that naturally imposed a certain distance. His dark brown eyes were at once piercing and unfathomable, the kind that look without letting themselves be seen. His hair, brown with faintly bluish undertones, had been cut short recently, cleanly exposing the line of his jaw.
The sky outside was darkening slowly, almost surreptitiously. In the street, a dense crowd moved in every direction, each person absorbed in their own affairs. The outfits varied from one person to the next, and yet, taken together, they gave the street a singular identity, like a living painting, coherent despite the apparent chaos.
They were in a small café of discreet charm. A few tables of time-worn wood lined the large windows that let in a soft, golden light. The dark wood counter stood at the back of the room, topped by a chalk-scrawled blackboard. A persistent scent of freshly roasted coffee drifted through the air, mingled with the smell of morning pastries. The place was calm, almost intimate, lulled by the soft murmur of conversations and the faint clink of cups.
"It looks like it might rain today…" Veil murmured in a calm voice, tinged with a slight melancholy.
"Tell me, Veil… why did you bring me here?"
"Do I need a reason to see my darling?!" she said, flashing a wry, almost provocative smile.
Yero stared at her with a baffled look before clicking his tongue.
"Not this again."
He sighed, scratching lightly at the back of his neck.
"We live together, but we're not a couple. You pretend not to understand."
Indeed, Yero and Veil had shared a roof for several years already. Even if the details remained hazy in his memory, Yero had always known, somehow, that Veil had always been there.
"Actually… how did we meet, again? I can't seem to remember anymore…"
He did not have time to finish his sentence. Veil changed the subject with suspicious ease.
"What do you feel like eating tonight?! Hehe, I've gotten better at cooking, I can make you a dish you won't forget!"
"Don't change the subject…"
But Veil pretended not to hear. What followed was a conversation running on two parallel tracks : she described her recipe with enthusiasm, he demanded explanations and never received any.
In the middle of their exchange, the café bell chimed. Two men in elegant three-piece suits walked in. One might easily have taken them for civil servants. The first had a pale complexion and slightly dishevelled golden hair ; the second, visibly older, wore dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail. As they entered, their conversation revolved around a newspaper the younger one held in his hands.
It concerned the opening of a rift, weak admittedly, but whose mere existence boded nothing good.
"Another corruption?! This phenomenon is becoming more and more alarming."
"There's not much we can do for now, other than wait for orders. But in my view, it's not the corruption itself that's at the root of all this."
The two men settled at the neighbouring table, ordering with a single gesture toward the counter, with the casual ease of regulars.
Corruption is the name given to a phenomenon that belongs as much to disease as to natural disaster. It works by breaking the harmony between the soul, the body and the mind of a living being, whether a person, an animal, or even a natural element. When that harmony ruptures, the being descends into an uncontrollable madness, and this imbalance gives birth to creatures known as the corrupted. The soul plays a central role in this system : it is what fuels the magic innate to each being. When it is blocked, the flow of energy overflows in an uncontrolled manner, and that overflow warps the being from within, transforming it into something distorted and monstrous.
"Why do you say it isn't the corruption?" asked the younger one, with a questioning look.
The older man scratched his chin, briefly closing his eyes.
"If it were the corruption, we would have seen dark particles all around the rift."
The waitress returned with the order, a cheerful smile on her face, and gently set down the cups before heading back.
"The same phenomenon occurred nearly ten years ago in Senirama. It's quite likely the same cause."
"If it isn't the corruption, then it must be…"
"A spell. And possibly a spatio-temporal one."
He sipped his coffee slowly, letting the words hang in the air.
At the other table, however, something was wrong.
Veil had begun to tremble. Not from cold, her gaze betrayed it : a dull, sudden terror that had no precise object. She raised her hand to her mouth and swept the room with her eyes, like someone trying to make sense of something happening in this very moment, something beyond their control.
"Hey, Veil. Are you alright?" asked Yero, his brow furrowed.
"Yes, don't worry. It's just… the weather. It's making me nauseous."
It did not ring true. Not at all.
"We can head home if you want."
"Or… yes."
They stood. Yero left a few coins on the table and gently took Veil by the shoulder. Passing the two men's table, he caught one last fragment of their conversation.
"…On top of that, there's a corrupted one lurking around here. It's no small matter."
"We'd better get back to work."
Yero left the café supporting Veil, who was breathing heavily against his shoulder.
Once outside, the air greeted them like a presence of its own. The humidity was thick, almost sticky, and the cold that came with it was nothing natural, it slipped beneath their clothes, seeped into their bones, as though searching for something inside. The passersby continued to move normally, indifferent. And yet something in the atmosphere felt slightly off. As though the street were holding its breath.
They kept walking.
Veil's face still betrayed something she could not quite conceal, a quiet fear, an anxiety that tightened her features despite herself. For his part, Yero did not really know what to say, nor what to do. So he walked, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the path leading home.
High above, the grey and heavy sky let a few drops fall at intervals, not enough to truly rain, just enough to be unpleasant.
"Hey… Veil."
She turned slowly, wearing that smile that fooled no one, half-broken, resting on a face still at a loss.
"Yes, what?"
Yero kept his eyes straight ahead.
"What is it that frightens you?"
A silence.
"Nothing…" she said, a little too quickly. "Nothing frightens me. You know very well that I'm a solid person."
He stopped. Turned to face her.
"You don't need to hide anything from me. If something is weighing on you, you can tell me. I'm here."
Veil looked at him for a long moment without answering. Then, slowly, a smile different from the ones before appeared, smaller, more fragile, but somehow more sincere.
"…I hope so too."
Yero offered a shy, almost clumsy smile in return, then resumed walking without another word.
Their silhouettes blended gradually into the flow of passersby, disappearing and reappearing among coats and umbrellas.
"By the way, I never told you…" Veil murmured with a sly smile. "But with the short hair, you're really cute. Hehe."
"Keep it up and I'm leaving you here."
In the crowd, however, two silhouettes did not move.
They stood motionless in the midst of the human tide, like two stones in a river, and no one seemed to see them. Passersby went around them without looking, without even slowing down, as though their eyes slid naturally over them. As though they did not quite exist in the same space as everyone else.
Their gaze, however, never left Yero and Veil.
Once through the door, Veil let herself fall onto the sofa with the grace of someone who simply cannot go on, as though her legs had decided of their own accord that today was enough. Behind her, Yero gently closed the small wooden door, plain, worn by the years, but solid.
The house was modest and familiar, the kind that carries the marks of time without trying to hide them. The slightly faded cream-coloured walls gave the whole place a warmth that was soft and a little melancholic. The furniture was mismatched but coherent, a small bookcase crammed with badly sorted books, a low wooden coffee table scratched by years of use, a few frames hanging crooked that no one had ever bothered to straighten. The smell that lived there was indefinable but reassuring, something between warm wood, clean laundry, and old meals. It was the kind of place that impresses no one, yet where one feels, without quite knowing why, exactly at home.
The house was not truly theirs. It belonged to Arteis, a woman in her thirties who had taken them both in when they were still children. She worked for an organisation specialising in cases of early or late awakening, but took care never to say too much about the exact nature of her work, answering questions with that polite and definitive smile that closed doors without slamming them.
Awakening refers to the moment when a human being's body, mind and soul resonate for the first time, an alignment that unlocks access to magic. Under normal circumstances, this phenomenon occurs between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five. But when it happens outside that window, the consequences can be severe. An awakening that comes too early strikes the body first : too young to contain the surge of energy suddenly flowing through it, the body cannot keep up. This imbalance can cause malformations, chronic pain, serious physical disorders. An awakening that comes too late strikes the mind instead. At that age, the brain no longer has the flexibility needed to adapt to the torrent of perceptions an awakened person must absorb, the result is often a deep and lasting psychological instability. Exceptions exist. Rare, but real. And that is precisely what Arteis does.
Stretched out on the floral-patterned sofa, a blend of grey, red, mauve and blue that must have been lovely once, Veil stared at the ceiling in silence. Then, without warning :
"Tell me, Yero… would you want to become awakened?"
He stopped short. Turned to face her, arms crossed.
"Why are you asking me that?"
"Just like that! We're in the right age range, wouldn't it be cool?" she said, pulling a perfectly absurd face.
"I don't really know… Becoming awakened opens a lot of doors, but…"
"Ugh!!"
Veil clearly had no patience for multi-part answers.
"Get to the point!! Would you like it, yes or no?!"
"…Yes. Yes, I'd like it very much."
"See, when you want to!!"
She stretched out at length, arms raised to the sky, then leapt from the sofa in one fluid motion that made her dress flutter slightly. She headed toward Yero, who had begun moving around the kitchen.
"And what kind of awakened would you want to be?! A fighter?! A support?!"
With each question she took a step forward. Her face was drawing dangerously close to his.
Yero raised a hand and placed it flat against her forehead to stop the invasion.
"Enough with your stories. Come help me instead, you said you'd gotten better at cooking, didn't you? Prove it rather than chattering."
"Okay!!" she replied, wearing an expression that was equal parts annoyed and delighted.
Yero stepped slightly aside, crossed his arms and watched her bustle about at the stove.
"So, if I remember right… you do this… and this…"
She grabbed a few potatoes, cut them in half and dropped them into a pot with a pinch of salt. Then she seized a frying pan, placed a knob of butter in it and watched it melt slowly. The pan began to sizzle, a sound that was almost enticing.
She rummaged across the marble counter in every direction.
"Where's the meat?!"
Yero laughed, sarcastic.
"There is absolutely no way you're touching the meat."
Veil puffed out her cheeks, eyes shimmering with held-back tears, her entire expression an appeal to pity.
"Come on!! Just this once!!"
Yero looked away for a moment, then walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a fine cut of red, glistening meat. He set it down on the counter.
"There's your meat. It had better be good."
He had the resigned tone of someone who already knows they are going to regret it.
She smiled, proud and confident in her culinary talents.
"Leave it to me!!"
She cut the meat into seven thin slices and laid them one by one into the crackling pan, adding aromatic herbs, parsley, pepper, salt, a few spices. The pieces quickly took on a beautiful red-golden colour, enticing. The smell rising from the stove was growing more and more bewitching. Even Yero seemed impressed, despite himself.
Once the meat was cooked, Veil set it aside and sautéed finely sliced red onions in the same pan. Tears pricked at her eyes, guilty ones, the onions. She then retrieved the potatoes and was about to peel them when Yero stepped closer and began doing it for her.
"Okay… I believe you. We do this together."
A victorious smile spread across Veil's lips.
"I have a natural gift for persuasion."
"Yes, sure… So what's next?"
She pulled out a pot slightly larger than the first and tipped in the potatoes, the onion sauce and the meat. Everything, together, in one single move.
"Why are you doing that?!" Yero let out, completely thrown.
"Why not?" she replied in a sovereign tone, with the quiet confidence of someone who knows exactly what they are doing.
"You were doing so well, too!"
"Trust the process."
Yero raised both hands and stepped away without another word.
"Okay."
Several dozen minutes later, it was ready.
And how to put this…
"You botched it."