She'd been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. They had weathered their connection through tough times and forged by pressure, it had transformed into a radiant diamond instead of shattering.
Through every challenge, they'd stood by each other's side, offering unwavering support and deep understanding. Few knew him as intimately as she did - his fears, worries, hopes, and dreams. She had been his confidante, the guardian of his secrets, and the mirror to his soul.
In her presence, he'd experienced a comforting solace that was absent everywhere else. They'd shared moments of celebration and solace; no matter the occasion, she'd been the one he'd turned to. She'd been the hidden source of his strength to survive and flourish.
She'd assisted him in his times of need, and she'd been the person to whom he turned, not only for advice but also just to find someone who listened with genuine interest, and with whom he could open up without fearing rejection or repulsion. She'd experienced life in the 9th District, comprehending its darkness and the loneliness it imposed on its residents.
She knew of his pain and had experienced it herself. They'd each supported the other through moments of misery, and their conversations had flowed like a dance, with each sentence seamlessly flowing into the next.
Until the day she had left, abandoning him and this life. From that point on, he was alone. It drowned him.
His feet dangled freely in the air, hanging above the city lights some fifty meters below. The cacophonous city sounds carried upwards by the wind became mere whispers of their true intensity, and the pungent, reeking odors of the alleys faded to near-undetectable levels.
This building, a relic of the past, had been the place they'd chosen to meet when they needed to be alone and forget the cruelties of life. A ruin, barely recognizable from its former grandeur, yet sufficient for their purpose, bearing even a hint of romantic allure.
The screech of the metallic door at the opposite end of the flat roof heralded her arrival. Anthemion heard her graceful steps, but he didn't turn, keeping his face impassive as he surveyed the stretching section of the 9th District below him. Silently, she settled beside him, one leg hanging over the edge, the other pulled close to her chest.
For a long while, neither spoke, simply listening to the night sounds, occasionally gazing up at the shimmering stars or down at the bustling city below.
Finally, Anthemion's voice broke the quiet, with but a mere whisper. "Why did you leave?" he asked. She turned, but he kept his gaze forward. He felt her studying the side of his face, searching for emotions, anything that resembled the boy she'd once known.
She responded with a question of her own, "Wouldn't you leave this wretched place if given the chance?"
Anthemion hesitated, hating himself for agreeing. He forced out, "I would. But I wouldn't vanish like a coward, abandoning even my dearest friends. I wouldn't leave them behind." At the edge of his vision, he saw her face twist with emotion and knew his comment had stung like a needle to her heart. It felt satisfying.
She started to stammer, "What could I have done? I couldn't face you! I couldn't look into your eyes and tell you that I was leaving you here alone! I couldn't summon the courage! I'm not as brave as Lewis or as reckless as you! Is that what you want to hear? That I'm a coward? Because, yes, I am!"
Her breathing was as erratic as a storm's gusts, tears glistening in her eyes like dewdrops on morning petals, but Anthemion still didn't turn to face her. He couldn't bear to see her. He exhaled slowly.
"I loved you, you know?" Anthemion started, his voice low but steady. "I pictured a future with you, held onto that last ray of hope when everything else was bleak. In the nights filled with fear and dread, knowing you were with me comforted me.
I wasn't alone - never. I had someone to share the horrors I didn't want to burden my mother or sister with. You were my pillar. With you, I scorned even the status of a noble-born. It was perfect. Until I awakened and you had left, and our time became a painful memory, not a blissful one," he turned to her, tears moistening his eyes but refusing to fall. He forbid them.
"You didn't just leave behind this District and your childhood home, your memories of growing up. You. Left. Me." Each word reverberated with the emotions Anthemion had bottled up over the last six months. They crashed like thunderous waves onto the shore, pricking Valentina's mind like thorns.
She wanted to say so much, countless words begged to be released from her lips, but she was incapable of uttering a single sound. She turned back to the city, Anthemion's familiar features inducing an agonizing pain born of guilt and remorse.
It wasn't her fault, was it? That her father's promotion had granted them a place in the 4th, enabling them to escape the grasp of the lower Districts? Surely anyone in her position would've seized this opportunity with fervor and gratitude. Only a fool wouldn't have, right?
It wasn't her fault! Yet the guilt nearly drowned her, bringing tears to her eyes and an cutting ache to her heart. She'd loved Anthemion, still loved him now, her feelings unchanged. Being with Aemilian brought her no pleasure, no satisfaction – there was no bliss in their kisses or touches.
Their relationship was nothing but an attempt to fit in with the upper echelons of society and a hope to forget what they'd once shared. But she couldn't bury her feelings deep enough to keep them hidden forever. Their trip to the 8th district, the decision to enter a club here instead of the higher regions - all were driven by lingering affection and fond memories.
She knew that no excuse would suffice, no promise could soothe Anthemion's and her pain, and no vow could crumble the wall between them - the wall that she had erected with her sudden departure.
It was all too overwhelming. All she desired was to go and leave it all behind, forever this time. To bury her past.
“I'm sorry about Lewis. I'm sorry about everything,” she whimpered, rising to her feet.
Anthemion remained seated, his face impassive. Only a solitary shining tear, capturing the moonlights' glow, traced down his cheek, betraying his emotions.
“Don't be. You made your choice, and it was a good one. We live in different worlds now, you and I. You walk among commoners who act like nobility, and in doing so betray both. Feeling high and mighty, when thinking their opposition inferior but buckling before true nobility or higher ranked members of society. As for me, I'm just a rat of the dark, one among countless others here.”
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She wanted to contest his words, but he continued without pause.
“It was genuinely delightful to share a part of my life with you. I'm certain, for you even more so,” he concluded his thoughts with a faint smile. The same smile that had once quickened Valentina's heart, though now it was devoid of the warmth it used to carry. The sight broke her.
“Take care of yourself,” she barely muttered before taking a single step over the edge.
The roaring wind tugged at her clothes and hair as an icy chill enveloped her body. She counted one, two seconds, and then a surge of spiritual energy coursed through her, the air constricting around her form and slowing her descent. With but a soft whisper, she landed gracefully on her feet, and the darkness of the distant floor claimed her.
Anthemion wiped a tear away with the back of his hand and, rising to his feet, gazed downward, letting out a humorless laugh. How simple it would be to follow her, how alluring, but with an entirely different outcome, and escape from all his pain.
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Aurelius stared out at the dual moons, one delicate and small, the other a protective elder brother, vigilant over both night and his little sibling.
Let only the moons bear witness to the transgressions you commit.
The familiar adage brought a small smile to his lips, though it faded swiftly as he considered how many of his men would meet their demise due to the whims of the noble brat. How much would he lose to satisfy this aristocrat's desires?
What sacrifices would he be forced to make? But he couldn't refuse the orders; for the nobles presence and insight into the Lord's affairs shielded his men from doom. So, reluctantly, he obliged. A touch of his finger initiated the transmission, and the tall, narrow figure of the young master materialized in shimmering hues.
“My men are prepared and eagerly await your command, young master,” Aurelius stated with a slight bow.
Satisfied, the Novalumara noble nodded. “Good. It shall commence in a week's time. Disseminate my instructions.”
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The director had the habit of letting people dangle in their own misery for a while before inviting them in. He imagined this made him appear busy and important, but instead, everyone thought him notoriously late.
At this moment, it was Anthemion who was receiving this treatment. After waiting for nearly two hours in front of the director’s office, he seriously began contemplating the value of his education. Maybe, getting expelled wouldn't be so bad.
He could've more free time to sell drugs and make money, right? Seemed like a reasonable idea. He'd tidied himself up, straightening his shirt to the best of his abilities and tucking it neatly under his trousers. He even wore a tie tightly around his neck, instead of letting it dangle loosely like he used to.
His father's words still tormented his mind. In this quiet moment, with nothing but his thoughts, they haunted his spirit relentlessly. The venomous spite that had reverberated in his father's thunderous voice, the malicious accusations he had hurled about his children. Well, one child.
At least, that's what it had seemed like. He hadn't confronted either his mother or father about the revelations he had overheard, too afraid of their reaction to his eavesdropping. Even more so, he feared they would confirm the truth of what he had heard.
His relationship with his father had always been fairly mixed. It wasn't that he felt no attachment to the man who had supposedly brought him into this world, but it had dwindled over the years due to the cold indifference he'd faced.
Looking back, he realized there had always been a sense of aversion emanating from his father, like a faint but persistent chill that lingers even on the warmest days.
Like an unwilling tolerance of Anthemion's presence, resembling more a stranger he couldn't rid himself of than a father's love. The pain burned with fury in his heart, yet hurt with icy coldness in his soul.
Amidst his spiraling mental turmoil, the door finally creaked open, and the receptionist motioned for him to enter. The office was small, crammed with folders and aging books. A certificate of the Director's, whom he now knew as Mr. Poulos, education was proudly displayed on the wall behind him.
He sat behind a plain metal desk, flanked on both sides by towering stacks of paper. He gestured for Anthemion to take a seat, then waited, trying to drown Anthemion in the increasingly uncomfortable becoming silence.
Unbeknownst to Anthemion, their silent standoff evolved into a clash of wills and spirits, each trying to outlast the other without initiating a conversation.
Finally, as Mr. Poulos deemed it'd been enough and with a small flicker of satisfaction in his perceived victory, he began speaking deliberately slow, “Is there something you wish to say, young man?”
Anthemion felt the urge to say a lot of things, as he studied the Director's self-dignified expression with hidden disgust. But, he controlled himself, even attempting to infuse an apologetic undertone into his voice. “Yes, sir. I apologize for disrupting the classroom's peace and pledge never to repeat it again.”
“And?” the man prompted, nearly testing Anthemion's patience to its limit.
“And I'm truly sorry for disobeying you. I apologize sincerely. It won't happen again.”
The man leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face as he steepled his fingers. “Very well,” he began. “However, there must be consequences for your actions; otherwise, chaos would tear this school down within a week.”
Anthemion tensed, awaiting his punishment.
“You are suspended for five days and are not to return before then. During this time, I want you to reflect on your behavior and visualize the future you wish to create for yourself. Envision it in intricate detail, every aspect of it. Consider what steps you need to take to achieve your goals and return with renewed determination and motivation!”
Seriousness slipped into his voice, steel sharpening his tone. “But let there be no mistake, a single misstep, a harsh remark to a teacher or fellow student, a missed assignment, or even something as trivial as running in the corridors, and I will expel you without hesitation. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You're dismissed,” the Director concluded, waving his hand.
Anthemion straightened, managing to resist the urge to offer a small bow before leaving the room. As he walked through the school's gray corridors, he felt his lips curl into a smile. Suspension as a punishment? Hell, yeah!
He silently thanked whoever had conceived of this idea, vowing his everlasting gratitude. Passing a large window that overlooked the city encircling the school, he halted and leaned against the railing. Inhaling deeply, he felt his tension ebb away, leaving him as calm as a tranquil lake. He closed his eyes and stood like that for a second, relishing the feeling of utter weightlessness.
Suddenly, the ground rumbled beneath his feet, and a deafening explosion echoed through the city. A shockwave rocked the building, the windows trembling on the brink of shattering, spiderweb cracks crawling across their surfaces.
Shouts and screeching sirens pierced the air like a dissonant symphony, filling the atmosphere with jarring notes of alarm.
Disbelief etched across his face, Anthemion stared unblinkingly out the window at a colossal column of crimson-orange flames, smoke, and embers. In the far distance, he could discern two more raging infernos, totaling three pillars of destruction reaching into the otherwise clear blue sky, the clouds shrouding it before washed away by the shockwaves. The pillars towered high as if supporting the firmament themselves.
His expression twisted into a blend of horror and awe.