The ruins of the houses stretched as far as the eye could see, overflowing onto the hillsides. A short wingbeat away from the small farm where they had taken refuge, at the highest point of the town, stood the remains of a cathedral. Its half-collapsed bell tower still dominated the horizon. But reaching it would not be easy. He would have to circumvent the hill or take the old road. Wishing to avoid an unnecessary detour, he resolved to take the winding path carved into the stone, snaking along the southern slope before joining the town. Without wings, he would have to make the journey on foot. From the plain, he carefully observed the narrow ledge escaping from the rock.
Time passed, and life began to reclaim its territory. Tar still emerged in some places, but abundant vegetation replaced it. Cotton-like trees emerged from the crevices, defying the rock. Long wooden vines cascaded down the wall. A floral carpet ran along the ground, spreading the same fragrance as the meadow. Norman, burdened by his load, struggled to make progress, fighting to maintain his balance. Brambles clung to his clothes, and tall grass tickled his nostrils. After fifteen meters of vertical ascent, he stopped. Before him, the road disappeared for five or six strides. A few sturdy trees emerged from this gap, extending from one side to the other of the precipice. He spotted the first tree and tapped it with his foot to assess its strength. The branch trembled slightly but seemed capable of supporting him. He resumed his ascent, cautiously relying on the solid canopy that overhung the precipice. Exhausted from the previous day's run, Norman felt the weight of fatigue on his body.
Step by step, he moved slowly, forging a path through the vegetation reclaiming the abandoned road. The wind blew gently, carrying with it the whisper of trees and the fresh scent of nature. Occasionally, Norman lowered his gaze to admire the breathtaking view of the plains below, a striking blend of natural beauty and urban desolation. After one final effort, he finally reached the top of the hill, where the menacing ruins of the cathedral stood before him.
As he finally entered the cathedral square, the day was ending. The old bell tower seemed to await him, its gray silhouette standing at the edge of the courtyard. The last rays of the sun pierced the hazy sky, their flickering light gently caressing the contours of the stones. This encounter drew an incorporeal smile, which came to life on the cobblestones. A shiver ran down Norman's spine as the wind began to whistle. Gusts of wind lifted the dust from the ground, making the shadows dance on the dilapidated walls. Time was running out for him. Night was approaching, along with the storm. The balloon would not be able to traverse the thick fog that obscured the sky. He had to reach the summit as quickly as possible. His silhouette broke the mocking grin of the shadows as he crossed the courtyard.
The cathedral door was pushed in. One leaf lay on its side, while the other, still held by an old, rusty hinge, blocked the passage without much conviction. A strong odor of decaying wood filled the air, imbuing the place with an unhealthy atmosphere. Brambles clung to the walls, appropriating the abandoned space. Some danced in the alcoves, toasting as if celebrating their triumph, while others feasted on the dilapidated roof. The ceremony had begun some time ago. Soon, the guests would fight over the last morsels. Fortunately, a path had been cleared through the thorns blocking the entrance.
Thanking Venig for sparing him this trouble, he slipped inside, his senses alert. The nave was plunged into darkness, disturbed only by the faint rays of light filtering through the stained-glass windows. To his right, the collapsed staircase of the bell tower lay in pieces. He lit his torch, illuminating a ladder beneath the bell trapdoor, perched ten meters above. A long-braided rope awaited him on the ground, and a smile formed on his face. "Exactly where the Breton indicated." All he had to do now was secure the rope to the ladder, but at this height, it seemed like a real puzzle. "And to top it off, the old man already messed up..." he muttered. "No, don't think about that, find a solution. No! We don't think, we reflect! We analyze!"
He wandered among the rubble in search of an idea. The hall was almost empty. A few decaying candlesticks, disordered prayer benches, an abandoned altar. Water had seeped in through the roof, and the pale twilight light filtered through the holes, revealing the skeletal framework, and creating an atmosphere oscillating between romanticism and gloom. Under gold and silver, water and light, lush vegetation invaded the space. The left wing of the building was mostly collapsed, with cornice debris scattered on the floor and a few broken stones nearby. "Hmm... maybe by using a weight, like when climbing trees," he thought.
Hastily, he gathered a handful of projectiles and attached the first one to the rope with a magician's knot. Facing the ladder, he bent his knees. The rope swung back and forth. When it reached sufficient speed, he let go. The fibers rubbed against his palm. The rope went up a bit before falling back after only a few meters. The stone became detached and shattered against a pillar. Disappointed, he tried again with the other projectiles, to no avail. Most of them came loose, and those that held on passed well below the first rung. "I would never throw that high," he sighed.
He continued his exploration of the nave, his eyes gradually adjusting to the surrounding darkness. He spotted a discreet arch to the left of the altar. It led to a narrow stone staircase. Feeling his way, he climbed the steps until he reached a richly decorated balcony, hidden behind an entanglement of greenery and copper. A fractured rose window cast a violet aura against the walls, revealing a magnificent organ keyboard. Its multiple rows of toothless keys slumbered under a thick layer of dust, while the brambles escaped from the instrument, like music of old. The organist's bench was neatly arranged against the balustrade, inviting one to sit. He settled on it, lost in his thoughts.
From here, he overlooked the entire congregation. The cool wind infiltrated through the stained-glass windows, caressing his hair. His breath whispered through the organ pipes and escaped in long, creaking laments. An incorporeal melody played its part to the rhythm of the gusts, captivating his attention. The brambles that inhabited the instrument wriggled in resonance with the vibrations of the brass, altering the notes and creating a melodic whistling that filled the space. He followed the movements of the brambles up to the ceiling, where they hung from the framework, abandoning the bellows.
The framework, although partly corroded, still supported the shaky roof of the nave, and a crazy idea sprouted in Norman's mind. If he could reach that perch, he would be just one step away from the ladder. He noticed the few makeshift weights he had kept in his bag and tightened their straps, as well as those of his gloves. He grabbed the first falcon within his reach and lifted himself up with the help of the brambles. The vegetal organ offered little resistance. Level after level, he climbed toward the ceiling.
Up close, he was seized by the majesty of the instrument, even in its current deformation. Greatness and decadence seemed to gently embrace each other. As he ascended, a strange feeling gripped him, tightening his throat, like an indefinable little melody. A tune he would have listened to a thousand times yet couldn't whistle. A song, a whisper, an emotion.
That's how they appeared to Norman, in those rare moments when he could lose himself in contemplation. Whether it was a landscape, a scene, or a character, he could remain in awe of their beauty. But the next moment, the memory would already vanish. Incapable of describing their essence, their wisdom marked his steps. These visions were often nothing more than ephemeral poetry, but sometimes, they disrupted his reference points.
Here, the experience painted a picture. The tale, the fable. The Truth, the Beauty. The keyboard, the bellows, and the brambles. Of thorns, ivory, and bronzes. In the midst of it all, himself, facing God the Father. A human being in struggle but standing tall, refusing his apocalypse. He rose above the earth where they wanted to bury him, to the sound of the clamor of a conquering nature. Of the world and his own mind. Was this the exact image he perceived in that moment? Who knows? The question wasn't there.
What these fleeting feelings brought with them, the sensation of finding a lost piece, a part of an unsolvable puzzle that he had to reconstruct. Piece after piece, between pain and joy, with terror or wonder. This surplus of soul, he relentlessly pursued, pressed by the fear of time, because with each discovered piece, two new ones unveiled themselves, like the heads of the hydra. An unbearable thirst for life, embraced by the fear of death. That's how he conceived them in his most lucid moments.
As he approached the summit, the charm broke. Blessing his gloves, he reached the height of the first roof beam, whispering under his breath, "You better hold up, old girl." Casting a final glance below, he launched himself.
For a moment, he floated in the air, but his back collided with the waterlogged wood, and his right hand grabbed onto a thorny stalk that immediately gave way. He plummeted into the void. His arms flailed desperately, searching for a grip. That's when the cold touch of metal jolted him. He clung to it with all his might, swaying dangerously. A metallic click resounded up to the ceiling, echoing beneath the vault. Then, once again, he felt himself falling. After another jolt, he opened his wide eyes. A bronze face, distorted by time, stared at him. He only recognized it by the crown it wore. The agonizing body of Christ had just saved him. To reassure himself, Norman joked, "That's the first time he's saved someone, that one."
He assessed his situation. Before him, the outlines of the balcony railing were visible. He endeavored to approach it by swaying back and forth. The chain creaked above his head, and the cross began to oscillate. When it reached the end of its ellipse, he threw himself toward the balcony. In a thunder of dissonant sounds, he landed heavily on the muted keys of the organ. Barely regaining his composure, a metallic rumble sounded behind him, followed by the crash of bronze on the ground. Paying no attention to it, he climbed the silent pipes once again and found himself facing the steep framework. Damp wood escaped where his hand had torn the brambles.
Anxious to avoid another misadventure, he took the time to attach a weight to the rope, easily winding it around the beam before tying the other end to his waist. Bending over, he leaped. His arms embraced the beam, but the thick thorns punctured his coat, and his hands found no grip among the prickly stems. The rope tightened as he slid along the framework. He tightened his grip, feeling the points pierce his skin. Ignoring the pain, he thrust his hands into the brambles and hoisted himself onto the beam, panting.
Hastily, he retrieved the rope, placing it against his chest. Catching his breath, he stood up cautiously. Balancing on the vegetal surface remained precarious. Step by step, he moved carefully through the brambles, fearing that a misplaced stem would drag him into the abyss. He continued until he reached the other side of the room, leaving the ladder only five meters away.
With delicacy, he took out the weights he had gathered from his bag. He unraveled the rope and, grabbing the first weight, tied it to the rope. Like a slingshot, he spun the rope, giving it speed. The knot was secure, his aim precise. Unfortunately, he narrowly missed his target. The wall in front of him was showered with sparks, and only the rope came back to him.
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Despite this failure, he didn't lose heart. He attached a new weight to the rope, knowing it was his second-to-last attempt before having to descend. The situation was becoming critical. He focused all his attention on the ladder, the rope, and his shot, almost forgetting to maintain his balance. The projectile flew toward its target, struck the second rung, ricocheted off the wall, and disappeared into the void.
Turbulent thoughts invaded his mind. "Okay, no panic. You're almost there! You've already missed twice... Yes, but this third time will be the charm... You're going to mess it all up... You've already failed twice, why would you succeed this time? You should give up..." He needed to calm down. He put down the rope and clasped his hands together, trying to slow his rapid breath.
The tumultuous thoughts filled his mind. The image of failure appeared, dark and daunting, filled with reproach and regret. Then came the image of success, exhilarating and comforting, filled with applause and self-esteem. Finally, there was the image of inaction, easy but dishonorable. This intrusive mental film disrupted his thoughts, sowing doubt and fear, feeding off him. However, he refused to give it his attention. Because all these fears were just one event among many, one of the countless possibilities of his actions. It was just a parameter. Therefore, the outcome didn't matter. The shot would take place regardless of what he decided.
He took his destiny into his own hands. The rope stretched to its maximum. The reel whistled through the air. He let go, feeling the rope slide against his gloves. The projectile soared through the void that separated him from the ladder. After a perfect trajectory, it lodged just above the third rung. The hesitant rope eventually joined him on the other side, crashing to the ground with him. A sigh of relief mixed with a muttered curse escaped him.
He tied the other end of the rope to the strap of his bag before letting it drop. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he began to retrace his steps. The relief of success made the descent more relaxed. He found his belongings laid out on the slabs, where the two ends of the rope awaited him. He grasped the fabric containing the balloon and tied it to his already attached bag, then hoisted it all up to the ladder. Once this task was accomplished, he securely fastened the rope to a nearby pillar.
He only had to climb about ten meters, child's play. However, as he ascended the first rungs, his breath became more labored, his knees trembled, and his mouth became dry. With one final effort, he pushed open the hatch blocking his access and, with difficulty, lifted the balloon through the opening before collapsing onto the unstable floor. Lying there, he took a few minutes to recover. The contact of the damp wood and cold stone soothed his body and mind.
Norman took a deep breath, feeling slightly revitalized. In the distance, the sun was nothing but a thin line on the horizon. The last rays of the day bathed the valley in a yellow and ochre glow. The colors of the trees gradually appeared as the wind rustled the foliage. The scent of an approaching storm hung in the air, and the sky was unsettled. Only a few sections of the roof remained, and the gusts of wind made them tremble. "I'd better leave this place before the storm breaks," he thought.
He removed the lock from the box and took out the device. A red LED shone near the screen, indicating that the battery was still in good condition. As a precaution, he attached the end of the rope to the contraption. Pressing a button, the LED turned yellow, and a pumping sound could be heard. The balloon slowly inflated. When the LED turned green, it floated above Norman's head. With a decompression noise, a capsule popped out from the back of the control box. He carefully stored it in his bag; everything seemed in order.
Without wasting time, he activated the release mechanism of the winch. The balloon soared, swaying through the air, propelled by the density of the surrounding atmosphere. Very quickly, it disappeared behind the clouds, while the sound of the reel mixed with the howling wind. Fifteen seconds passed, and suddenly, the winch abruptly froze. The cable stopped, and a beep sounded, followed by the message on the screen:
"Transmitter/Receiver, online.
Cable tension: moderate.
Available satellites: World 3, World 7, World 8..."
Norman scrolled the cursor to World 7, thinking, "Can't find anything better than this." He entered the coordinates for Aurumont Intelligence Headquarters, and a loading screen appeared. A looping animation showed a hand proudly raising a middle finger before disappearing. Perched on his bell tower, Lloyd's courteous gesture warmed his heart. He watched the screen fill and empty for a good twenty minutes. Night had fallen, bringing with it cold and gusts of wind that danced in its wake.
It had been nearly two days since he had slept, and fatigue was wearing down his body and straining his mind. The cable continued to dance in the sky as Norman gripped the controls so tightly that his knuckles turned white. In a corner of the screen, the tension indicator blinked, now displaying "high." Norman wondered what they could be doing to take so long to respond. Normally, a line would be open at all times in case of emergency. Were they already under attack? After twenty minutes, the screen blinked again: "Connection in progress." Norman held his breath. Suddenly, crackling could be heard through the speaker:
"Transmitter EJK-7512. Do you copy? ... ?
... Echo ... Juliet ... Kilo-75-2 ... Do you copy?"
Norman shouted over the gusts of wind, "The wind is strong. I can't hear you well. Urgent matter!"
"This is A.U.R.A. ... Do you copy? ...-7512."
"Yes! Yes, I copy! Urgent matter!"
"... Okay, EJK. You're requesting urgent matters. We will improve the connection to a secure line... You should be able to hear us now."
"Loud and clear! This is Harvesters – Lima/Victor/November. Currently on a collection and reconnaissance mission. We're in the countryside, near Gap. We have made visual contact with an imminent threat to the security of Aurumont and the free colonies of the empire. The largest mercenary army ever seen in the Zone! They're coming from the Alps and heading north. Our allies need to prepare to evacuate quickly! Their armada has astonishing new weapons, cannons capable of destroying an entire avenue, Ether shields...! You must..."
"One moment, sir," a woman's voice tempered through the handset. "Please calm down, you seem very agitated. Take a deep breath and repeat all that to me."
Norman pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated by the casualness of his interlocutor. "Calm down, she has no idea of the approaching danger." He began again, carefully enunciating each word, "The largest mercenary army ever seen in the Zone has just crossed the Alps and is heading north. It is highly likely that they are heading straight towards us. Aurumont needs to prepare, the colonies need to be evacuated."
"A strong likelihood... you say?"
"Yes, well, that's not the most important part. Did you listen to what I just told you?" Norman asked, bewildered.
"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. But you see, we receive many calls, which forces us to, how shall I put it... prioritize."
"And an imminent threat of death isn't serious enough to be taken into account?" Norman asked, astonished.
The voice seemed to contemplate. "Hmm, yes... Yes, indeed! Of course! I see. But are you absolutely certain of what you're claiming, sir?"
"I'm telling you, there has been visual contact!" Norman insisted.
"Alright, very well... but visual contact with what exactly?"
Norman rubbed his temples, exasperated. He responded with a grating voice, "A massive GC troop."
"A troop? You mentioned an army..."
"Ah! So, you understood me! Are you mocking me?"
"No, sir. Not at all, sir. I'm just ensuring the plausibility of your account."
"My... account? Who cares about my account!" Norman snapped, running out of patience.
"Sir, please calm down! Otherwise, I will end the communication," the other person interrupted.
Norman remained silent. "Respond to that idiot, or you'll have done this for nothing," he told himself. It took an effort, but he managed to reply, "Madam, I assure you of my good faith, an imminent danger threatens our security, the city must be evacuated."
"Well, voilà! When things are explained calmly, we understand each other better, don't we?" For a response, she received an approving grunt. She continued apologetically, "Unfortunately, what you're asking exceeds my jurisdiction. I prefer to transfer you to my superior. Please wait a moment, sir."
"What...?" Beep... the dial tone interrupted him.
... Beep. (?!)
... Beep. (What are they doing?)
... Beep. (Damn it.)
"... Hello, sir, do you copy?" a honeyed voice whispered. "I've been told it's urgent..."
Norman was left speechless. "What kind of mess is this again?" In the speakers, murmurs could be heard:
"Celena, I have other things to do. It's 8:30 PM..."
"I know, sir, but it could be serious..."
"Ugh, can't you give it to Charolus? I should already be home! Besides, he's the one who handles public relations..."
"Sir, not so loud, the person might hear you."
"You're right, Celena... Mr. Normenius? Oh no, sorry. Mr... Norman? Is that it? I'm told it is. It's your turn, please. Hurry up, I'm in a hurry!"
Norman tried to keep calm. He brought his head closer to the receiver to ensure he was understood.
"Is that you I hear breathing so loudly?" the man's voice continued.
"We need to evacuate the colonies... A column of GC mercenaries... From the Alps... Heading north... Heavily armed," Norman repeated in one breath.
"Now, calm down!" he was interrupted. "Please, take a deep breath. You're in good hands. This can't be as serious as you describe it..."
"The free colonies must be evacuated as soon as possible! Tell them to hide until the storm passes," Norman insisted.
"Now, now! Let's not rush things. Evacuating entire cities these days... Are you kidding me? Do you want us to believe we're back in 2096?"
"Listen to me, sir... sir?"
"Senator Arpegions, at your service."
"Arpegions?! You're from the Inner Circle, aren't you? Perfect, you can convene the council! You must listen to me! They can bypass the mist! Thousands of them! Tens of thousands! If you don't do something, it will be a massacre..." The wind's howling intensified.
"Never. Never! The council will never agree to abandon the colonies, Mr. Normandin. Come on. As one of its members, I can guarantee that. Besides, no army has ever managed to cross the Magna Zona," the senator interjected.
A gust nearly ripped the receiver from Norman's hands. Dust whipped across his face. Lightning struck the spire next to him, cracking the air.
"Listen to me! I don't have much time. I need to make sure you understand the gravity of the situation," Norman pleaded.
"I understand it very well, Mr. Normandricus. But there will be no evacuation. I'm sorry. If things get complicated, we will know how to defend our lands. Goodbye..."
"Wait! Wait, please. Fine, let's forget about the evacuation. However, promise me at least to shelter them behind your walls. They are only a few thousands. They will be crushed if the GC targets them!"
"I don't know. It might sow fear among the citizens. People will wonder why we are evacuating our colonies. And to sustain thousands of useless mouths... Why would we want such a thing?"
So, losing his temper in the face of such irresponsibility, Norman abandoned all politeness and replied bluntly:
"Because you have exploited them for years, for their labor, for their minds. You owe them that much! I know people in those communities, good people, and there's no way I'll let them die because of your carelessness. What kind of system puts a fool like you in such a position of responsibility?"
"The kind of system that ensures stability at the center of the most unstable zone on the globe," Arpegions simply responded, not losing his composure.
"You pathetic excuse for a human being!" Norman shouted. "Listen to me, Senator: when I come back, when I see the massacre that you have allowed to happen, it better not include the corpses of my friends as part of the spectacle! Otherwise, I will hold you responsible for their fate. And if your fat ass, hidden behind Aurumont's Ether, manages to escape, I will relentlessly hunt you through this hell to make you pay the price for your recklessness! So, think carefully, Arpegions the fool! Before making a decision that we both will regret the consequences of..."
"Very well, Mr. Norman," the man responded calmly. "You leave me no choice..." The connection abruptly cut off.
Unbeknownst to him, Norman was propelled out of the crumbling bell tower where lightning struck again. Meanwhile, the balloon was lost in the clouds above his head, carried away by the storm. The landscape seemed to spin before his eyes, or perhaps it was he who was spinning. To stabilize himself, he spread his arms and legs, desperately seeking a point of support. Luckily, his left hand met the nearby severed cable, and he instinctively grabbed onto it, praying that it was still securely attached. For a second that felt like an eternity, the cable hung in suspense. Then, with a metallic screech, it tensed between his fingers.
A violent jolt coursed through his body, nearly dislocating his shoulders. Like a six meters pendulum's trinket, he swung straight toward the wall. With a crash of wood and stone, the wall disintegrated, as did his shoulder. Pain flooded his mind, a white flash blinded him, and he felt himself falter. Nonetheless, he held onto the cable tightly, as if it were his lifeline. His eyes fluttered, his ears buzzed, and the wind shook him vigorously, threatening to send him back to a bruise-fishing expedition. Grumbling, he raised his head and glanced upward.
Just one floor above him, the terminal, still attached to the cable, scraped against the ledge. "My hero," he simpered internally. He looked at his arm and grimaced. The impact had left marks, and the tingling sensation in his left side was a bad omen. He tried to move his arm, but the result did little to reassure him. His mind panicked. Unable to climb, he focused on his grip on the cable. It was wet and slippery between his fingers, making his hold increasingly unstable. Pain deliriously consumed him, while the repeated assaults of the wind weakened his resolve.
His arms throbbed with pain. No, his entire body screamed in agony. His muscles, tendons, bones—every fiber of his nerves was on fire. A dreadful cramp formed in his battered core, tormented by the elements. Countless flavors of distress took hold of his mind, monopolizing his thoughts. Drawing from his last mental resources, he set them aside one by one, almost forgetting them, and focused all his attention on his hands, legs, and the cable. All his strength engaged in a fierce battle against gravity. The rest no longer interested him. A single task now occupied his mind: hold on for one minute, then another, and yet another. Survive. Survive, because he was convinced that Venig and Lloyd would soon come to his rescue.
Suddenly, a sound crept in among the torments of the storm, disturbing his concentration. The roar of an engine, one that emanates from a machine pushed to its limits. Like the noise the family car made when Junior mistook his feeding bottle for a bottle of bleach. The tumult drew closer. Then, with a metallic screech, it abruptly stopped outside the enclosure.