The light from the street lamps reflected off the thin layer of snow covering the cobblestones of the city as thousands of snowflakes drifted slowly from the sky in a silent dance. A delicate aroma of warm bread hung in the air, held between the rows of stone buildings lining the main street. Through the yellow glow of certain windows, one could make out small shadows laughing heartily, while others, larger, conversed more quietly.

It was a perfect night. Yes, an ideal evening to erase the human race from the face of the Earth.

Ratramne had only to press the button he was holding between his fingers; a single motion would make his dream finally come true. How many years had he fantasized about this moment? Too many, no doubt. So many that he had stopped counting. Only the end result mattered.

So why? Why was he hesitating, so close to his goal? Perhaps he no longer truly knew… or, conversely, perhaps he knew all too well what that gesture would imply.

His knees sank to the ground as his pale hands, pressing down into the white blanket of winter, slowly became covered with tiny pearls, torn from his eyes by gravity. He, who ordinarily commanded respect in his brown suit matching the hue of his eyes, was now just a shadow of himself. Even his chestnut hair, usually carefully groomed, fell over his slender face, weighed down by the burden of the world.

On this cold winter’s night, there would be no extermination. And as a strange sign of reprieve granted to humankind, the city’s clock tower struck midnight, pulling Ratramne from his stupor. He reached for the pocket watch resting in his jacket pocket, looked at the time, then let out a bitter chuckle.

— "September 24th, huh… Happy birthday to me, I suppose. Fifty-two years already, damn it… what a waste."

As Ratramne stood up, an unusual sound caught his attention. The cry of a newborn. On a polished metal bench to the left side of the street lay a child, wrapped in a green cloth blanket. Ratramne was certain he hadn’t sensed anyone nearby, having specifically waited until midnight, the hour of curfew, to avoid just this kind of inconvenience. By what sorcery could this child have been placed so close to him without him noticing? After a few seconds of thought, he considered another possibility: what if the child had been left there before the restriction period? This way, there would be no risk of anyone discovering it before the parent had time to disappear.

— “Ingenious plan!” Ratramne exclaimed with a smile, before suddenly grasping the weight of the situation. What was he going to do with this newborn?

Ironically, Ratramne, who had been contemplating the extermination of humanity just minutes earlier, couldn’t bring himself to let this infant die on that bench. He was trapped, and the frustration was so intense that he cursed at the dark veil of the night sky.

— "Listen to me, you up there! If this is punishment, know that it's a twisted one! I hate children, for heaven’s sake! You should count yourself lucky I backed out at the last moment! With a punishment like this, I might just change my mind!" Ratramne shouted.

Immediately, a window on the street opened, and the shadow of a woman leaned out, glancing left and right to find the source of this forbidden noise at such a late hour. Without delay, Ratramne carefully picked up the child and hurried away, running down the main alley.

The child had stopped crying moments earlier, as soon as he’d glimpsed Ratramne’s crestfallen face. In the middle of the wide cobblestone street, lined every ten meters with tall metal lampposts casting light on the baby’s ruddy face, Ratramne muttered to himself, occasionally glancing down at the child in his arms, hoping for some kind of response.

— "Ah, what a mess... What am I going to do? They’ll never let me bring you into the academy, that’s for sure. Even with my status, I doubt I could just impose the presence of a newborn like this," he grumbled. "He’ll have my head, no doubt about it. Especially from me… I’ve spent years lecturing him on the pointlessness of having children, and now here I am, bringing him one fresh from his mother’s womb."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Ratramne stopped suddenly, realizing he hadn’t even bothered to check the child’s gender. Was it a girl or a boy? If he wanted to spin a believable story, he’d need to check before reaching the academy. Quickly, he unfolded the bottom of the blanket, prompting a laugh from the child. There was no doubt—it was a boy. Ratramne wrapped the blanket back around the baby to protect him from the snow, then hurried toward the academy’s gate a little farther down the street.

The academy was the central hub of the city of Machinerie. Its immense black iron bars seemed to pierce the pale travertine blocks, rising ninety-two meters into the air. Artfully covered with trees and tropical plants, the building was always draped in a colorful veil, day and night, softening the sharp angles of the architecture. But the true pride of the academy was its small circular temple: adorned with marble columns and a gilded ceiling, it sat majestically atop the building. Ratramne couldn’t help but admire the structure each time he passed, and the child, in a silent stillness, seemed to share that admiration.

As Ratramne was about to push open the main gates, topped with a sign reading Lybboane Academy of Erudition, a gruff voice called to him from the other side of the gate:

— "Curfew has been over for more than thirty minutes!" barked an older man with a tone of irritation, his white hair perfectly matching the toga he wore.

Ratramne stayed silent, his foot tracing a small hollow in the snow.

— "Then again, I should consider myself lucky to still be among the living, I suppose," the old man added sardonically.

Stung by the remark, Ratramne replied in a low voice:

— "Berose, listen…"

Before he could finish his sentence, the old man opened the gates and embraced him tightly, causing Ratramne’s bones to crack.

— "No need to explain yourself. I’m just relieved to see you again; I knew reason would bring you back to us."

The infant, smothered by the embrace, began to cry, startling Berose, who stepped back, glancing back and forth between the child and Ratramne.

— "A child?"

— "Yes, I found him abandoned on a bench on Sand Cat Street. Hard to let him die in this cold, and with the curfew, who else could have taken him in?"

Berose hesitated for a moment, resting his fist under his chin before looking up.

— "True, hard to do otherwise… But you know the rule. What are you planning to do?" he asked, frowning.

— "Let’s be realistic. His parents left him like a bag in the street; they clearly don’t want him back. Looking for them would only bring trouble. We’d have to justify why I was out at this hour… for what reason… you can see the problems coming."

— "Ratramne, how many years have I told you that your obsession, your grand plan, would bring you nothing but trouble? And not just trouble for you—for the whole academy?"

— "Enough, Berose. Right now, this is about the child."

The old man nodded silently, understanding the complexity of the situation after nearly five decades by Ratramne’s side.

— "A penance… yes, a penance," Berose murmured like an old sage.

— "Excuse me?"

— "You know, perhaps this child is a kind of penance for what you were about to do—a sort of second chance offered by the Goddess." Berose buried his face in his hands for a few seconds before adding, "Klaios Charis."

Ratramne chuckled at his friend’s words.

— "I had thought of it more as a punishment, honestly… In any case, given the situation, I’ll have to make a decision. I don’t exactly have a plan for the future anymore."

— "Ratramne, are you really going to do this? Are you really going to designate this child? You understand what this means… why rush?" Berose asked, his voice trembling.

— "I’ve worked decades for this plan, and now, at the crucial moment… well, I’m not going to press that button, that’s certain. So why not? His parents abandoned him on a bench in the snow; it would be a beautiful revenge to grant him a status far above all those vultures."

Berose’s wrinkles deepened, revealing the distress that filled his mind as he grasped his friend’s decision. He struggled to believe the scene unfolding before him.

— "Why is it that all your decisions must be driven by vengeance or a sense of injustice, honestly. You’re a good man, Ratramne—give yourself a chance, for God’s sake!"

Surprised by his own oath, Berose immediately added, "Klaios Charis."

— "Berose, what would you have preferred? That I press the button and annihilate humanity? That I return to the academy without pressing it, only to disappear without ever having a successor? Or that I offer this child a chance, perhaps sent by the Goddess herself?"

Under the nighttime glow, two shimmering trails emphasized the roundness of the old man’s cheeks. There was no longer any doubt: his friend had made his decision, and for the first time, he, who had always prided himself on upholding the rules, found himself despising them with an inconsolable sadness.

— "So be it…" Berose murmured, wiping his nose and eyes. "O Goddess, on this September 24, 2119, under your merciful gaze, we mourn the loss of Ratramne de Baccarat and celebrate the birth of Ratramne de Baccarat, Klaios Charis."

Berose embraced Ratramne once more and murmured, almost to himself:

— "Let the last year of your life begin, my dearest friend."