Chapter 7 v2
Letter
A young man in uniform was descending a wheat-covered hill. The slope forced him to lean slightly forward, and each step sank his boots among stalks that swayed with a dry murmur. He stretched his arms out to the sides, letting the spikes brush against his open palms, and smiled as he felt the golden roughness against his skin.
He breathed in deeply. Clean air filled his lungs, fresh and light, and for an instant he closed his eyes to etch the sensation into memory. Lifting his head, he gazed at the deep blue sky, so clear it seemed to shine.
He stopped halfway down the slope, motionless, savoring the silence.
—Ha ha…
The sound struck him like a blow. He opened his eyes at once, heart racing, and jerked his head back.
—Uncle? —he asked, forcing his voice to sound casual, as if he hadn't been playing with the spikes seconds earlier—. Are you coming too?
A few steps behind, at the crest of the hill, an older man was watching him. Taller than him, with a posture firm yet relaxed. He looked him over calmly, head to toe, and finally let out a mocking smile that in no way hid the tranquility of his attitude.
—I didn't think I'd see something like that —the man said, stepping a little down the hill. His voice was halfway between serious and teasing, and he raised a finger to point at him—. I interrupted your moment… your scene… or was it your philosophical act?
The young man let out air through his nose and lowered his arms, feigning annoyance.
—Yeah, you did. I was just getting to the best part —he shot back, crossing his arms as if to close the subject right then and there.
The adult tilted his head, and a restrained laugh slipped past his lips. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to make clear he enjoyed teasing him.
—Besides, of course I'll go —he added lightly—. Traveling this way is basically a paid vacation.
The young man arched a brow, giving no reply.
—By the way, since when do you like this? —the man went on, nodding toward the wheat field that still swayed—. I think this is the first time I've seen you do it.
The boy's silence was clearer than any answer. He pretended not to hear, turned his face forward, and narrowed his eyes. He had caught another sound, different from the murmur of the spikes: something ahead.
He sharpened his hearing. Voices. Firm steps crushing loose soil. The metallic creak of buckles and straps shifting with each movement.
Looking down the slope, he spotted them: a group marching a few meters ahead, perfectly aligned in two rows.
—Ignoring me, huh?… —murmured his uncle behind him, with a tone both piqued and amused.
—Let's go too —the boy said, keeping his eyes on the group.
The man clicked his tongue with feigned annoyance.
—Tch… —he accompanied the sound with a shrug, resigned to follow.
The group kept an impeccable cadence, advancing with the solidity of a single machine. Boots struck the ground in unison, lifting small clouds of golden dust that vanished instantly.
Most wore the same uniform: a two-piece suit, black, clinging to the body like a second skin. Along the edges, subtle metallic details gleamed, catching the sun with fleeting sparks whenever an arm swung or a leg marked the rhythm.
Some carried swords, none like the other. There were short, straight blades, ready to be drawn in an instant; others longer, jutting above the shoulder with worn hilts. The shine of metal flashed between movements, only a fleeting glint when the angle shifted.
Those without weapons carried cases. Large, medium, small. Some gripped them with both hands, as if guarding something fragile; others with one hand, with the ease of those used to the weight. A few had them strapped to their backs, secured like makeshift backpacks.
The boy strained his eyes. Amid the uniform mass, distinct figures began to stand out: a few wore long, light coats that broke the monotony of black. The colors varied, discreet yet clear —smoky gray, deep blue, sandy tan.
The wind played with those loose fabrics. They rippled at each step, coiling around their owners' legs as if they moved wrapped in a perpetual halo of motion.
The boy resumed walking. He lowered his gaze and found his boots, dust covering them well above the instep. The group's rhythm forced him to match every step exactly, and for a moment he became caught staring at the stiffness of the uniforms ahead, the calculated sway of cases swinging side to side in time with the march.
Then he felt a presence at his side. He barely turned his head and flinched: his uncle was there, as if he'd appeared out of nowhere.
—Didn't notice me? —the man asked, raising a brow with mock offense.
—Sorry… I got too focused —the boy replied, twisting a nervous smile.
His uncle watched him a moment longer, then tilted his head.—Excited?
—Yeah. —The answer was brief, without hesitation.
With a fluid motion, the adult settled beside him. He walked in step with the rest, though without the marked tension of the others: shoulders relaxed, steps loose, as if the discipline of the row could never touch him.
Around them, the air shifted. The bustle of the port began to seep into the scene, first a distant murmur and then a growing tide: voices raised in farewells, merchants shouting wares to newcomers, the clatter of crates and timbers dragged from place to place. The group advanced toward that noise as if walking straight into a wave of life and motion.
The ground changed underfoot. The golden sea of wheat was behind them, replaced by deeper tracks: wheel ruts hardening the soil, repeated footprints forming uneven paths. Each step raised less dust and more fragments of loose gravel.
Lifting his gaze, the boy noticed the horizon was no longer clean. Two kinds of structures were rising, different as if belonging to separate worlds.
Nearby, on cobbled streets, stood buildings of wood and worked stone, sober yet careful in design. No needless ornament, only straight lines, measured balconies, a functional elegance that conveyed order.
Beyond them, in contrast, loomed hasty wooden constructions: half-finished towers, warehouses without doors, platforms bound by ropes and nails still visible. Everything looked thrown together in a rush, raised urgently to meet immediate needs.
The port was still being born. You could feel it in the air. The smell of freshly cut wood mixed with damp rope and raw-forged metal. Faint in the finished area, it grew stronger as they neared the docks.
The bustle thickened as they drew closer. The air was saturated with voices, disorderly steps, a constant flow spilling through the narrow streets.
In one sector, whole families clustered around those departing. Mothers clutched their children tight, tears stopping short of open sobbing. Others spoke too loudly, as if volume could mask the tremor in their hands. Sons, brothers, partners said goodbye in a chaotic mix of whispers and muffled cries.
A few meters away, the tone shifted. Among soldiers it was different: no one wanted to show much. At most, restrained laughter, a slap on the back, a teasing remark about heavy packs or stifling heat. The tension was there, but disguised under a veneer of routine.
The boy and his uncle moved between both worlds. With each step they had to dodge bodies and obstacles: men hauling heavy crates, animals shoved onto auxiliary boats that groaned under the weight, local merchants shouting out dried fruits, coarse blankets, fermented drinks in clay jars. Everything was rough, raw, like the city itself, which still looked more like an expanding camp than a settled port.
At last, the group emerged into a clear space on the far left of the second half. The bustle fell behind like a distant murmur, replaced by a silence heavy with expectation.
Before them opened the river. Immense. So wide the opposite shore vanished into distant haze, impossible to distinguish. The water stretched as far as the eye could see, rolling in a slow sway that reflected light like shattered mirrors.
—The sea… —the boy breathed out without thinking, voice faint.
His uncle turned his head, but didn't interrupt.
On the horizon, water and sky merged into a single luminous band. No clear boundary: only blue, radiance, and the feeling of a world too vast to take in at a glance.
—Nice view, huh? —his uncle remarked after a few seconds, hands sunk in his pockets.
The boy nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the horizon.—Yeah… it is.
He stayed quiet a moment longer, until curiosity pushed him to speak.—By the way… how long will the trip last?
His uncle delayed, as if the question had caught him lost in thought. Then, with a calm smile and a carefree tone, he answered.
—Four days —the uncle said with satisfaction, raising his hand before the boy and spreading four fingers as if it were a small victory.
—Only four?! —the boy exclaimed, eyes wide.
—Yes. Ten days shaved off, thanks to the magic of technology.
The boy let out an incredulous laugh.—So it'll be a short trip.
—No doubt. —The man tilted his head, sure of his claim.
—Kaep!
The female voice cut through their conversation like lightning. Both turned at once toward its source: a narrow passage between warehouses, where a figure was approaching with determined steps.
His uncle narrowed his eyes, then nodded with his chin.—Look, there they are. Your parents. Seems they made it in time to say goodbye.
Kaep recognized them instantly. His mother and father stood waiting, not yet moving toward him. No tears on their faces, but tension was etched in their bodies: rigid shoulders, clenched fists, the faint shuffle of a foot trying to anchor against the ground. It was as if something inside them resisted with all its might to accept this moment.
They came closer. His uncle took the lead, as always. He greeted Kaep's father with a relaxed, almost careless gesture, and they shook hands firmly.
At first they spoke of trivial things: the trip, food aboard, a low-voiced family memory accompanied by a short smile.Then the words dropped lower. They leaned in toward each other, trading more serious murmurs about embarkation details and destination. Neither seemed to have firm certainties. Only suggested routes, possibilities, names of places that sounded far away.
Kaep's mother stepped forward then. Her steps were firm, but as soon as she stood before her son, the rigidity cracked into a gesture of restrained tenderness. She grasped his shoulders with both hands and made him meet her eyes.
She spoke plainly, but her voice carried a warm tremor. She told him to take care of his uniform, to eat enough, not to let exhaustion or his habit of little sleep drag him down. Not to overexert himself as soon as he arrived.
—When you get there, make peace with her, alright? —his mother said, never breaking eye contact.
Kaep lowered his face slightly.—I'll try.
—And remember to visit your grandfather.
The boy nodded with more vigor.—I'll pay him a visit. And while I'm at it, maybe ask if he'll train m—
He never finished. His mother's hand slid down softly until it rested on his head. A simple gesture, but it halted him instantly, as if it anchored him in place.
The boy fell silent, feeling the warmth of those fingers sinking into his hair, firmer than it seemed at first. It was a caress, yes, but also a reminder that she knew him far too well: she could read between his words and cut off any attempt to steer the moment into a joke or escape.
Her eyes shone for an instant, though no tear fell.
—Remember to send letters —she insisted, lowering her hand from his head but not stepping away.
—Of course. I won't forget —Kaep answered with a nervous smile that slipped away from him.
Then, without another word, his mother wrapped her arms around him. She pulled him tight against her chest, and for a moment the port's noise vanished for him.
She was just a few centimeters shorter, yet she held him as if he were still a child.—My little giant —she whispered, squeezing tighter.
Kaep let out a short laugh, almost awkward, but full of affection.—Ha ha…
They stayed like that a few seconds more, in silence, as if time had stretched only for them.
At last, he stood before his father.
The port's clamor still roared around them: voices, animals, crates dragged, orders shouted over the crowd. But for the boy, all of it fell away. The world shrank to that instant, to those steady, unblinking eyes watching him.
The boy before him. For a moment, neither spoke.
—Kaep.
—Yes.
—Are you ready? —the father asked, straight, with that firm voice.
Kaep swallowed hard.—I think so.
The father gave a short nod.—It's not the same to think it as to be it. But you'll understand soon enough.
The boy smiled faintly, lowered his gaze, and nodded again, silently.
His father studied him for a few more seconds, with intense focus, as if trying to etch every feature into memory. Then he slid a hand to his back. When he pulled it forward again, he held an object wrapped in dark cloth.
—Don't get distracted by what doesn't matter —the father went on, voice firm—. You'll see things you won't understand at first. Some you'll never understand. Don't try to shape them. Just keep moving forward.
Kaep held his gaze. It was the same voice as always, the same stern eyes that had guided him, saved him more than once, and watched him grow.
—Take it… —his father said, extending the wrapped object—. He would have wanted you to have it.
The boy stretched out both hands and received the weight. He expected the cold of a hilt, the edge of a blade, but what fell into his palms left him baffled.
The cloth slipped away and, instead of a common weapon, chains appeared. Not thick, but thin and light, though to the touch they felt strangely firm, as if nothing could break them. Each link shone with a muted luster, not like freshly polished metal, but closer to something old and tested.
Kaep froze, the chains resting in his hands. The murmur of the port rushed back into his ears, but he didn't look away from his father, searching his expression for an explanation.
His father watched him in silence and, suddenly, his lips curved faintly. A slight smile slipped out, a mix of satisfaction and amusement at Kaep's bewildered expression. For a moment, the stern mask cracked.
—Ask your uncle later how to use them —he said, pointing at the chains with a finger of his left hand—. He saw them used. He could teach you.
Kaep blinked, still incredulous, and squeezed the links between his fingers.—Any other advice? —he asked, straightening his posture, regaining composure after the shock.
His father delayed in answering. He glanced aside for a moment. Finally he lowered his voice, every syllable carrying a different weight.
—Don't aim to stand out. Aim to endure.
Silence.
Kaep blinked, swallowing with difficulty. His father broke it by placing a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't tender: the pressure was firm, measured.
—And if something happens… keep a cool head. —His voice was grave, leaving no room for doubt—. It's the only thing you'll have out there.
—I know —Kaep answered.
His father shook his head briefly.—No. You don't. But you'll learn.
The words hung in the air. Another pause, heavier than the last.
Then, slowly, the man slid his hand into his coat. Kaep followed the movement with his eyes, expectant, while the port's noise seemed to fade again. From the dark fabric, his father drew a small envelope, folded in half. The edge was worn.
He held it a moment between his fingers, saying nothing, as if the object itself weighed more than it seemed. Then, he handed it to Kaep.
—This is your name there.
Kaep took it silently, feeling the envelope's rough edge against his fingers.
—Open it once you're on the ship. —His father's voice did not tremble, but dropped a tone—. Use it well.
The boy nodded quietly and tucked it into the inner pocket of his uniform, not daring to look inside.
Then a siren tore the air. Three sharp blasts, repeated, cutting through the port's murmur. The signal. Boarding was beginning.
Movement erupted around them. Kaep's mother hugged him again, quickly, tightly, not giving him time to answer. His father followed her lead.
His uncle settled at his side, hefting the case with a casual gesture that barely masked the urgency. The group of soldiers was already regrouping, falling into scattered lines as they moved toward the dock.
Kaep turned his head one last time. His father was still there, standing, firm, without an extra gesture, as if the entire act of farewell had already ended. His silhouette receded among the crowd, implacable, until the boy had to take the next step.
***
Walking among the soldiers toward the ship.
Kaep slipped his hand back into his pocket and pulled out the envelope once more, pressing it against his chest as if it were an invisible shield.
He walked only a few meters before pulling it away. He held it before his face, staring at the worn paper, trying to imagine what could be inside. He blinked.
---
A thunderclap tore through the silence of his mind. The port's clean air vanished at once.
Wet metal. The endless roar of rain battering hard surfaces. A piercing cold that seeped to the bone. His whole body reacted to the change, as if he'd been hurled without warning into a foreign world.
"Where… am I?"