Chapter 3 – The Boy in the Alley
The figure at the far end of the alley was small — no more than twelve years old — hunched slightly, his head bowed as if the weight of the mist itself rested on his shoulders, pressing down on the weary bones of the night before.
The sound of his crying was sharper here, cutting through the air like the high ring of glass, piercing their tired senses more sharply than it should.
They took a cautious step forward.
The boy's head turned.
Ren stopped breathing.
Where his eyes should have been were only smooth, hollow sockets — not bleeding, not torn, just gone, the edges clean and too perfect, like the absence had always been there. His hair was white, not the pale blond of sun and youth, but brittle bone-white, almost glowing faintly in the mist. No shadow followed him, the alley walls seeming to absorb the space he occupied.
He had no shadow.
And then his mouth began to move. At first, it was the tremble of someone about to speak — but then the corners kept stretching, splitting upward until they tore toward his ears, revealing a grin that was too wide, too deep.
Liza gasped; the sound muffled by her scarf.
The boy leaned forward slightly, and for the briefest moment, the faint reddish shimmer crawling unnaturally along the alley walls, distorting their vision.
Then he was gone — pulled into something that didn't exist, leaving the mist quivering where he had been.
No turning, no footsteps. It was as if something had yanked him backward into the dark, pulling him into a space that didn't exist.
"Move," Max said, his voice tight.
They didn't argue.
They ran, boots striking the cobblestones with dull thuds The fog swallowed every sound except their own breath, each step twisting the streets in ways their minds could barely comprehend, making the city itself feel unsteady beneath them.
They turned corners without thought, guided only by the instinct to get away, until the mist began to thin and the air grew faintly warmer.
Signs of life appeared — a cart rolling slowly past, pulled by a tired-looking mule; a woman in a dark shawl standing in a doorway, her expression unreadable; a cluster of market stalls with their keepers speaking in low, flat tones.
The people were present, but the atmosphere felt drained, as if the city itself had forgotten how to live. Colors were muted, voices flat, eyes observing them with quiet calculation
Ren slowed, his hands still deep in his coat pockets. "Better than no people, I guess."
Elli scanned the street. "Not by much."
It wasn't like the lively districts they'd seen in Mare Rosso before. Here, the windows were half-shuttered, the signs above the inns and cafés painted in faded colors, their edges chipped. The smell of bread and coffee hung faintly in the air but without the warmth that should have accompanied it.
John glanced at a pair of men sitting at a table outside a narrow tavern. They weren't drinking or speaking — just staring out toward the street, their eyes following the group until they passed.
"This place is…" he hesitated, "…wrong."
Liza murmured, "Feels like no one's happy to see us."
"They're not hostile," Max said. "Just… watchful."
They found the hotel almost by accident — a narrow, three-story building with iron railings curling along the balconies. A faded mural on the front wall showed a ship at sea, its sails tattered, but the paint was so worn the sky was only a patchwork of gray and pale blue.
Inside, the air was warmer, but the quiet seemed deliberate, heavy. The man at the counter greeted them politely, yet his gaze lingered too long on the street, as if judging their intrusion, but his eyes lingered on the street before returning to them. He slid a key across the desk without making small talk.
They climbed to the second floor, the wood of the stairs creaking under their weight.
The moment the door closed behind them, they stopped pretending.
Liza dropped into the nearest chair, rubbing her arms. "That… that wasn't a person."
Ren paced near the window, his hands still clenched. "No kidding. That wasn't a kid playing tricks, either."
John sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward. "It smiled. I keep seeing that. Like it… liked what it saw."
Elli, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her satchel beside her, spoke without looking up. "It didn't have eyes. No shadow. That's not something you just forget."
Max stayed near the door, arms folded. "It wasn't random. It led us there. Drew us in."
Ren stopped pacing. "You think that was… a trap?"
Max didn't answer.
The silence stretched, heavy and close.
Finally, Liza spoke. "We should leave tomorrow. Go back to the academy."
Ren frowned. "Over one creepy kid?"
"One creepy kid that disappeared into thin air," John said sharply. "In a city that doesn't feel like our city anymore."
Elli nodded. "Whatever's going on here, it's not worth staying for. You feel it too."
Ren muttered something under his breath but didn't argue further.
Max pushed away from the door. "Fine. We leave in the morning."
No one said much after that. The quiet wasn't restful — it was the silence of people too aware of what might be watching, listening, or shifting just beyond perception.
Outside, a carriage passed along the street below, its wheels rattling softly over the stones. The sound faded into the distance, leaving the room heavy again.
They were still in Mare Rosso.
But not the Mare Rosso they'd known.
And tomorrow, they would leave it behind.