Who is he?
How old could he be?
What political views does he hold?
Why did he choose that name?
Artem had barely slept the night following his encounter with Nul. The questions spun through his mind like electric shocks, jolting awake parts of himself long dormant. In truth, Artem felt he had been consciously asleep ever since he chose to obey laws rather than his own morality.
He was changing. Whenever his wife's image intruded on his thoughts, he shook his head violently to cast it out. Speculating about Nul's ideals had become his only way to escape the sorrow. Screaming into the cane field had become his ritual for releasing the guilt gnawing away inside him.
But Nul had never given him rules for that ritual. Artem assumed the scream was meant to happen at night—after all, in a post-revolution era, screaming outdoors without a clear emergency could trigger an investigation. He also assumed he could return. Why not? That nervous energy returned to adult Artem, a relic from his youth. Staring at the clock didn't make time go faster, but it helped him endure the wait.
"Maybe watching TV will help?" suggested his wife—imaginary, of course—sitting in the corner of the couch.
"Good idea," he murmured, sinking into the cushions.
He flipped through channels, checking the clock constantly, until the news caught his attention. The anchor reported that an "unknown black object" had appeared in the middle of the square. But Artem recognized it immediately.
"It's a piano…"
Just as the color white had become mandatory almost unconsciously, music had become forbidden. Not music per se, of course, but its power—the ability to alter realities, shift minds, say things without saying them. It was quickly understood that music posed a threat to the order and peace of a society where everyone was supposed to think alike.
Creating music had become unimaginable, a latent act of rebellion. Like wearing colors other than white, it didn't automatically land you in Zone0, but it warranted an investigation—and that alone brought you dangerously close to that damned gate.
Time had erased all memory of musical instruments from the minds of the Ones. But when Artem saw the piano on-screen, his fingers moved instinctively. He didn't just recognize the "unknown object"—he knew how to play it.
"People screaming in the streets. Dangerously colored pianos in the Main Square. Murders for the first time in our history…" he murmured, referring to the death of his colleague Pedro Goya. "What's happening to the Ones? You know, my father would've loved this… The very object that sent him to Zone0 is now in the middle of—"
Artem fell silent, realizing he was talking to himself. There was no one beside him on the couch. Guilt and longing wrapped around him again. Before they could suffocate him, he grabbed his coat and ran out the door.
It was still too early to scream, but he went anyway. Since it was daylight, he kicked at the reeds to move further in, making sure no one could hear him. He inhaled deeply, filled his lungs, and… gave up.
He looked at himself and saw just how ridiculous the act was. Unlike the night before, he didn't feel the primal urge to scream and expel all the darkness inside him. Instead, he sat down on the flattened reeds and waited for nightfall. Maybe the night sky would reawaken something within.
Nearing dawn, he stood, brushed the dirt off his pants, and just as he was about to leave—he arrived.
Nul. Hood pulled low to hide part of his face, hands in his pockets, he entered the new circle silently. He tossed the white backpack to one side, walked to the center, and stood still for a few seconds, staring up at the sky.
Artem had thousands of questions that could have shattered the silence, but before he could choose one—Nul screamed. He screamed like something awful had struck him at that very moment.
Artem stepped back, startled. This wasn't a human scream like the night before. It was a declaration of war. A cry of revolt. A monstrous sound, loud enough to be heard from the bar at the previous circle.
He didn't know what to say. He didn't need to. As soon as the scream ended, Nul grabbed his backpack and left the circle. That was all the ritual had ever been: screaming. Screaming for the sake of it.
Artem smiled. Not just in mockery of Nul's behavior, but at his own childishness. He felt ashamed for thinking this lunatic could be the answer to his problems.
He tried to rationalize it, to blame himself for the mistake. But he was tired of blaming himself. Tired of suppressing the violence inside him. So he clung to the thought he'd had the first night he screamed: use Nul as an outlet.
He followed him down the same path. On impulse, he grabbed Nul's hood, yanking him to a stop, and punched him in the face. The blow sent Nul crashing through the reeds lining the trail.
While Artem fumed with rage, Nul, lying among the broken stalks, burst out laughing. A hysterical, insane laugh, as if he didn't even feel his split lower lip.
Artem was confused.
"Music isn't the same when heard from afar or up close. Music owes no explanations to itself. And that, in itself, explains everything." Nul muttered, still laughing maniacally.
Artem was even more confused.
"What the hell are you talking about?!"
But Nul repeated the phrase in a loop, faster and faster, more and more wildly.
Frustrated, Artem grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up. Nul kept smiling, as if he hadn't just screamed like a demon or been slammed to the ground. There was no fear in the boy. That was what made Artem give up and let him go.
"You helped me through the hardest day of my life. So I'll spare you. But know this—your fate is Zone0, not here."
Nul stopped smiling. He wiped the blood from his lip, pulled up his hood, and stared straight at Artem. Then, one last time, slowly and seriously, he repeated the strange phrase:
"Music isn't the same when heard from afar or up close.
Music owes no explanations to itself.
And that, in itself, explains everything."
https://a.co/d/3JKbNAj