Francis walked through the narrow streets of Solmera, the golden light fading into a quiet dusk. The city, once full of noise and color, was now a chorus of closing stalls and distant chatter. He kept the poster clutched tightly in his hand, as if it might vanish if he loosened his grip.
Solmera was a city of contrasts — where the crumbling alleys of the old quarters brushed against the glowing skyline of the central markets. The air carried the mixed scent of spice, smoke, and salt from the nearby docks. Children still played barefoot in the streets, chasing after one another with laughter that faded into the hum of night.
To Francis, this city was both a cage and a promise — a place that tested the weak, but rewarded those bold enough to dream.
He passed the old public library, its walls draped in ivy and its windows clouded with dust. He'd always liked it there — quiet, forgotten, and full of stories waiting to be found. It was, in some strange way, a reflection of himself.
As he continued, the noise of the markets softened behind him until he reached a narrow alley that led to the home he shared with his uncle.
The house was small and weathered — its walls patched with boards and cloth, its roof sagging under years of neglect. When it rained, water leaked through, forcing them to place buckets beneath the dripping spots. The cracked window let in only slivers of the city's light.
Inside, the air was thick with the faint scent of medicine and damp wood. A flickering lantern sat on a low table, barely holding back the shadows. On a frail bed near the wall lay Gabriel — his uncle, his only family.
Gabriel had once been a strong man, but illness had worn him thin. His shoulders were hunched, his breathing shallow. Still, his eyes lit up faintly when Francis stepped in.
"Oh, my boy," Gabriel said in a weary but warm voice. "You're back. How was the park?"
Francis set the poster down on the wooden table. "It was… strange," he said quietly. "Full of joy — and sadness."
Gabriel chuckled softly, though the sound quickly turned into a cough. "That's life, Francis. A blend of both."
His gaze drifted to the paper on the table. "What's that you brought home?"
Francis turned, picking it up carefully. "A poster. It… found me, I think."
Gabriel raised a brow. "Found you?"
He nodded, handing it over. "Read it."
Gabriel's frail hands unfolded the poster, his eyes tracing the golden letters as the candlelight flickered over them. When he reached the end, he paused. "The Writer's Academy," he murmured. "A place for dreamers, it seems."
He looked at his nephew with a hint of surprise. "You're interested?"
Francis's gaze fell to the floor, his voice firm but low. "I think I am. I've never written before, but… maybe I could."
Gabriel studied him for a long moment before speaking again. "Your parents would've liked that."
Francis looked up, startled. "You remember them?"
Gabriel smiled faintly, the expression tinged with sadness. "Of course. Your father — Richard — was a man of great ambition. Always chasing something bigger. And your mother, Amelia… she was the dreamer. The authoress everyone loved."
Francis's lips parted slightly. "Amelia…?" He tasted the name like a forgotten melody.
Gabriel nodded. "She believed that stories could change lives. Maybe… hers still can."
A quiet silence filled the room. The lantern's flame flickered, casting their shadows against the wall.
"Do you have a story in mind?" Gabriel asked gently.
Francis hesitated, looking down at the quill and torn papers on his small desk. "Yes," he said finally, turning toward the window where the last light of dusk painted the city in amber. "I'll write about them."
Gabriel gave a small, knowing smile. "About your parents?"
Francis nodded. "About my father, the man who ruled his world… and my mother, the woman who ruled his heart."
Gabriel chuckled softly. "Sounds like a grand story already."
Francis's lips curled into a faint smile. He turned back toward the window, his reflection faintly mirrored in the glass — a boy standing between the shadow of his past and the light of his future.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried quiet resolve.
"The title will be…"
he paused, his eyes gleaming, "The Alpha and His Authoress."