The murmurs were unbearable. Every voice he heard—out there, beyond the elegant room where he sat—sounded like a hammer pounding inside Noxlum's skull. Time had become a shapeless blur, without hours or minutes. Cold enveloped him despite the old tunics draped over his body. He rubbed his arms instinctively, but he knew: the true chill wasn't coming from the air. It pulsed slowly in his chest, like the heartbeat of a sick organ. He could hear everything—the murmurs, and the steady breathing of the guards who prevented him from standing.
"What was...?" The thought had been drilling into him ever since he saw Clemens.
In a desperate attempt to distract himself, he noticed a tiny, scrawny insect materialize out of nowhere, flying and sniffing around the room in search of food. A sharp, high-pitched ringing pierced his ears—closer now, something he might almost remember. The boy pressed his hands over his ears in vain.
"Enough... please, enough..."
He squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to think of something else, but every time he reached for a memory, it slipped away like sand between his fingers.
A sudden sting snapped him back to the present.
"Ah!" he cried, swatting the insect away in a frantic motion that instantly alarmed the guards.
He tried to stand, but the knights dragged him roughly back into the chair. He clutched his head, the icy void in his chest surging back all at once.
"I can't... remember anything..." He bit his tongue, but the tears came anyway.
A metallic screech in front of him forced him to look up. Beyond the wooden door that had remained closed for far too long, another steel-clad figure emerged, escorting an elderly man whose face was concealed and who carried a flaming object.
"Hail, child. I am Senator Aminius. I will approach," the old man said in a trembling voice; several shadows shifted behind him.
"Are you... going to examine me again?" Noxlum sighed, tears still glistening in his eyes.
"That will not be necessary, Senator. The physicians have concluded that his eyes show signs of a severe hemorrhage, not a contagious disease," one of the guards replied.
Noxlum said nothing. He watched in silence as the old man withdrew.
"Move. The Commander is waiting," a firmer voice ordered from among the shadows.
As the bewildered senator retreated, the same guards who had earlier forbidden him from standing now commanded him to do so.
"On your feet. In front of me."
They escorted him toward the door from which the murmurs flowed. Noxlum walked with difficulty; the tips of his fingers felt rough and raw, his legs trembled, and he carefully tried to keep his tunic from slipping off.
A shaft of light spilled from the open doorway; hundreds of motionless figures stared at him. Another armored figure waited:
"This way," it said, beginning to walk ahead of him.
"Is that... is that me?" In the reflection of the polished metal in front of him, Noxlum finally saw his own face: his eyes glowed a vivid amber, while the rest had turned an almost lifeless black.
A strange sadness swept through his body—a deep, aching melancholy.
They entered a vast chamber filled with many masked figures, ladies who only whispered among themselves, and, behind a wide desk cluttered with strange objects—including a small kerosene lamp with a tiny flame—sat a man without armor. He was blond, and though he didn't look directly at Noxlum, it was clear his eyes were blue. He appeared to be of somewhat advanced age.
"My lord Reinhard," announced a guard, bowing his head. "We bring the prisoner."
The man at the desk did not move. In a low voice, without lifting his gaze from the papers, he said:
"Sit."
Noxlum walked forward under the watchful eyes of the masked men. The chair creaked as he sat. The boy pressed his hands tightly against his thighs, fingers frozen, trying to pretend he wasn't shaking. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
The smell of burning in the room was overpowering, almost suffocating.
Reinhard remained silent for several long seconds—too many—until the silence itself began to hurt.
Finally, he spoke:
"Name."
Noxlum blinked, confused.
"I... I don't..."
"Name," he repeated, slower this time, as though speaking to a very small child—or to an exceptionally clumsy liar.
"No... Noxlum?" the boy improvised.
Reinhard lifted his gaze.
"Noxlum? What kind of name is that? Emathian?"
"..."
"Where are you from?"
"What... what am I supposed to...?"
"Never mind. We'll find out. What were you doing in the crypt? How many others came with you?"
"I just... woke up there. There was no one else. I was with Clemens; he'll tell you—"
"Princeps Clemens is not in the castle. It is dangerous to have him here with you. Where did you take the stolen body?"
"Body..."
"Speak, damn you!" The commander slammed his fist on the table, making the oil lamp tremble violently.
Noxlum could barely breathe; he shrank into the chair, his whole body beginning to shake uncontrollably.
The man leaned forward, growling.
"I don't care if you're a child. You won't leave this room alive if you don't sing..."
"It's all I know!" the boy exclaimed before bursting into tears.
The guards tensed immediately. Reinhard, visibly startled, raised a hand to calm them, cleared his throat, picked up an object from the desk, and continued moving his hand in slow gestures.
"I will assign you to Senator Luminus as your tutor until this matter is—"
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind struck Reinhard's face, stirring his blond hair ever so slightly. The commander turned his head sharply.
The dim light in the room seemed to contract all at once, and when it expanded again, it revealed an enormous figure stepping through the doorway, standing at the far end of the chamber. He seemed to have always been there, unnoticed: a burly man with one eye covered by a strip of black cloth, similar to those worn by the senators, while his uncovered eye glowed a golden amber.
The commander rose to his feet at once.
"Your Holiness—"
"Senator Marcus!" the men at the door exclaimed in unison.
The senators said nothing; they simply raised their arms in salute at his presence.
"What is this?" the figure demanded, his voice so deep it seemed to make the very air tremble.
"This child appeared in the crypt last night, Your Holiness."
"And why was I not informed directly, instead of you attempting to conceal him? In my own castle."
One senator stepped forward.
"This is the Sacrador's castle, and this is a matter of the holy family's security. We can handle it ourselves and allow you to rest while—"
"My brother is not here," Marcus interrupted. "And you already know what that means. This is not a matter of security; it's the exact opposite—it's a family matter."
"Your Holiness..." the old man tried to protest.
"Everyone, leave," the figure ordered without even glancing at them, advancing toward the desk with his gaze fixed on Noxlum. "You disgust me, standing there like vultures."
Reinhard hurried to obey. Noxlum followed him with his eyes, trembling, before turning back to that golden eye scrutinizing him.
The senators exchanged glances, hesitated, but ultimately complied. Quickly, both the senators, the ladies of the castle, and the knights withdrew from the room. The door closed with a dull thud. The air grew heavy, almost solemn.
In moments, Marcus took the commander's place. He barely fit in the chair. He swept his long brown hair behind his neck down to his lap, interlaced his hands on the desk, and stared directly into Noxlum's eyes without uttering a single word.
"Hail, young one. I am Senator Saint Marcus Adlerherz, of the holy family of Cryssar. I understand you've already met my nephew, Clemens..." he said at last, his voice carrying an almost contagious calm.
Noxlum blinked, unsure whether he should speak.
"I have only seven minutes to give you, so first things first: on behalf of my family and Commander Reinhard of the holy guard, I offer you an apology," Marcus sighed. "It was wrong to put on this spectacle, and even more so to try to frighten you. Lately nothing much happens in the castle, and our decrepit commander couldn't resist the chance to pretend he was working."
The boy remained completely silent. "What do I say?"
"Do you know what they're saying about you?" Marcus continued, leaning forward. "Grave desecration. Intrusion into the palace. Illicit contact with imperial family remains. Any adult in your situation would never have left that basement."
"And... I..." Noxlum stammered, shrinking back.
Marcus extended his index finger toward the boy.
"However..." he settled more comfortably in the chair, "aside from the missing body, no other disaster occurred—not that that's a small thing, of course. The elders of the senate saw the perfect opportunity to claim a new disciple..."
Marcus gave the faintest smile.
"But the guard is better at terrifying children than at doing its duty, so I will find out what really happened. In the meantime, until we discover what occurred with the theft in the crypt, you will be under MY supervision."
Noxlum finally stopped trembling.
"I didn't... steal anything..."
"Of course you didn't. No one can lie to me. The very idea that a child could steal a body from the crypt..." Marcus narrowed his golden eye.
Noxlum swallowed hard, lowering his gaze.
Marcus let the silence stretch—long and almost unbearable.
"That hair..." he murmured, letting his gaze wander over the boy's chestnut locks. "I know no one else with that color except my brothers. And fortunately for him, the main suspect who might have something to do with you is out of the country... Those eyes... They're recognizable from hundreds of miles away."
Out of curiosity, Marcus picked up the kerosene lamp from the table and brought it closer to the boy's face, but the flame twisted as if repelled by an invisible current, snuffing out instantly.
"Eh?" the senator exclaimed.
Noxlum swallowed again. The cold in his chest transformed into a hunger that felt as though it had always been there—fierce and ravenous.
"Nothing new..." Marcus murmured.
The boy didn't respond. Marcus drummed his fingers slowly on the wood.
"You appeared without anyone seeing you enter. Your eyes still show a severe hemorrhage... And you genuinely have no idea how you got there." Marcus smiled—this time without kindness. "Who is your mother? Did she send you? You don't remember that either, do you..."
"No... I don't remember who my mother is."
Marcus studied Noxlum's face for a few moments before standing, bringing his fingers to his chin. The huge man paced in slow circles for several seconds.
"Perhaps... you came at night? No... Impossible..." he whispered. "Perhaps you tripped on the crypt stairs and hit your head?"
Marcus was about to say more when a sharp knock echoed at the door. The metallic creak of the hinges vibrated through the room.
"What is it?" Marcus asked the soldier without taking his eyes off Noxlum.
"Your Holiness," came a muffled voice from the other side. "An urgent session has been convened in the senate. You must attend immediately."
Marcus let out an almost imperceptible sigh. He straightened, adjusting his long hair behind his shoulders.
His expression was one of absolute hatred. Noxlum could see that the man couldn't possibly be more irritated. At that moment, Marcus leaned toward Noxlum—so close that the boy felt the heat of his breath.
"Don't move from here, and don't do anything stupid."
The threat was wrapped in softness, yet it chilled Noxlum more than any shout ever could.
Marcus pulled away from the chair with slow deliberation. He walked to the door. The guards snapped to attention as he passed.
"No one enters, no one leaves. If a senator tries to force his way in, run him through the heart," he ordered firmly as he crossed the threshold.
The door closed behind him with a dull thud that made the dying lamp flicker.
Silence returned... but it was not the same silence as before. It was denser, as though the entire room were holding its breath, and the stench of old metal grew ever more pronounced.
"Is all of this really necessary? I'd rather go back to that hole."
Noxlum remained seated, motionless, his frozen hands resting on his legs. The lamp flickered once. Then again. A few minutes passed; what had been metallic murmurs at the door were now absolute silence.
"Something's not right," he thought.
His heart began to pound harder, and his mouth filled with saliva. With watchful eyes, he scanned the room for anyone. There was nothing; only him, in a chamber that seemed to darken with every passing second.
His chest emptied once more, a sensation he knew all too well.
"Nothing's happening... nothing's happening..." he repeated to himself.
The air thickened, as if the room were slowly filling with invisible smoke.
"Hello?" Noxlum whispered, barely a thread of voice. No one answered.
A sharp pain began to pulse behind his eyes. At first it was a faint throb, then a hard knock, and then another, until it felt as though his head was about to split in two. He clutched his hair with both hands.
"Karosh" —the word echoed out of the darkness.
"No... not again?" Noxlum shot up from his chair and ran straight to the door.
"Open it! Please! Don't leave me here alone!" he begged, pounding on the enormous white wooden panel.
There was no response.
"Kar...osh... Kar...osh..." the voice continued.
"Ugh, my head." The ringing in his ears had returned, this time accompanied by a horrible migraine that made thinking impossible.
Noxlum grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open.
The guards were gone.
"Where... where am I?"
The castle had changed. The sky was a sickly yellowish hue; there were no clouds anymore, and everything was overgrown with dark vegetation.
There was no one.
Tiny, unintelligible whispers brushed against the back of his neck.
On the verge of tears, Noxlum began to run, darting through random doors.
"This... this isn't happening," he muttered, breathless.
He knew something was following him. He knew something was watching him.
The castle was enormous; with every step, the corridors seemed to shrink. Eventually he reached what appeared to be a garden surrounded by more hallways. For some reason, the sight calmed him.
A deep, incomprehensible roar rumbled through the sky, shaking the ground.
Noxlum froze.
A long silence followed. Then the boy walked toward one of the dark corners and let himself collapse.
His breathing was ragged; he couldn't think, he was exhausted. Tired of fighting. But he knew. Deep down he knew he had to keep going. Something inside him—something primal—demanded it.
"Remember." The word resonated in his head, though it wasn't his own voice speaking.
Before he could stand again, he tried to draw a breath, but just before the first inhale—
He saw something.
Something strange. A massive beam of light illuminated the far wall of the corridor ahead, as if a million torches were racing in that direction.
The light grew brighter and brighter. Noxlum began to rise.
He took a step forward.
And it appeared.
A figure whiter than the sun itself seemed to move toward him in erratic jerks, yet without making the slightest sound.
An icy shiver ran down Noxlum's skin, touching every pore.
Hesitating for only a second, he turned and ran.
Noxlum fled blindly down the corridor; the damp stones slipped beneath his bare feet. The air smelled of iron and ancient dust, and the yellowish light barely allowed him to make out the twisted columns. The creature's light drew closer, and the shadow in front of Noxlum narrowed with every step.
"Over here..." a voice whispered, so soft it seemed to be born inside his left ear.
He spun without thinking. The passage narrowed, and at the end another door opened.
"Faster... this way..."
The pounding in his temples became a drum. The door was close. He touched it with his palm, feeling the wood pulse, warm.
"No, no, no... over there..." said a different voice, now to his right, as though someone stood right beside his face.
He staggered back, heart in his throat. The corridors seemed to double in front of him: one bathed in the dying light, the other swallowed by shadow.
"Follow me..."
"This way..."
Both voices spoke at once, from opposite sides.
Noxlum took a step toward the light... but then he felt something brush his shoulder from the darkness. He spun around, trembling, and saw the white figure at the end of the corridor; it didn't stop, it kept advancing.
He didn't think. He ran toward the dark side, even though every step hurt as if he were moving inside a dream that resisted advancing.
The walls closed in on themselves as Noxlum ran. The white figure lurched forward; its limbs bent at impossible angles, scraping the stones with a sound that froze the blood.
"Closer..." whispered the first voice.
"Come back..." whispered another, behind him.
Noxlum stumbled and fell to his knees. His palms scraped against the rough floor, and when he lifted them he saw they were stained with a dark liquid that hadn't been there before. He didn't look twice. He pushed himself up, gasping, while the lights in the corridors began to flicker as if the entire castle were breathing in fits and starts.
The white figure stopped a few meters away.
Noxlum backed against one of the columns. His hands shook; he could barely breathe. The figure simply seemed to watch him in silence.
The sky split open.
An explosion of what looked like golden fire crashed down on the creature; it was so bright it blinded Noxlum and so hot it felt as though the air itself had caught fire. Tongues of flame fell between Noxlum and the creature, quickly shifting to a natural orange color, devouring columns, tapestries, and walls. The heat was immediate, searing, and the roar of the fire drowned out every whisper.
The white figure writhed at the touch of the reddish light, emitting sound for the first time; it shrieked, as though reality itself were tearing it from that place. Noxlum's vision filled with orange flashes and smoke.
The castle began to collapse. Stones vibrated; beams groaned as flames climbed the walls. Noxlum barely had time to cover his face with his arms before a burning beam crashed down a few steps away.
Run!
The command came from no one. It surged from the deepest part of his chest.
Noxlum ran. The white creature still twisted in frantic movements, leaving a trail of warped shadows behind the curtain of fire. But now the real danger was the fire itself, advancing like a faceless monster.
The corridor turned into a tunnel of smoke. Flames spread rapidly across the ceiling and floor, swallowing everything. Noxlum leaped awkwardly over smoldering debris, slipped, scraped his knees, pushed himself up again. Breathing was agony.
"I have to... find the way out."
He passed through a collapsed arch, then another, while chunks of stone fell around him. He crossed what felt like an endless series of empty rooms and ownerless bedrooms.
Finally, he saw a burst of natural light through the smoke. The last wooden barrier creaked, wrapped in embers, but it didn't stop him. He charged with his shoulder, feeling the heat burn through his skin, and burst outside.
The cold air hit him like a blessing. He dropped to his knees on the dark grass, coughing, tears of smoke and ash running down his face. Behind him, the castle consumed itself—one tower after another collapsing amid roars and sparks, lighting the surroundings with infernal heat.
Noxlum staggered to his feet and, without looking back, began running again—this time toward the thicket of hundreds of houses beyond the castle walls. The yellowish sky seemed closer and brighter than ever; the empty streets greeted him with a deep, damp silence broken only by his desperate breathing and the crunch beneath his feet.