Kael woke with a jolt, his face soaked with tears.

  It took him a moment to understand: he was crying, without knowing why. Harsh, uneven sobs escaped him, completely out of his control.

  “This is too sad…” he whispered between hiccups. “But… what the hell is sad, exactly?”

  He tried to cling to the tatters of the dream already slipping away. Everything dissolved into the fog of forgetting, except for one stubborn detail: the blurry outline of a woman’s lower face, a half-open mouth caught between a fragile smile and silent despair.

  That fragment haunted him like a wound without origin. He pressed his palms against his reddened eyes, desperate to hold on to something he knew was already lost.

  “Great… Waking up crying like a kid, and I don’t even know why. Perfect start to the day.”

  He inhaled deeply, wiped his cheeks with his sleeve, and tried to pull himself together. But even with steady breaths, something inside him felt as if he had let something vital slip away — something that was never meant to disappear.

  He felt tossed between two waves, unable to tell what was real and what wasn’t. These dreams were becoming more vivid, more insistent each night.

  “This is getting unbearable…”

  He knew exactly what it meant: the Trial was approaching.

  “I won’t be able to dodge it much longer, huh?”

  With some effort, he pushed himself up from his worn, mite-infested bed. Moving slowly, he staggered toward the window of his cramped loft.

  “Another day without rain… Maybe I’ll get to see it another time.”

  In Soléandre, rain didn’t exist. In the districts of the Broken Crown, it was nothing more than a myth: they said anyone who saw it would have their wish granted. But it had never once rained here.

  Sighing, he abandoned the thought and rummaged through his chest for food.

  “That damn rat ate half my bread again!”

  Frustrated, he opened the window. As he tangled himself in his weaving tools, he tripped and fell onto the remains of yesterday’s meal — his last breakfast.

  “What a shitty day…”

  He forced himself to calm down: starting a day poorly didn’t mean it had to end the same way. He checked his pockets and gathered what little money he had left: a few Solars, hidden in the torn sole of his crude shoe.

  “Knew it was a good idea to stash some there… With this, I can probably buy half a loaf of bread.”

  He slipped his shoes on and prepared to leave. Then he froze.

  “Bad day or not, I’m not forgetting this.”

  He was talking about a simple strip of white cloth, far too clean for his shack or for himself: the Needle-Case band his mother had crafted. He tied it around his forehead, pushing his messy hair aside. Nothing was more precious than that band.

  Kael lived in the attic of a decrepit building. The advantage? Rent was cheap, and the space slightly larger. The downside? Freezing winters, suffocating summers, and an unwanted roommate: rats.

  He walked down the stairs cautiously. Below lived Mrs. Agnèsse, an elderly woman who spent her time gossiping. She usually napped on her doorstep, ready to intercept anyone passing by.

  A metallic clink betrayed him: a coin slipped from his worn-out sole and clattered loudly down the steps.

  “Oh, please…”

  “Kael? Is that you?” Mrs. Agnèsse’s frail voice called out.

  “Yes, Madame Agnèsse. Who else would it be?”

  “Oh, could have been a lovely young lady leaving your place!”

  “What girl would willingly walk into that dump?”

  “Oh, back in the day, I would have walked in… just for your pretty eyes.”

  “You’re a wicked flatterer. What do you need today? I’m heading to Lantern Market, I can bring you something.”

  “You’re very kind, dear, but no.”

  Kael gave a small bow and hurried out. (What luck… she wasn’t chatty today.)

  Outside, the sun beat down on Soléandre, though the season stayed dry and mild. Kael lived on the outskirts of the city, in the Broken Crown, split by the winding Soléan River that flowed toward Lantern Market.

  This market bustled with canal weavers, carpenters, boatmen, townsfolk, and thieves. At night, the “moon dancers,” draped in silk, drifted down the river, embodying the beauty of the Broken Crown.

  That sunny morning, Kael followed the stone path toward the market. The air there always felt familiar: he had spent his childhood waiting for his mother by the canal while she gathered fabrics or worked at the workshop. But nothing stayed the same for long: a shop could change owners overnight, and a thug could replace another in a single evening.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  He stopped before a couple of stalls, eyed a fresh set of needles, inspected a few weapons whose handling he absolutely didn’t understand. Then, turning a corner, he stumbled upon a scene too common to be surprising: a young woman with terror in her eyes, cornered by four thugs.

  “Come on, sweetheart, make an effort… My buddy just wants your name.”

  The woman shook, unable to speak.

  “You don’t want him losing patience, do you?”

  Kael hesitated. Getting involved meant trouble. He tried to slip away… but tripped loudly.

  “Shit.”

  The thugs turned toward him.

  “Well, pal? What’re you doing here? Can’t you see this is private?”

  “I… I got lost. Didn’t mean to interrupt. But I can see four big guys bullying a scared girl.”

  The leader, red with anger, grabbed him by the collar.

  “You think you can ruin our fun and walk away?”

  Kael shrugged, distracted.

  “Honestly, watching four tough guys torment a helpless girl… it’s almost funny. But I had better things to do.”

  The girl had already run off.

  “He’s mocking us!”

  The leader’s fist crashed into Kael’s face. He toppled backward and landed in a pile of garbage.

  “Fantastic…” he muttered, nose full of dust. “Couldn’t land on a pile of feathers, no… Had to be fish guts.”

  “Get him, boys! Teach him a lesson!”

  Two brutes lunged at him. One kicked him in the ribs. Kael folded in half, spitting a mix of dust and saliva.

  Another slammed his cheek into the cobblestones. Face pressed to the ground, Kael groaned:

  “Oh, what luxury… a free massage. You guys are way too generous…”

  The leader leaned over him, furious.

  “You think you’re funny?”

  A storm of blows rained down. Kael tried to shield himself, but each impact echoed through his body like metal on stone.

  The biggest thug kicked him in the stomach, sending him rolling back into the trash.

  “Perfect… Now I stink even worse. If someone wanted to finish me off, this would be a great time.”

  But they kept going until Kael could only mumble, half-conscious:

  “Aaah, fuck…”

  The leader burst out laughing.

  “Still got some fight, huh?”

  A final strike to the back of the neck knocked him out cold. Kael lay there, dazed, cheek in a questionable puddle.

  Kael cracked one eye open, body aching everywhere. The alley was empty. The thugs were gone, but they had left him bruised, bleeding, and soaked in the stench of garbage. He got up slowly, spitting blood and dust.

  “Seriously… They didn’t even bother robbing me… Bunch of idiots. All that work for nothing.”

  He wiped his face with a filthy rag lying around, then limped forward.

  Crossing the square, he felt people staring at him. Passersby stepped aside, hands covering their noses in disgust. A kid whispered:

  “Mom, why does that man smell like that?”

  Kael grumbled, head down:

  “Because life’s unfair, kid… and your rats steal my food.”

  At Lantern Market, he spotted the stall where he usually bought bread. The vendor, a stout woman with a stern look, recoiled when she saw him.

  “O heavens… what happened to you?”

  “Nothing… regular day… Just give me half a loaf and I’ll be fine.”

  She shook her head.

  “No more bread. Everything sold out this morning.”

  Kael froze. Then, voice cracking:

  “No more bread? Seriously? After all that? You’re telling me I almost died in an alley for nothing and I can’t even get my goddamn breakfast?”

  The vendor shrugged.

  “I’ve got dry biscuits left…”

  “Great. Dry biscuits…”

  He tossed a few Solars onto the counter, grabbed the biscuits, and walked away, muttering curses at the entire city:

  “Rats steal my bread, thugs steal my ribs, the vendor steals my dignity… Some days the universe just really hates you.”

  Kael eventually left the market’s chaos, a bag of dry biscuits in hand.

  He wandered for a long time through the alleys of the Broken Crown, limping, face streaked with dried blood, until the sky grew dark.

  The Soléan shone under the moon, so close it seemed to press against the water, its silver reflections carving slow waves. Kael sat heavily at the canal’s edge, legs dangling over the water. The night air was cool, finally breathable, and every breeze soothed the burning ache of his wounds.

  He bit into a biscuit and grimaced.

  “A magnificent shitty day…”

  He looked at the lantern glow shimmering on the river. Everything looked peaceful, almost beautiful, but to Kael it only felt bitter.

  Silence settled. His thoughts drifted back to the young woman he’d seen earlier.

  He pulled his torn jacket closer, ashamed.

  “I hope she had better luck than me. Though… in this place, no one ever gets lucky.”

  He stayed there, staring at the river. The night deepened, and the cool wind against his bruised skin was the only thing keeping him awake.

  “No point going home… Who needs a roof when fate’s already kicking your ass?”

  His eyelids grew heavy. The Soléan’s murmur mingled with the whisper of his regrets. Between breaths, he managed a sad smile:

  “If she survives this city, that girl’s tougher than I’ll ever be.”

  Lantern Market blazed once night fell.

  Hundreds of hanging lampions swayed lazily, casting red, green, and gold reflections across crumbling walls. Market cries faded into drunken songs and the shaky tunes of wandering musicians.

  Overwhelming smells filled the air: crushed lilac in bouquets sold on street corners, harsh alcohol fumes, grilled meat, caramelized sugar. Small boats drifted along the Soléan’s branching arms, slipping into the narrowest alleys where children chased toy boats. Their laughter echoed against the stones.

  Kael walked through the lively chaos, covered in bruises and dried blood. Passersby looked away, but the festivities carried on. His heavy steps made him a stain of darkness in the middle of their bright mural.

  “Beautiful…” he muttered. “I’m just the smudge on their painting.”

  His joints creaked like an old man’s. The market slowly emptied, but the night still had one spectacle left for him.

  On the river, the first lanterns drifted along the current. And with them, the moon dancers appeared. Wrapped in brilliant silk, they advanced on narrow boats, suspended between sky and water. Their movements were slow, precise, almost sacred. Flutes and drums played in the distance.

  Kael stopped cold. As always, the sight froze him in place. His broken body, his pain, his exhaustion… all of it disappeared. Only the lantern light and the dreamlike dancers remained.

  “Damn… they’re beautiful.”

  His gaze didn’t settle only on their grace. He followed the flow of their silk like someone tracking an invisible thread. The eye of a weaver saw every seam, every fold, each tension in the fabric.

  “The drape is perfect…” he murmured. “Even the sleeves are reinforced, probably double-threaded. And that pattern… definitely raised embroidery.”

  He squinted, ignoring his pain, just to study the structure of the garments.

  “That one’s obi is badly tied… If she turns too fast, it’ll slip. Amateur. But the others… what craftsmanship.”

  He sighed.

  “I wonder how many weavers worked on all that. Months of work, probably. And here I am fighting rats to save a piece of stale bread.”

  He took a silent bite of his biscuit, eyes fixed on the river. The contrast made him laugh and hurt at the same time.

  When the boats drifted away, Kael stayed still, wrapped in a soft melancholy.

  “If one day I weave something like that… maybe I’ll believe my life meant something.”

  Then he moved again, limping through the shadows as one lantern after another went dark.