76°00'08.2"S 53°43'31.2"E - Nuevo Trujillo, Spanish Antarctic Colonies

  18.05.2024 23:00, UTC+03:00

  The sun was shining, as it always did in late May. It was one of those weird things that you just had to get used to, living at the edge of the world. The Sun never stopped shining in the Colonies, especially during winter. I liked the beginning of spring and its afternoons, and its evening breeze, a breeze that was usually gone by May.

  I rocked my body back and forth in anticipation of Lucia’s arrival, my gaze still lost in the endless white.

  “Damn it,” I said, squinting my eyes. I had forgotten my sunglasses and, compared to everyone else I knew who adored our summer sun, I hated it. It blinded me, and its warmth could irritate my skin. But it did keep us warm, shielding us from the rest of Antarctica. Regardless, it made my eyes hurt. Just off the edge of the Paseo, an endless snowy white met the endless blue of the sky on the horizon. It was a lovely view, a sight only accessible from the Paseo, the promenade on top of the walls of Nuevo Trujillo, and a common place for young couples to meet. I sighed.

  “She thinks that’s what we are, a couple,” I said to myself. “Damn it, why did I agree to come here!” I kicked an invisible rock off the stone floor and imagined it shooting past the Paseo’s boundary and into Antarctica’s vastness.

  I anticipated her arrival with nervousness, dread even. A slight Antarctic chill breeze hit my exposed face, but I was not sure what was more painful: subzero wind, or the conversation that would follow.

  Another breeze. I let myself look at the icy expanse beyond the Paseo and tried to guess how manic the winds must have been for them to pass through the Domain of Trastamara. I was regrettably dressed in very light spring clothes, trusting the weather report.

  My hair had curled up more than usual, shuffled by the dry cold breeze. I hadn’t even tried to properly tame them before leaving home, worrying way more about my scrawny look fitting in oversized spring-time T-shirts. I was not the kind of guy girls used to pay attention to, and I never cared before meeting Lucia. But looking in the mirror this evening, all I could see was a teen boy with no confidence.

  I locked my arms in front of my chest.

  “Lucia, I want to apply and leave. Go to Europe,” I tried to rehearse pulling the most serious stance I could. “Nah.”

  I reshuffled my hands and posed.

  “Hi Lucia, maybe I go to Europe for a few months? Years? I don’t know, just thinking about it. What do you… Ugh.” I still hadn’t decided how to break the news.

  My parents had found my idea “insane”, but they were not against it. I just had to apply for a student visa and pass the OutBound tests. And then leave this place. Just for a semester or so, I had told them, hoping I would find a way to extend my leave once I was there. I never felt like I belonged in Nuevo Trujillo.

  That also gave me a very concrete reason to break whatever this relationship was up.

  “Lucia, I…” My voice trailed as I spotted her with my peripheral vision walking up the nearby stairs.

  Her beautiful smile shone ridiculously white and happy the moment she saw me, and I avoided matching her enthusiasm. I waved at her with reserved confidence, hoping she would notice and perhaps get a first warning that I could not match her excitement today.

  She was also dressed lightly, probably as deceived by the weather report as I had been, and shivering as she approached me. Her dark brown hair was let loose and dropped over her shoulders, while the rest of her crop top revealed her fit body. I blushed looking at her, as her indisputable looks only made this worse.

  This was part of the reason I never felt comfortable with myself around her. Everyone I knew – in school or in the neighborhood – was amazed by her looks. I had friends changing their behavior around her, and then, after they learned we dated, around me as well. It made it impossible for me to form my own opinion.

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  She was a great girl. I liked her, I thought, but maybe not that much.

  “Hi-i ánge-el,” she jumped at me and hugged me tight. “Oh, I missed you so much!”

  “Really?” I asked a bit puzzled – we had already been to a restaurant last night. “Was it a day already? I remember our awesome date like it was yesterday!”

  Was I supposed to have missed her? I guess I was.

  I was terrible at this. Maybe she would be better off with someone who understood how the whole dating thing worked. In that sense, I would do her a favor by leaving.

  She laughed.

  “You bug,” she said and pinched my arm. She then rubbed her arms. “Is it supposed to be cold today?”

  “No, it should have been fine. This is an Antarctic breeze; it is passing through the barrier.”

  Her eyes widened and she let out a small shriek. She gently pushed me aside and ran near the edge of the Paseo. I could hear her shouting:

  “That’s super cool! ángel, come here! Breathe in Antarctica!” I followed her unwillingly. The walls of the city were enormous, and, on both sides, tall marble fences made sure approaching the edge would not be dangerous for anyone.

  When I reached Lucia, I felt dizzy and grabbed her arm. I immediately regretted it, as she started caressing my arms. But I was afraid of heights, and there was something uncomfortable about approaching the domain’s border that I could not quite express. Sure, watching the fields of eternal ice outside the walls while wearing spring clothes in a city with Spanish weather would be enough to boggle someone’s senses, but there was something more. It was more than a feeling, perhaps a chill I got when approaching the edge, a sense of curious danger, similar to a child approaching an expensive piece of antique china.

  “Come on! It is so fresh!” she said and breathed in the breeze.

  “That could be dangerous,” I said, trying to carefully control my breathing. Lucia giggled.

  “Sometimes I feel that the wind we are breathing in here is recycled. But the breeze from outside, can you even guess where it originated from? No idea how far it traveled to get to us fresh. I absolutely love this,” she said.

  “Okay but just,” I said and handed her a wool jacket I was holding, “just cover up a bit at least.”

  “Aw, cutie,” she answered, and she took it from my hands. She quickly snuggled and smelled it.

  She looked deep into my eyes. I am sure she only had good intentions, but this only made my awkwardness worse. My leg trembled a bit as I tried to take a step back, and instead of retreating, I leaned a bit closer to her before I pulled back again.

  “Want to go to the Conservatorio? They say the midnight sun looks great from there,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed red, and she grabbed my hand.

  “I guess. I had never been there,” I lied, but followed along.

  The walls of the Nuevo Trujillo circled around the town, and only its northern part, with its promenade, the Paseo, was the only accessible part to the public. At its northernmost point, one could find the Conservatorio, a tower wider than taller, with a dome embossed in designs of copper and finished with gold. It was one of the most well-regarded city landmarks. Its dome guarded a temple dedicated to the Sagrados, the high priests serving the Queen.

  I had been there before with my parents, but I never really liked it. Or at least that’s what I remembered. I had a distaste for the place.

  It did not take long to reach it, and by the time we were inside, I had forgotten what it was that I disliked about it.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Lucia said as we walked into the dome. Light refracted from its glass windows, struck by the midnight sun’s sunshine, bathing the interior with white and iridescent light. Six human-sized marble statues were the centerpiece of the temple, with further drawings on its walls narrating stories that you could only find in dusty history books.

  “Hard to believe, really,” I responded. I was impressed. However, there was something else beyond awe, a feeling gnawing at the back of my mind. Something akin to fear.

  “If the Queen can bring the summer to the Colonies, building statues should not be impossible!”

  “I guess,” I said and untangled myself from her hold. I wanted to get closer to its walls and look at the painted stories.

  The theme of the Trastamara legend and her Curse of the Suns was the main theme in all the drawings. Queen to daughter, daughter to mother, and Queen again, the Domain was inherited through generations, and their stories were the mythic battle of light against dark. I tried to follow the thread of the story in the paintings, but it was impossible. The writing was unintelligible, looking like a derivative of the Latin alphabet that I had not seen before.

  Their meaning was elusive, but not foreign to me.

  The letters shifted shape.

  Wait – am I supposed to be able to read these?