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  Hoddesdon (England)

  21 October 20XX

  1 day until Ethan’s disappearance

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  The Stanstead Secondary School stands in the northern part of Hoddesdon. Every day, hundreds of students pour in through its entrance before dispersing throughout the buildings that make up the complex.

  Within its walls, boys and girls aged between eleven and eighteen, all in uniform like me, walk along the corridors towards their respective classrooms. Some passageways are closed off due to recent renovation work that has disrupted the building’s layout. Indeed, the school prides itself on its excellence in teaching the sciences, a field in which it has heavily invested over the last few years, expanding to create new laboratories.

  The rooms are well lit by large windows through which sunlight streams, revealing specks of dust in the air. A thin layer of dust coats the floors, continually reforming despite the cleaning teams that intervene multiple times a day.

  It is along one of the corridors not blocked by construction that I make my way. My footsteps blend with the chatter around me as I continue on at a brisk pace. I scarcely notice the other students, or the workmen fixing the window frames, or the banner hung on a wall for the upcoming Halloween party. When I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a window, I barely see that my face bears a pensive, almost dejected expression.

  I stop walking only when a familiar voice calls out to me:

  “Hey, Knight!”

  I turn. My eyes fall on three lads watching me from a few metres away, by some personal lockers lined up along the walls. They are in the sixth form, just like me, and—like every student—wear the school uniform. However, they wear theirs sloppily, indifferent to the rules requiring it be worn neatly. Sporting a mischievous grin, the one in the centre displays a small book, not bothering to hold it in a way that won’t damage it. In fact, he’s bending it as though it were just a rolled-up newspaper.

  Naturally, it’s Justin, accompanied as always by his “loyal” mates Elvin and Chaz.

  “Looking for this?” the boy asks, waving the item in a provocative manner.

  At this sight, I’m certain my face is clouded by annoyance. I feel the inner corners of my eyebrows dip as my forehead creases. There can’t be the slightest hint of surprise on my face.

  “Give it back!” I demand, advancing with a threatening gait, despite my build being anything but intimidating.

  “Here you go!”

  The guy holding the booklet throws it, and with an ungainly flight, it lands on one of the nearby lockers. Once they’ve confirmed their prank was successful, the trio of tormentors head off down the corridor, sniggering all the while.

  I move over to the lockers, and with a huff, reach out to retrieve the book. As I pull it down, along with much of the dust that had settled there, a student who witnessed the scene speaks up:

  “You shouldn’t let them walk all over you like that, Ethan.”

  Unlike many others, this lad keeps his uniform blazer fastened over his shirt. A pair of glasses dangles from the collar, and three textbooks are clutched under his arm. He looks every inch the true overachiever.

  “If I fought back, things might get worse, Nate,” I reply, at last holding my book again.

  “Isn’t that exactly what their behaviour is based on?” Nate remarks, taking hold of his glasses and preparing to leave. “You must have realised: bullies like them can do whatever they want precisely because they’re not afraid their victims will stand up to them. Are you really okay with that?”

  That said, he gives me a meaningful glance, puts on his glasses, and walks away. Speechless, I remain standing in the middle of the corridor, watching my classmate depart.

  Am I okay with it? No, not at all. Nate can’t imagine how much I hate bullying: the urge to overpower someone deemed weaker.

  And me? Am I weak? Even if someone’s answer were yes, it wouldn’t matter; ‘strength’ is a relative concept, capable of taking many forms. What others regard as strength isn’t what I consider such, and vice versa. Unfortunately, the sort of strength I value—a silent and barely visible one, residing more in the mind and spirit than in social status or the body—I doubt would be recognised by Justin and his mates, and it certainly wouldn’t scare them. In fact, it’s not even a type of strength that ought to instil fear in order to be respectable.

  But then what should I do? Perhaps, despite everything… should I try to resist? Turn my will to fight back into tangible words and actions? Somehow convey what boils within me, constantly crushed by my mind and heart so that it never comes out?

  If I did that, maybe I could improve how I see myself… and perhaps present myself to others without worrying about being seen as weak?

  – – – – – – – – – –

  ??? (Maltia)

  ?? ?? ????

  Ethan’s 2nd day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  “Wha…? Wha…?” I stammer, astonished.

  Panting from the effort, Dawn turns to look at me from the centre of the circle of hedges, noticing me for the first time.

  “How… how did you do that?” I ask.

  “Do what?” she says, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

  “That… thing!” I reply, not sure how to describe it. “Wind, or whatever it was!”

  “How, what… why do those sound like your most-used words?” she says, amused. “The wind you’re talking about was just an air mayea, okay?”

  “Air mayea?” I echo. “Look… if the way I talk sounds strange to you, the opposite is also true: your accent and certain words you use make it hard for me to understand… can you speak only in English?”

  “English… that language again?” she replies. “I don’t know it, although it does resemble our anglìsc. I don’t understand everything you’re saying either, huh!”

  “All right, okay…” I drop it, since that wasn’t what I was after. “But I heard you say air mayea… what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “A mayea that affects air,” she answers.

  “Wonderful… and what do you mean by mayea?”

  “Obviously, the technique for reading and using the symbols intrinsic to the universe.”

  “…”

  “You really are out of touch with the world! Hmm… I’m not sure… how else can I explain it to you? Let’s just say it’s a way to manipulate things without using hands or machines?”

  “Okay,” I say, now clearly alarmed. “Something like that doesn’t exist, as far as I know. There must be a trick, or—”

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  Before I can finish, the girl thrusts her hand forward and shouts again, flinging her arm towards me. I see a flash of light, then a powerful gust of wind hits me, ruffling my hair and clothes. I stand there, dumbfounded.

  “No trick, no deception,” she says with a smile. “If you thought I couldn’t use it, you were wrong!”

  I open my mouth to respond. Then I close it again. A blot left by the light emitted by Dawn is still stamped on my retina. For some reason, the shape of that bright patch reminds me a lot of a letter from the Greek alphabet.

  As I stare at her wide-eyed, the girl beckons me over.

  “Come on!” she says. “Get in here!”

  Perplexed, I snap out of it and step through an opening in the circle of hedges. But as I move closer to Dawn, she suddenly hurls the wooden staff at me with force. It whistles right past my head, proceeding beyond. Then it lodges like a javelin in the bushes behind me.

  “Ah!” I exclaim, belatedly reacting to that reckless move. “What are you doing?! You could’ve hurt me!”

  “I’ve good aim,” she says, unbothered by my objection. “Come on, don’t whine: since you seemed to enjoy watching me, you must have some interest in fighting.”

  “Huh?” I say, caught off guard by the abrupt change of topic. “Fighting? That?”

  Dawn furrows her brow.

  “What, didn’t that seem like fighting to you?” she asks. “Are you one of those who think they’re strong at women’s expense?”

  “No, wait… that’s not what I meant at all!” I clarify, holding up my hands. “I was just passing by.”

  “Oh, were you?” she replies. “Good… because otherwise I’d have challenged you on the spot. So you’re not into fighting. What can you do, then? Pilot?”

  Trying to reply seriously would be useless… I wouldn’t be able to explain it. But given she seems to love combat, at least she might understand this.

  “I did a bit of taekwondo,” I mutter.

  ?What??

  “Martial arts. Hand-to-hand fighting.”

  “Show me!” says the girl, intrigued.

  “… huh?”

  “Attack me with that art!”

  “But I don’t want to!”

  “And why not? Go ahead, don’t worry!” she encourages. “If you’re treating me kindly because you think I’m weak, know that it offends me. Or are you scared?”

  “Aaaah…” I groan, reluctantly assuming a taekwondo fighting stance. “Honestly, what exactly do you want to see?”

  Better to humour her, I think meanwhile. That way she’ll lose interest… or am I just making a fool of myself?

  I go to deliver a weak roundhouse kick. Then, the moment my foot arcs towards her, she suddenly reacts: she blocks my strike and fires off a swift front kick into my abdomen. Caught by surprise, I can’t defend myself. A wave of pain surges from my burn as she hits me. At once, I double over with a groan.

  “Hey!” Dawn exclaims. “It wasn’t a hard kick!”

  “You hit me right on the burn…” I say, in agony.

  “Burn?”

  ???

  Shortly afterwards, the young woman’s father is bandaging my torso. I’m sitting on a chest in the entranceway of the house, my face tense from the discomfort of the wraps. And thank goodness the man applied a soothing ointment to the burn first!

  “I hadn’t looked under your clothes,” remarks the master of the house. “I thought that burn on your wrist was the only one.”

  Dawn is standing nearby, looking a bit worried—perhaps she feels guilty.

  “You could have told us about that injury sooner!” she points out, arms folded.

  I groan as the man finishes tightening and securing the bandages. Then I fasten my shirt again to cover my wrapped torso. Now that I’ve stopped moving, I start to feel a bit cold; later, I’ll have to go back to the room where I slept to get my blazer.

  “Bah!” snorts the girl’s father. “Dawn, you too—people don’t expect you to be such a wild beast!”

  “Don’t exaggerate!” she retorts, giggling.

  By the look on her face, she seems to have taken it as a compliment.

  She sure hits hard, I think. And yet, she seems like a sweet girl.

  The front door is open, allowing a view of the grassy ground outside. Without warning, someone appears on the threshold, casting their shadow on the floor. Everyone present notices the new arrival straight away.

  “Oh!” says Dawn’s father, turning around.

  “Antony!” Dawn exclaims. “Hello, Samuel! You’re here too!”

  The newcomers are two young men, both wrapped in brown cloaks that reach the tops of their boots. Dawn moves towards them, as does her father, albeit more slowly. The two smile at the father and daughter while Dawn greets them each with a hug in turn. Then they glance at me, still seated on the chest.

  “Who’s that?” whispers the taller one, the one closest to me.

  His hair is similar in colour to Dawn’s, but leaning more towards brown. His eyes, on the other hand, are exactly like hers. Two unruly locks fall either side of his forehead, somehow accentuating his stern gaze.

  “A boy who fell onto the fragment,” Dawn’s father replies, while I get up and take an uncertain step towards them. “He was hurt, and we took care of him.”

  “And where’s he from?”

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t told us yet.”

  “What!?”

  Suddenly angry, the young man whirls on me.

  “Who are you?” he demands. “Where do you come from? Answer, or else…”

  “Huh?” I say, caught off guard. “Well, I can’t really say…”

  At those words, the young man rushes towards me. Before anyone can do anything, his fist strikes my cheek, snapping my head to the side with the force of the blow. Stunned, I topple backwards and land on the floor.

  “Antony!” exclaims the other newcomer.

  “Dad, come on!” the attacker bursts out, fists still clenched. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s so suspicious you should have immediately thought he was a spy from the Republic!”

  “Antony, don’t you ever do that again,” his father warns him angrily. “You let your distrust carry you away too much! What reason was there to hit him?”

  I get back on my feet, wiping the blood that came from the corner of my mouth. My glare stays fixed on the person who just hit me. Antony must feel challenged, as he raises his fist and says:

  “Don’t you dare look at me like that!”

  Here’s another one, I find myself thinking. Yet another bully who tries to dominate others with aggressive behaviour!

  Nate’s words come to mind… as do the doubts I’ve harboured for so long. Suddenly, a surge of fury boils up inside me. A fury fuelled by a strong desire to rebel.

  And before I can do what I normally do—suppress that rush of emotion…

  “Who do you think you are?” I retort. “You haven’t even let me speak!”

  A moment later, I manage to quell my anger. But I’ve already shown it. At any second, I expect Antony to retaliate…

  … and yet, surprisingly, he completely ignores me, and instead turns to his father.

  “You, on the other hand, have too much trust,” he states, pointing at me. “You haven’t possibly taken…? Letting him see you…”

  “He saw nothing,” the father whispers. “Stop getting worked up. He was asleep when I brought it into the house from the hideout.”

  Hearing that, Antony snorts and calms down slightly. Even so, he fixes me with a suspicious glare once more.

  “You’ve got a lot to tell us,” he declares.

  “Antony, don’t come at him like that…” Dawn intervenes.

  “She’s right,” the other young man, Samuel, agrees, attempting a conciliatory smile. “When everything’s calmer, he can explain where he comes from and put our minds at ease about his intentions!”

  Antony snorts again, still unconvinced.

  Wait… is it over? I think. Probably not. But at least for now, it seems he won’t attack me.

  My heart is beating quite hard, after having stood up to the young man’s vehemence. I can’t say I enjoyed the experience. But… somewhere inside, I feel I did the right thing. It might not have been particularly far-sighted, but given how bizarre this situation is, perhaps it’s asking too much of myself to expect more.

  Still, that was an extreme case. In most cases, a verbal clash where you try to overcome aggression with aggression will do more harm than anything else.

  Samuel sighs and shakes his head. His light brown hair catches the sunlight, creating reflections. Judging by a few similarities, he’s part of the family too. Unlike Antony, however, his chubby face and calm demeanour make him seem like a kind person.

  “Come on,” says the master of the house, also trying to smile. “Let’s go over there. Ethan, excuse him—he’s a bit…”

  Before the man can finish his sentence, a sudden roar fills the air. The ground trembles and knick-knacks rattle on the shelves, while the windowpanes emit a loud, resonant noise.

  “Those were…” begins Antony, turning towards the door.

  “Battleship fire!” finishes Samuel.

  “The Republic?” exclaims Dawn.

  “Dammit!” shouts Antony, pointing at me. “I told you: he led them here!”

  “That’s not true!” I protest, as new sounds of explosions come from outside. “I don’t even know who you’re talking about!”

  “Now’s not the time,” interjects Samuel, his expression as serious as everyone else’s. “We need to leave. Dad, where is…?”

  “Come, I’ll give it to you,” replies the father, moving along the corridor.

  “Samuel, stay and keep an eye on him,” orders Antony, referring to me. “He’s coming with us.”

  Antony and his father disappear. Dawn steps away as well, but reappears almost immediately with a small backpack on her back and holding the staff she had been practising with earlier.

  “I’m ready,” she announces.

  These don’t seem to be just the problems of a complicated family, I reckon. Because they are all family, aren’t they? Or is there something else?

  Within a minute, the two men return as well. Antony is carrying under his arm a shiny metal case, similar to a handleless suitcase.

  “Let’s go,” says the father.

  “No funny business,” Antony warns me, retrieving something from beneath his cloak.

  I gaze, dumbfounded, at a strange pistol that the young man points at me. It looks different from the weapons seen in films, but no less menacing. Obediently, I stand in front of Antony. Together, we all exit the house.

  “Oh!” I say, astonished.

  In front of me, there are no trees, allowing me to see the surrounding area without any problems. To the right, instead, are the woods I passed through yesterday while fleeing. And just above them, roughly where the edge of the fragment should be, a large silhouette is visible.

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing…

  It is a colossus of metal levitating in the air: it looks like a flying vessel, vaguely similar to modern warships. The aircraft points its side against the fragment, revealing an enormous engine like those on airliners. Several cannons protrude along its side: from them burst volleys of shots that explode at a distant point, hidden from view by the trees.

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