? Something Warm ?
The clouds hung low above the plaza, thick and unmoving, as if the sky itself were holding its breath. The fountain in the center murmured gently, water rising and falling in graceful arcs, catching the pale light filtering through the overcast canopy. Wind passed occasionally—light, cold, clean—ruffling coats and brushing the shoulders of passersby who spoke in hushed voices, as if the very air discouraged noise.
Alex and Dante walked side by side.
“So… I’m meeting the Dons tomorrow at that party?” Alex asked, glancing at Dante.
Dante shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I’ve only met them three times in the past four, maybe five years. They’re always busy. Guess that’s why they can see you only now.”
Alex frowned. “What kind of men are they?”
“They’re old… but there’s something about them,” Dante said, eyes narrowing. “Like they balance each other perfectly. You’ll see soon enough.”
Alex nodded, thoughtful.
Dante glanced at him, his tone softer now. “How do you feel about it?”
Alex exhaled. “They’re the ones who wanted my father dead. I don’t exactly know how I should act.”
Dante shrugged again, more casually this time. “We play the game. Pretend. Act polite. Don’t speak unless spoken to. That’s Dominick’s rule every time I meet them.”
Then, his expression darkened for a moment. “I see them differently now. They’re responsible for you being here. They know what we do, what we carry, the mess Dominick throws us into… and yet, they don’t lift a finger.”
“Truly… thank you for opening my eyes, buddy,” he added softly, almost to himself, as if saying it aloud made it real.
Alex listened, feeling Dante has more to get off his chest.
Dante gave a short laugh, but it held no humor. “Disposable errand boys for them, you know? And I—I actually felt proud to be one of the field guys.”
"But their grandsons and granddaughters? Safe. Some live away. The older ones run casinos, manage business, away from the danger." he added, fist clinching so hard. "We don't even attend school like them."
Alex looked at him sharply. “I can teach you how to read and write, Dante. I went to school back in the village.”
Dante’s eyes lit up. “Really? You’d do that?”
“Of course. I will do it after my shifts at old man Harris. We just need ink and paper. Dominick won’t mind.”
Dante’s grin split his face. “Yaaay! I can’t wait!”
He rubbed his hands together, practically bouncing in place. “I can finally write my own name! Send letters! And—And—and read newspapers!”
Alex couldn’t help but enjoy the sight. Seeing Dante so thrilled over something most kids take for granted—the ability to read and write—was infectious. “This is my first time teaching too,” he said, feeling a spark of excitement. “It’s going to be fun.”
“Don’t go easy on me!” Dante shouted, pumping a fist. “I can't wait!”
Alex laughed softly, glancing ahead toward their destination. And then the sound hit them—the violin, delicate and clear, slicing through the murmurs of the plaza.
A small crowd had gathered near the fountain. Merchants on their midday break, a woman in an old wool shawl, a boy sitting cross-legged on the stone steps, hands wrapped around his knees.
And in the center, standing perfectly still, was the blonde girl. Violin pressed to her shoulder.
Noor.
Her back straight, bow steady, coat buttoned all the way to her chin. Her eyes lowered, distant but alert. The notes rose softly, almost like waking breath, then bloomed—melancholy, elegant, and full. Even the gray, cool plaza seemed to lean toward her.
The song, though wordless, carried memory.
1903 - 6 Years ago
Noor’s room was small but orderly. A desk sat beneath the window, stacked with books and papers, a lamp casting a warm glow over her notes. Shelves lined one wall, filled with more volumes, a few framed etchings, and a vase of flowers. Everything was neat, though clearly well-used, reflecting the careful habits of its young occupant.
The history tutor, an old but sophisticated man with thin gray hair and wire-rimmed spectacles, gently closed the leather-bound volume on his lap. His posture was straight, deliberate, but there was a calm ease to the way he sat.
“And so, with General Corven Nascora’s march on the capital, the Forty Year War ended. A heroic stand by a man of unshakable conviction. A man who restored the kingdom one hundred years ago.” He gave Noor a kind nod. “A worthy figure to admire, wouldn’t you say, miss Noor?”
Noor’s legs swung slightly above the floor, hands neatly clasped on her lap.
“Except… the town of Thassel burned down one month before the victory.”
The tutor raised his eyes. “Pardon?”
“It was razed,” Noor said calmly. “With over two hundred civilians inside. Records say the rebels did it while retreating east. But Thassel lies to the west. Why would they backtrack to destroy a town they’d already passed?”
He frowned faintly. “Perhaps to delay pursuit. Or send a message.”
“They were being pursued,” Noor said, “but they’d already crossed the Eastern Border Pass by then. Also… the rebel commander—his wife and child were among the refugees fleeing with that group. Why would he stop to kill civilians while trying to protect his own?”
There was a long pause.
“War… war makes men do strange things, Miss Noor. Even good men.”
Noor nodded. “Perhaps. Though it still doesn’t make sense. I wonder who wrote this version, and what evidence they used to confirm it.”
The tutor rose slowly, smoothing his coat. Noor was already at her notes, head bent, pencil moving carefully as she underlined passages and made small dots beside names. A lamp on the desk cast a warm glow over the room, where books and papers were neatly stacked.
At the door, he hesitated.
“You ask good questions, Miss Noor,” he said. “They’re not always the right ones.”
He offered a faint smile.
“No. Who am I kidding? They’re often better than the answers we’ve been given.”
A flicker of something passed over her face, too fleeting to catch. Then she nodded politely.
Noor looked up. “But you answer them kindly,” she said softly.
She hesitated a moment, then stood, small slippers barely whispering on the rug. From a tin near her desk, she lifted a biscuit wrapped in paper and offered it with both hands.
“For the lesson, sir.”
He smiled, touched. “Thank you so much.”
Noor held the biscuit out a little further, then drew a slow breath. “You and the other tutors are so kind to me. Truly. Sometimes I think… you’re the only ones who make this house feel warm.”
She tried to smile but couldn’t quite hold it. “My mother is here, of course. But not really here.” Her voice grew quieter. “She sits in the same room, but it feels like… she doesn't really see me.”
The tutor’s expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt.
Noor lowered her eyes, as if embarrassed by her own honesty. Then she looked up again, small and hopeful.
“May I repay you somehow? I could play a song for you on the violin. Or—if you show me a picture of your wife, or children—I could draw them for you.”
The old man blinked, throat tightening. He took the biscuit gently from her hands, setting it against his chest.
“That’s… very generous of you, Miss Noor. But your words are gift enough.”
She nodded, gaze steady. “Then I’ll keep them safe for when you visit again.”
He smiled, "Looking forward to our next lesson next week." With that, the tutor left the room.
"She is just seven." he thought, "Yet... clear grasp of historical contradictions. Independent reasoning. Asks “why” beyond fact — questions source origin and motive."
"Not disruptive. Calm. Courteous. But sees too much."
As he stepped into the hallway, a bead of sweat formed on his temple, the warmth of the girl lingering in the room. He smiled fondly, admiration quiet but unmistakable.
"She listens like an adult and speaks like a child trying not to scare you."
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The last note floated into silence. Noor’s bow hovered a breath longer, then lowered gently to her side.
The small audience stirred. One man blinked, startled, as if waking from a long sleep. A woman pressed her hand to her chest. The boy by the step gave a soft whistle, then clapped once—shy, reverent. The rest followed.
The clouds above had not moved. The fountain still whispered. But the air was changed.
As if for a few quiet minutes, the plaza had remembered something worth holding on to.
A coin landed in the open violin case with a soft clink.
“Magnificent!” Alex called from the crowd.
Dante let out a low whistle beside him, grinning.
Noor looked up. Her eyes, surprised at first, softened as she recognized the voices. Her smile curled — understated but warm.
“It’s free for you two, actually,” she said lightly.
“Ah, then I’ll take it ba—” Dante began, already bending down—
Alex thwacked the back of his head lightly. “Just leave it,” he said.
Noor chuckled, amused, and a few passersby smiled at the exchange.
"Alex told me a lot about you, Noor.” Dante asked, rubbing the back of his head with a crooked smile. "I'm Dante. You mind if I come by for some therapy every now and then?”
Noor tilted her head slightly, amused. “Nice to meet you, Dante. And thank you for intervening the other day with Alex. I apologize for not introducing myself properly back then. You’re all welcome — though I’m not a therapist.”
Her smile softened. “Just a friend.”
“You’re more than that, Noor,” Alex said quietly. “We actually came to check on you. Did they return? The Red corner kids?”
Noor shook her head. “No. Thank you so much for checking,” she said, voice calm but sincere. “But I’m already protected.”
She gestured toward the far side of the plaza, where a handful of constables stood near the town hall. Four of them—older men—were chatting idly, trading jokes between puffs of cold breath. But one stood apart.
Daniel.
The youngest of them. The scar from Zack’s knife still traced his cheek—healed, but there, a quiet reminder. As Noor’s gesture reached him, Daniel raised a hand. No smile, just a nod, his gaze sweeping the plaza with steady focus. Not just for Noor’s sake, but for everyone walking through the city’s heart.
Alex felt his chest lighten. A constable taking his duty seriously now—someone who had learned. He waved back, earnest and excited. "How are you doing, mister Danieeel?! he shouted. "Mira made iiiit! She is saaaaafe! Thank you for back theeeen!"
Daniel heard it and gave the faintest smile in return.
For a brief moment, the three of them shared something unspoken across the plaza—Noor with her serene poise, Alex with his open warmth, Daniel with eyes that carried resolve. He hadn’t done much that day of the brawl. But now, it was clear—he intended to spend every day doing better.
One of the older constables turned—the same one who’d watched the day of the brawl.
“Oh, it’s the kids from the other day, Daniel. You friends with them already?”
“Didn’t one of them slash you in the face?” the scarred one— present that day too— added.
“The mark of friendship,” a third said, and they all burst out laughing.
Daniel didn’t turn. Didn’t answer. As if he hadn’t heard.
“He’s changed since that day,” one of them muttered when the laughter faded. “Too serious about his work. Even during boring patrols. Let’s see where that gets him.”
Noor turned back to Alex and Dante, lowering her hand. “And not just him,” she said softly. “Tonno, Lino, and Pinch come to check on me every now and then.” Her voice carried no pride, only quiet gratitude.
"That's good to hear." Dante tilted his head. “Say, Noor. Do you… know how to read?”
Noor nodded once.
“Figures…” Dante muttered, rubbing his neck. “So it’s just me who is... illiterate.”
Alex turned to him. Before he could say anything—
Noor spoke. Her tone was gentle, steady. “Everyone begins somewhere, Dante. What matters is that you begin. And I’d be happy to help.”
Then, quietly, she knelt beside her open violin case. The coins inside clinked softly as she adjusted them—one by one, shifting their places with precision. Alex frowned, unsure what she was doing.
Dante just stared.
Finally, Noor finished. The scattered coins now formed clear, round letters across the velvet lining.
“That’s your name,” she said, pointing as she spoke. “D–A–N–T–E. Dante.”
Dante blinked, then let out a low, awed sound. “Hooh.”
Alex couldn’t help but smile—half in admiration, half in quiet disbelief. The whole plaza felt a little brighter somehow with this small lesson.
Dante blinked. He expected a then grinned faintly. “Are you fond of books, Noor?”
“Yes. Mostly poems and history.”
“Ah, nice. Poems sound nice. Maybe I’ll ask to borrow a few books once I learn a little.” He waved dismissively. “But history? The past. Can’t change it. Also it's wars, revolutions... Not my thing.”
Noor’s lips curved faintly. “History doesn’t always have to be about those, Dante. It can also be about a fountain.” She tapped the edge of the stone beside her. “This one.”
Dante raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Alex listened quietly.
“This fountain was built by Queen Maelen twenty-seven years ago,” Noor went on. “She wanted to calm tensions in the south, so she had this plaza redone — turned the old market into a symbol of unity.” Her eyes lifted to the sculpture in the center. “That spout? It’s not just a bird. It’s the sigil of the old hill clans.”
Dante squinted at it, thinking, "Queen who?"
Alex recognized that feeling again — talking to someone small in years, yet somehow miles ahead.
“Reading history,” Noor continued, “feels like cheating life, physics, and time. You walk through places you’ve never seen, live through centuries you were never born in—watching how kingdoms rise, how this city took shape. Even this fountain, which seems so small, carries a story of its own.”
Alex kept staring at her, lost in thought.
"The first time I met her, she almost hypnotized me with that strange way of speaking.
The second time, same thing — played a little mind game just to make me feel better.
Even during the brawl, when things got bloody... she wasn’t scared at all."
"And now… now she’s talking about a fountain like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world."
"Who really is she?"
Then, as if remembering something, she tilted her head slightly. “By the way… did you see Mira? I caught a cold and couldn’t visit her right after. When I went, Doctor Kranz told me she’d already been discharged.”
Alex said, “I saw her twice. She’s as good as ever. I’ll let her know you visited—”
Before he could finish, something small and fast slammed into him.
Alex hit the ground with a grunt, blinking at the boy clinging to his chest, giggling uncontrollably. “Gotchaaaaa!”
Dante jumped back, startled. “Pinch—?!”
Noor burst out laughing, her calm composure breaking for the first time that day.
Then came Mira, Tonno, and Lino — Mira with her usual light grin, Tonno trailing behind shyly, Lino looking way too pleased with himself.
“Yo,” Mira said, giving a quick wink.
“What’s up, Dante?” Lino added, bumping his shoulder playfully.
“Hey, Noor,” Tonno mumbled shyly
Noor nodded, then walked toward Mira. Without warning, she caught her hand with both of hers.
“Mira. I’m so sorry for what happened to you. Thank god you made it.”
Mira blinked, then raised her hand for a high-five, smirking. "Give me one!”
Noor hesitated, then returned the high-five with a small chuckle.
Mira grinned. “Don’t worry ’bout it! I respect you for standing up to the cowards that day. You’re under the real Wolves gang territory, Noor. Not the frauds that attacked you the other day. That means we’re protecting you.”
Noor blinked, then took a small step back so that all of them fit within her gaze. With unhurried poise, she gathered a pinch of her skirt and bent one knee—a graceful bow, the kind seen only in noble halls.
A show of gratitude, sincere and luminous.
The kids stood taller, awkward and proud, as though they were knights sworn to a humble queen.
Alex finally lifted his head from the ground — Pinch still perched triumphantly on top of him.
“Mira… where’s Leo?”
Noor flinched at the question but stayed silent, her eyes waiting for the answer.
“Why?” Mira said, smirking. “You want another one-sided, humiliating spar like the other day?”
Alex chuckled. “I don’t mind…"
"He said he had some business in the western side of the slums." Mira said, "We live in the eastern side, so I wonder what he is up to..."
“Perhaps a job?” Lino asked. “That area is busier than the east and closer to the city center... though he’s already regained his shifts at the underground boxing tournaments.”
"Western side of the slums? That's where we live." both Dante and Alex thought.
Noor lowered her gaze, then looked up again, her voice small but earnest.
“Can you… ask him to come hear me play?”
The kids blinked, glancing at each other. Mira hesitated, then smiled softly.
“S-sure.”
Noor’s face brightened, hope flickering there like light through cloud.
"Um... do you two know each other?" Dante asked.
Noor brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “We… met only once, years ago. Just a quiet moment in the rain between us. It stayed with me. I have a song I want him to hear…”
The other kids felt their cheeks warm, sensing the quiet weight in her words. Alex and Dante exchanged glances, blushing slightly, while Tonno, Lino, and Pinch avoided looking directly, unsure what to make of it.
“I-I also want to spar with him,” Mira added, trying to break the awkwardness, clinching her fist, “as soon as Doctor Kranz gives me the go. This time I'm beating him!”
“Keep dreaming,” Lino, Tonno, and Pinch said in perfect unison.
“It’ll happen!” Mira shot back.
Dante gave a blank stare. “One wants to serenade him. The other wants to hit him. Balance I guess...”
The laughter spilled out, bright and unrestrained, rolling between the plaza’s walls — Lino, Tonno, Pinch, Mira, Alex, Dante… even Noor. She paused mid-chuckle, letting it wash over her. For once, she wasn’t performing for strangers, nor listening to the metallic clink of coins tossed into her case. She was here, in her own space, surrounded by friends.
Warmth spread through her chest, her cheeks tingling, her fingers curling into small fists, pressed lightly together as if to hold the feeling close. A rare joy, quiet but full, nestled in her bones, and she allowed herself a fleeting hope — that more moments like this could come. That the missing boy, Leo, might join them someday, and the circle of laughter could grow just a little larger.
Then Alex spoke up, breaking the spell. “Noor’s working, and we’re crowding her spot. Maybe we should leave?”
“Yeah, fair,” Mira said, waving her hand dramatically as she herded the gang like stray dogs. “Move it. Move it.”
But Noor’s voice stopped them.
“A little more…” she said.
They turned. Dante and Alex paused too.
“Can you… stay for a little more?” Her voice, small and tentative, carried something different. A quiet request for presence, for a company she enjoyed.
The kids felt it instantly, the unspoken loneliness threaded through her words, and it settled around them like a gentle weight.
“Then we’re staying,” Mira said, smirking.
“Of course we are,” Alex added.
“I’d love to hear something again,” Dante said, grinning.
Noor’s lips parted — then she laughed, warm and real.
“Noooor! Best musician in Portenzo City!” Pinch said. “Play us something happy!”
“No, something sad!” Lino called.
“No, something—” Tonno cut in.
“CUT IT OUT!” Mira barked. “Let her decide!”
Noor smiled, tapping her chin theatrically. “I’ll play something… something…”
Then she looked up, eyes bright. “Something warm.”
And so they all settled onto the plaza’s stone floor — Mira cross-legged, Dante slouching, Tonno and Lino whispering briefly before falling silent, Pinch hugging his knees, and Alex sitting a little apart, leaning forward with his hands resting on his shins, eyes fixed on Noor. The plaza stilled around them, the fountain murmuring softly, and for a moment, the world felt small, warm, and entirely theirs.
No teasing. No chatter. Just listening.
As Noor began to play, the first notes rose and curled through the cold air — soft, golden, like sunlight through leaves.
The melody unfolded gently, tender and nostalgic, carrying warmth that didn’t quite belong to the gray afternoon.
She was really, really good.
And for once, not a single one of them said a word.
Alex’s mind drifted. He remembered the day he had passed out, three days without proper food, and how Noor had offered him water and bread — and a speech he would never forget. That memory, like the notes now, felt comforting and impossible to forget.
Dante recalled the little lesson she had given him just a few minutes ago, carefully writing his name with coins for change, never mocking him or even making a comment for not knowing how to read. That quiet kindness, so simple yet profound, lingered like a gentle echo in his mind.
The Wolves remembered too. During the brawl, Noor hadn’t fled, even though she wasn’t a fighter. Instead, she had leapt to shield Pinch. And later, for six long hours at Doctor Kranz’s, she had stayed with them, waiting quietly while Mira underwent her operation. Her courage and steadfastness were etched into every note she now played.
The song wrapped around them all, a thread tying past moments of care, protection, and friendship into the present. For those few minutes, the plaza belonged entirely to them, a quiet sanctuary in the heart of the city. Cobblestones beneath them, the fountain whispering its steady song, and the winter air carrying only Noor’s music. No schemes, no threats, no blood-stained streets, just the pure, simple joy of a child’s hands coaxing warmth from strings. Even from the shadows near the edge of the square, Constable Daniel kept his watch, unseen and unobtrusive, a silent guardian who knew this fleeting peace was theirs alone.
The city held its breath, listening, and for once, the world was nothing but music and children, small but unshakably alive.
50...
50 Chapters !!!
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