Beneath a crimson sunrise, a white-haired young man stood upon the narrow iron balcony of a towering clock tower, the city sprawling far below him. Birds soared freely overhead, their feathers drifting through the air as their wings beat softly. A single feather slipped free from one of them and drifted through the air, briefly veiling his silhouette before falling away.
Then, the man vanished from the edge of the tower, plummeting downward.
At that very moment, the sound of footsteps echoed along the iron edge of the tower as someone followed the same path, falling swiftly after him. In the crimson sky above, a hand stretched toward the young man, reaching to grasp him.
He slowly opened his pale eyes.
His body was still falling.
Reflected in those faded eyes was another figure descending toward him.
Black hair flowed softly in the air, and a red cloak fluttered behind her like a whisper of flame.
Then he saw them—eyes as blue and clear as a cloudless sky.
A voice, barely more than a breath, whispered, "I've found you."
Suddenly, the deep chime of the clock tower rang out, resonating through the city like a solemn bell.
---
Rays of sunlight slipped through the curtains like golden threads and came to rest upon his face. Their warmth forced his eyes open.
Sian rose and pulled the curtains shut, returning the room to its familiar darkness. He sank back beneath the covers, hoping to steal a few more hours of sleep.
Then—
A loud clatter echoed from the kitchen.
Silence.
A second noise followed, as though something had been knocked over.
He frowned.
Another thud.
This time, it was accompanied by a faint, indistinct sound.
With obvious reluctance, Sian slowly forced himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his body still heavy with exhaustion. For a brief moment, everything before him was a blur before the room slowly regained its features. Only then did his gaze drift down to his feet. He was still wearing his boots. He lingered there for a moment before finally turning toward the door.
As soon as Sian stepped into the kitchen, his eyes fell upon the source of the commotion.
Beatrice was crouched on the floor beside an opened box of dog treats. The biscuits had been scattered across the wooden floor, and nearly half of them had already disappeared into the animal's stomach.
Standing nearby was a girl who looked no older than fourteen. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, and she was dressed in a crimson cloak. Standing on her tiptoes, she stretched toward the upper shelves of a wooden cabinet, rummaging through its contents. It did not take much to understand what she was searching for—something to eat. Hearing him enter, she turned toward him, revealing a pair of clear blue eyes, as blue as the open sky.
---
He sat across from her at the small kitchen table.
She was already sipping from a glass of milk he had poured for her from the fresh bottle the milkman had left at dawn.
He turned his gaze toward Beatrice.
She seemed far too pleased with the biscuits she had devoured. Her tail wagged enthusiastically as she trotted lightly around the kitchen.
Sian murmured to her, "Don't you usually bark at strangers?"
He turned his gaze from Beatrice to Sikakama.
His mind drifted back to yesterday.
He had just stepped out of the flower shop, a bouquet of purple irises in his hand, when he noticed a little girl standing across the street.
She was staring through the fogged window of a small bakery, where rows of freshly baked meat pies rested behind the glass.
She stood there silently, watching them.
He bought one and handed it to her.
She accepted it with both hands, saying nothing.
They sat at opposite ends of a wooden bench overlooking the square. Around them, people hurried past beneath the glow of the streetlamps, their footsteps echoing across the cobblestones. Carriages rolled by. Yet neither of them spoke.
She ate quietly beneath the shadow of her crimson hood while he watched the crowd drift by.
"...Are you lost?" He finally asked.
No answer.
Not even a glance.
He glanced at his watch. It was getting late.
He continued on his way.
But after a few minutes, he noticed her again.
Every time he glanced over his shoulder, she was still there, never more than a few steps behind.
He changed direction.
She followed.
He crossed the square.
She followed.
He stopped.
So did she.
By then, the streets were beginning to empty, and the evening air had grown colder.
He looked at his watch.
There was little else he could do.
He took her to the nearest police station and left her in their care.
The memory slowly faded, and his thoughts returned to the present.
The silence lingered for a long moment before Sian finally broke it.
"And that book? You carry it with you everywhere..."
It was a thin book, its worn cover showing the marks of age and frequent use.
Sikakama opened it and turned it toward him. The first illustration showed a cloaked figure whose face was completely hidden beneath a deep hood.
"There aren't any words, but you can understand the story from the pictures. It's about a monster who lived alone in the forest because he was too ugly. He was afraid the villagers wouldn't accept him, so he wore a cloak to hide himself. He kept traveling from place to place until he met a noble prince who gave him a sword."
She turned the page. A fair-haired prince dressed in noble clothing was handing a sword to the cloaked figure.
"The monster used that sword to protect the village from evil monsters, and the villagers grew to love him. He became friends with everyone."
She turned another page. The illustration showed the cloaked figure surrounded by smiling villagers, his sword raised high as its blade caught the morning sunlight. The following page was blank, marking the end of the story.
"So... it's just a children's story," Sian said, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.
Sikakama frowned and closed the book.
"It's not just a children's story!" she protested.
Sian leaned back in his chair.
"Can you tell me what you want from me? You can't just keep following me everywhere and walking into my apartment whenever you feel like it."
Without hesitation, Sikakama spoke.
"Seek where people stopped praying."
"Seek where the last saint died."
"Seek the half of the city the sun forgot."
The morning light had climbed higher across the kitchen floor, bathing the room in quiet silence.
Sian's expression barely changed. Only a brief pause betrayed him.
Her clear blue eyes fell to the book, her fingers lingering on the blank page.
"They were written beneath the blank page at the end of the book. The first word is badly smudged... So I assumed it meant 'Seek'."
"For some reason... if they were only part of the story..."
"...why were they written beneath the ending instead of inside it?"
Without a word, he reached behind him and pulled open a kitchen drawer. His fingers rested there for the briefest moment before closing around a cigarette and a lighter. He slid the drawer shut, placed the cigarette between his lips, and lit it, shielding the flame with one hand.
She kept talking without pause while thin ribbons of smoke curled slowly into the still morning air. Sian remained silent, listening.
"They sound less like an ending," she said thoughtfully.
"...More like directions," Sian finally said.
A faint spark lit Sikakama's face.
"That's what I thought too... More like something someone hoped would one day be found."
She leaned forward slightly.
"What do you think they mean?"
"I've never heard those words before," Sian said, the cigarette resting between his fingers.
"But whoever wrote them... wasn't trying to tell a story."
Then he gave a quiet shrug.
"If I were you... I wouldn't repeat those words in front of strangers."
"Why?"
His eyes drifted toward her through the curling smoke.
"Because sometimes... the wrong people recognize old things."
"Is that all? Is that why you've been following me? Just to ask me about those lines?"
Sikakama parted her lips.
"The woman..."
Knock. Knock.