The sky was bleeding.

And below, the city burned with an azure flame. In the air, which until recently had been filled with laughter and the gentle murmur of daily life, now rose the agonized voices of those near death and those who mourned the deaths of others.

Also the voices of those who wanted to be saved. But there was no salvation to be found here.

The city where he had been born and raised, where he had spent every moment of his life, had become an inferno engulfed in unreal, celestial flames.

Nothing resembled what it had once been.

That was not limited to the city, to what was left of it and its inhabitants. He took a deep breath.

Even an action so simple, so natural caused an explosion of pain to erupt in his chest. He was vaguely aware of what was happening to himself, but he felt what was happening around him clearly.

The suffering, the death of so many people. Of their loved ones.

There was so much blood… and so much debris. However, that nothing resembled how it had been before was not entirely true, really. Worst of all, what really made what was happening a living hell, was that he could almost, almost see how things had been up until a moment ago. How they should have continued to be.

Everything was different, but not different enough to escape the painful thought that he was seeing the brutal end of his childhood.

He was…

Being dragged across the floor, backwards, by a stranger. He didn’t know who. He didn’t know why. He only knew that it was neither his father nor his mother.

He was sure that the person dragging him was a woman, but it wasn’t his older sister either, no, no, no.

She, together with their parents, was under the debris. And she wouldn’t come out from there. Their home would become a shared grave. Should that relieve it? The idea that they would be together, even in death?

That soon he would join them?

His chest hurt. He wasn’t breathing properly. Still, he didn’t think he was dying. Technically, he could still be saved. Yes, technically.

But, although he was only a small boy, he understood that the situation was not so simple.

For, above the all-consuming flames, death itself loomed.

He could see it with his own eyes.

A spider larger than any building he had ever seen was sweeping everything away. But its existence was not due to a mistake of nature, nor was it the ultimate predator to wipe out humans, who had risen too high on the food chain.

No. There was nothing natural about its existence.

It was an artificial monster of wires and steel; whose pumping heart was a big tank behind it. And its blood was not red or black. It wasn’t ‘blood’, really, but the very fire that was devouring his city. That was what gave it life.

Azure blue.

That miracle that had nothing to do with nature was more like a curse.

And it had nothing to do with him either. As he had said, he would survive his injuries, they were so minor that the word survive was misused. But neither he nor anyone else would escape the city before its utter destruction.

The Azure Empire would not leave a single survivor to tell the tale.

Nor to remember, of course, the stories that had taken place in this city, whose name was already slipping from his mind as easily as the blood from his body.

His head felt very light, like a balloon inflated until it was very, very close to the point where it would burst.

It was normal that he could not think clearly.

Actually, the surprising thing about all this was that he had not already lost consciousness.

Even though the darkness had been treating to consume his vision for a while. With nothing better to do that contemplate the death of everything and everybody he had known, the child wondered who was dragging him, trying to keep him safe and why.

No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t think of an explanation.

A family friend was an easy answer. Naturally anyone would be more concerned about their own family, but if her own had already died in the attack…

It was believable. But, for some reason, he believed it wasn’t about that.

If she wasn’t a family friend, what interest did she have in saving a random child? Why had he been chosen? Even though they had walked past mothers with most of their bodies buried under rubble or their legs mangled, begging to take their child.

Why save him when she had watched so many die without doing anything?

It didn’t make sense.

None of it made sense, and it didn’t matter.

Before long they would both be dead, anyway. Still, he’d like to see the face of the woman who was trying to save him. And thank her.

It was the least he could do. Because he was a good boy…

He had been a good boy.

For some reason, it was then that his tears fell, running down his cheeks. Joining the blood spilling from his forehead.

In the midst of this devastation, he had no idea why he was crying.

It was weird, he was weird.

Maybe he was crying in place of the people whose ability to cry had been stolen.

The boy looked up. At the face of his ‘savior’.

But he couldn’t see her clearly. He could only confirm that they were a woman, after all.

He had a lump in his throat, which he unwrapped with a laugh.

As the sky bled and the city burned.

■

Desmond woke up startled.

That dream again.

Well, more than a dream it was a memory redrawn by his mind, over and over again, because he couldn’t help but go back to those times he had left behind so long ago. Together with the person he had been before and everything he had cared about.

Anyway, things that happen. That happened to everyone. The end of childhood and the beginning of adolescence.

That was it.

He felt a little dizzy…, no, sick. Like in that dream. And the rattling of the infernal machine he was in didn’t help at all.

This was the part where he said he was surprised he’d fallen asleep in the first place, but no, not really. Because he had hardly slept at all for a few days. Always tense, in intervals of minutes, and when sleep came to him it was the same nightmare. Of course.

Not the only one he’d ever had in his life after the rebirth, but the most important. The beginning and end of everything.

He couldn’t sleep even remotely well…because too much depended on what would happen now. His success or failure would reshape his future.

Desmond watched the landscape pass by the window in the form of an indistinct blur, because this damn thing was going too fast. In one sense, it was good, the sooner this was over, the better. But in another, he wished for something slower. For the sake of his sanity.

It was almost ironic. One machine, one single filthy machine, had destroyed his life.

And this machine would lead him to the true beginning of his new life.

Failure was not an option. If he failed, he could try next year like everyone else.

But it was only technically an option. He knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t endure another year with nothing to do but train and regret the past.

Either his life would begin today… or it would end.

Those were the only possible outcomes.

He would say that line of thinking had brought him down to reality, but he had been aware of that even before he stepped through the door of this thing called a train. He was kicking around old questions and answers to avoid thinking about the real problems.

Yes, he knew himself a little too well, perhaps.

But there were many ways to distract himself on this long journey. Some better, some worse.

He pulled the pistol from its holster.

He hammered it, put it to his temple. He closed his eyes softly, slowly, concentrating on the rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat to the point where the sounds of the train faded from his perception.

Nothing happened, of course.

He heard a click, felt a slight pressure against his skull, but that was all.

The gun did not fire.

The first of the bullets in the barrel didn’t go through his head, scattering his brain across the seat and the window. No one said anything to him.

Not that what he did was anyone’s business. But there was no one to yell "you’re crazy" or anything like that. The wagon he was in was empty, except for him. He had taken the trouble to walk to the last wagon even though there were extra seats a few wagons back to have this peace.

For as long as it would last. He couldn’t be alone all the way, in peace, doing whatever he pleased.

Unfortunately.

But, for the moment, he could be at ease.

Desmond lowered the gun and spun the cylinder. It was a bit like playing a game of roulette. Yeah, only it was a game he couldn’t lose.

He put the gun to his temple again, not opening his eyes the whole time. He pulled the trigger and the same thing as before happened. That is, nothing. This little routine relaxed him somehow. Probably because he was sick in the head.

Belittling himself was not his style. But well, it was what anyone who saw what he was doing would think.

There was nothing wrong with being honest.

Even if the truth didn’t make him look good. Who wouldn’t be sick in the head after all he’d had to witness? Though it didn’t have anything to do with what he was doing, it was still again.

He did it again.

Again and again, ‘firing’ all the bullets in the chamber, until he heard the back door slide open. His peace had ended faster than he had thought. He lowered the pistol, setting it down on the table placed between the seats and opened his eyes to see the first intruder.

It turned out to be a female intruder.

White dress shirt, a similarly embellished black mini-skirt, short boots and knee-high stockings. In addition, she wore a white coat with blue lining. A black bow tied her long blonde hair, which reached to the frills her skirt. A red tie crossed her chest.

Yes, that girl was quite a sight. But rather than heading into battle, she looked like she was on her way to a ball or something. Or that she was someone’s secretary.

If not for her eyes, empty, cold, pitiless.

If not for the sword that hung from her waist. A rapier, to be exact.

He didn’t doubt that this girl was dangerous. Like him, she had come so far, after all. However, she should at least cut that hair. It wouldn’t do her any favors in the middle of a battle for her life. It would just be an easy place to grab her, restrict her movements.

Anyway, it was none of her business. She should know what she was doing. Or not. And if not, well, one less opponent for him.

She walked in alone.

And, for some reason, determined to annoy him. Because, although she could have sat literally anywhere else, she chose to do so in front of him. The smile she gave him was totally devoid of warmth, amusement or, why not say it, attraction.

It was more of a smug smile like that of a cat with a full stomach.

Which made him intensely uncomfortable. What could this stranger want with him? If he was an idiot, his first thought would have been that this girl liked what she saw and wanted to try it. But he wasn’t such an idiot as to look in the mirror and not realize he had a face that only a mother could love. So it couldn’t be about attraction.

His first thought was to get up and sit somewhere else, away from her.

But that would be ridiculous. To run away with his tail between his legs at the look and smug little smile of an unknown girl. Instead, he returned her gaze, carving himself a stoic expression in complete contrast to hers.

"What do you want?" Still, he was the first to give in. Better to get her out of the way. Or that was the excuse.

"I saw you through the window and couldn’t help but notice this. "

Desmond felt a shiver run down his spine. The girl had a rich, engrossing, masculine voice. Not a feminine voice with a hint of masculinity, but a masculine voice with a hint of femininity. Some would call him weird for that, but he liked it. It gave him a pleasant feeling.

She put her hand on his gun, covering it. "It’s not something you see every day. At least, not in this part of the world.

"You’re wrong," he replied coldly. "Until recently, something like this was seen every day even in this part of the world. Only no one wore the expression you wear now because of it. Quite the opposite, in fact."

The girl, to her surprise, snorted as if he had said something funny. Of all the reactions…

"You’re not wrong. Still, you’re being unnecessarily confrontational, don’t you think? I don’t bite. I’m simply a curious person by nature."

He cut to the chase.

"You want to know why I carry a gun? Because it’s a useful tool. And we’re going to the academy to become tools. National pride, respect and things like that don’t make sense. It doesn’t stop me from taking whatever advantage I can get."

"That’s not a very common opinion. Even those who need extra help do without firearms, the weapon of the enemy, more often than not. Of the two, which one are you?"

"Hmm?"

"Cautious or needy?"

This woman…

"Haven’t you ever heard that curiosity killed the cat?"

"What a crude cliché." The girl crossed one leg over the other. He didn’t follow the movement with his eyes. He wouldn’t have, even if it hadn’t seemed like a challenge, speaking of curiosity. "Curiosity killed the cat… and satisfaction brought it back."

He’d never heard that one before. He supposed it was true for quite a few people.

"So, do you feel satisfied now?"

"More or less. Well, I have some complaints, but nobody’s perfect. From the look on your face, you have some things to complain about, too." She uncrossed her legs. "Could we start over?"

She reached out toward him, taking her hand off the gun where it had been all along, something that would have been taken as a threat in any other situation. A sign of peace. However, he did not accept the handshake.

He stared at her hand as if it were a razor-sharp knife pointed at his heart.

"What do you want?"

"When I said let’s start over, I wasn’t being so literal, okay?" Her smile was softer now. Fake, a change of tactics to appeal to him.

Maybe I’m too paranoid, he thought.

She hadn’t done anything to deserve him behaving as if she were his enemy. Just poking her finger into old wounds. Wounds she should have known were there, though not to what extent. And her lack of tact, the pain, was certainly not pleasant.

But it wasn’t worth ruining a relationship that could last four years or the rest of his life. Or hers.

Depending on who fell first on the battlefield.

So he shook her hand.

"My name is Desmond Orosco. And yours?"

"Amy…"

"What?"

"Amy… Amy Sunderland."

"Was that little pause to make you seem more mysterious?"

Amy smiled half-heartedly.

"Something like that." Her reaction was obviously odd, but first, it was none of his business, and second, she wouldn’t appreciate him asking about it, much less pressing hard enough to get anything out of her. It was best to keep the proper distance between them, who were strangers.

"To answer your question from earlier," he continued, almost regretful already of something he had not yet said, "I am of the cautious sort. I am well aware of my lack of talent and that I have to make up for it in any way possible. I can’t depend on magic to take care of everyone who gets in my way.

"I wouldn’t say you lack talent. You’re here, after all."

"What I don’t lack is the will to work hard. I must have at least a smidgen of talent, at least a smidgen. But talent is cheaper than table salt."

Amy nodded thoughtfully.

"You know, I like you. I have a feeling we’d be good friends."

"That’s possible. First you should worry about whether or not we’ll pass the test, though."

"Ah. That worries you?"

"I just admitted my lack of talent."

"Yet I had the feeling that you didn’t have any doubts. That you weren’t that kind of person. And I don’t think you should be. Regardless of how things turn out between us, whether we’ll be friends, enemies or just strangers, I’m certain we’ll both go through the Four Seasons."

"I wish I shared your confidence. It’s about confidence… or is it that you have no choice but to actually win?"

Amy froze, and he knew he’d hit the nail on the head.

"A little bit of both," she admitted. "You’re shrewd."

It didn’t sound like she was praising him, though. He’d gotten too close.

"I have my moments."

"Yes." A wry laugh. "Like I said, I like you."

And, though he wouldn’t admit it, especially not so soon, he liked her, too. Not just because the sound of her voice gave him pleasant tingles, but because she was surprisingly easy to get along with once he let his guard down.

She didn’t mince words, always spoke her mind, for better or worse.

Yes, such a personality had its advantages and disadvantages.

For him it was like a magic spell because…. He supposed because he wasn’t used to talking to people, that is, beyond what was strictly necessary for his purposes. And this girl was pulling on his tongue. In front of her silence was not an option.

Part of it was that he wanted her to keep talking so he could keep listening to her.

He was willing to admit that.

But only a small part of it.

"I get the impression that you’re the type who doesn’t lack talent or the will to work hard."

"It’s bad of me to say so. But you’re right."

"I guess you don’t use that sword much."

"Your wits have failed you there, I’m afraid. This is not a decorative piece," she said as she placed a hand on the pommel of her sword, "I know very well how to use it."

"I can’t wait to see that." And he wasn’t lying.

Well, not entirely. It made him nervous that she would be a tough opponent, but it’s not as if there was only one spot available. There was room enough for her, him, and dozens more.

He didn’t have to outrun her, in other words. Just not fall too far behind.

"Speaking of which… I had almost forgotten, but why did you do that, if you don’t mind?"

"That?"

"What I saw you do through the window. Put the gun to your temple and pull the trigger. It’s kind of morbid, even if it wasn’t loaded."

"It was."

"Then you would have been dead before you could pull it a second time. Wait, you mean it was loaded, but not completely loaded? Did you feel like playing roulette?"

"The gun is loaded. Fully loaded."

"Eh. Is this a joke or…?"

"If you don’t believe me, try it." He gestured with his hand, inviting her to do it. "Come on. Take it. Aim and shoot."

Amy hesitated, but ended up taking the gun. She checked that the chamber was full, then pointed it at his chest. But not right over his heart, but at his shoulder.

"In case you have a death wish and you’re trying to bring me into this," she said.

Then she squeezed the trigger.

Of course, nothing happened.

Amy looked at the gun, surprised.

"Don’t tell me this thing is broken."

"Look at the butt."

"What?"

"Under there," he replied, pointing a finger. She turned the gun around. She saw it, and smiled in response. This time the smile went all the way to her eyes.

"Nice trick. Very clever." She frowned. "No, wait. This would only stop someone from taking it and using it against you. Where’s the real trick? Don’t tell me you snatched it off someone’s hands and just carry it around to look more intimidating."

"No. I’m not that dumb."

"Then where’s the real trick?"

"Like I said, I’m not that dumb," Desmond replied, resting a hand against the corresponding cheek, smiling as if he’d won something. "I’m not going to tell you all my tricks, my secrets. We are enemies, after all."

Still, he allowed Amy to keep turning his gun around, studying it closely. Because he knew there was no risk of her discovering the trick.

"I don’t see any other runes. All right, then." She set the gun down on the table and pushed it, sliding it over to him. "Keep your secrets."

Desmond put the gun away.

They spent the rest of the trip alternating between silence and inconsequential conversations. Which once again he found surprisingly easy. Apparently, they were like-minded people. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up.

Chances were that when they got off the train their paths would part forever.

Still, it was nice.

When was the last time he had felt truly connected to another person, even if it was in a way as superficial as this?

Too long, he decided. Too long.

When the infernal machine finally reached its destination, which put them right in front of the academy, Desmond felt disappointed that the conversation had had to end so soon.

He had found it very, very short. It had even allowed him to forget that he was in a steel death trap.

Amy stood up, placing her hands on top of the table that separated them.

Without taking her eyes off him.

"Well, there’s our stop. Good luck."

"I don’t need any. But thank you. I appreciate the sentiment."

■

Desmond stepped out behind her, slipping past the other passengers when he could, pushing his way in when he couldn’t. He liked to be polite. But sometimes people made it impossible. So they got what they deserved as a result.

He completely ignored the withering looks they gave him. And he returned the shove from the few he’d shoved who had the balls to shove him back, not because he was in their way, but because they were annoyed as if it was his fault they didn’t know how to behave, twice as hard.

He stopped at the exit.

There he lost sight of Amy amidst the sea of people surrounding him, as he had expected, their paths separated, not that he minded.

He stood looking out over the academy grounds, lost in thought.

This would be his home for four long years.

Or else it would be his grave for the rest of eternity, for if he failed this would be as good a place to die as any other. He would lose himself in that forest and end it all with his own hands.

Among its green splendor. Among the stillness and peace brought by the connection with nature that they were slowly abandoning. Replacing them with comforts….

Desmond put his hand on the gun.

Comforts like this.

The academy was divided into four dormitories, four spiraling towers that defied the heavens, tearing at the shroud of the clouds. And, just as the name of the academy suggested, each of the dormitories had a very clear and distinctive theme.

They ranged from spring to winter, and were decorated accordingly.

The Tower of Spring, just to give one example, was shrouded in a constant rain of yellow and red leaves that came from nowhere and fell to the ground. Clustering together, forming a circle around the tower.

Eventually, not too long, as he was able to observe the process with his own eyes, they would disappear to be quickly replaced with others.

That was the tower that caught his attention the most, for it was a most blatant display of magical power in service of nothing more important than a decorative theme.

It was no surprise, of course.

He had heard about this and had read about the how and the when. Still, just one of the towers was a breathtaking sight. All four together gave the feeling that he was about to step into another world. Except for the main building, situated between the four towers, that was the only thing that broke the illusion.

Which was not far from the truth. Once again, he would leave the world he had known behind.

Desmond took a step forward.

Toward the future.

■

He found Amy standing with her arms folded under the light of a cluster of artificial fireflies, created as an imitation of another machine called a streetlight.

Another blatant display of power, and for an absurd reason.

They had taken advantage of the knowledge coming from the Azure Empire in many ways. A perfect example was the train that had brought them here. Without it, the logistics of bringing all the students to the academy for the test would have become much more complicated.

And he would have been traveling several days, for him and many others who were not fortunate enough to live so close to the capital.

Not just a few hours.

If they were willing to go that far, why not copy the design of the streetlights down to the last letter and mass-produce them?

For useless things like national pride?

Integrity?

No. Those were useless things, especially putting them on a scale next to bloodshed. That’s why he used firearms, explosives and whatever else it took without a trace of pride. Or at least that’s what the others told him, scorning him. Spitting on him.

The government should look at things that way, from firearms to useful, but non-lethal things like streetlights.

It should force people to see it that way, no matter how much they disliked it at first, and if they wanted to, it could do so easily. Since people only thought what they were supposed to think and stood up for what they were supposed to care about.

He didn’t understand how they were so stuck in the past, yet at the same time selectively taking steps forward, when all that remained of the past was a huge pool of blood.

And the screams of the fallen.

He didn’t understand. He really didn’t.

But he didn’t have to.

"Is this what took you so long?" Amy asked, crossing her arms. "Why have you been busy staring into nothingness, thinking about gods know what?"

"Were you waiting for me?"

"Yes. For my own reasons. But now I’m thinking I should do it to make sure you don’t get lost." She patted him on the back. "Come on, boy. What you want is right in front of your eyes. Just reach out and grab it."

She was trying to reassure him, huh? She thought it was something to do with stress. That he was having second thoughts at the last minute.

Was he?

No. Ridiculous. This was what he’d lived for so long after losing everything. The only reason. To throw it away would be like spitting on his family’s grave, on what was left of the city he’d been born in, and on the blood, sweat and tears he’d shed over the years.

All to get here. All to become a soldier.

Turning back was not an option.

He didn’t have long to hesitate, nor to marvel at the sights. A guide was waiting for them, and he led them directly to the auditorium. He had expected that they would start at full speed, that they would be thrown to the lions.

But in reality, it would begin with a no doubt boring speech by the academy director.

The curtains were drawn and in came the aforementioned person. A man riding in one of those modern conveniences, a wheelchair, because he was missing a good part of his right leg. And he would not always be strong enough to walk, even with the aid of a cane.

That was not the only way he had been maimed. He was also missing an eye.

It was too noticeable that it was a glass eye. A simple replacement that could see nothing.

He was an old man, but he was sure… that he still felt a phantom pain, even after so many years. That his leg and his lost eye still burned.

He felt it too.

A phantom pain. And what he was missing, what should be there, but of which only a twisted imitation remained, which only made him nauseous….

He was talking about his whole body.

But he wouldn’t go so far as to say he felt sympathy for the man. A man like Matthew didn’t need his sympathy, for he possessed all the power he sought and more.

Even in a wheelchair, on one of his worst days, he had no doubt that the director could tear him apart like a baby.

Even though he had come so far already, he was nothing in comparison.

■

He woke up. And saw to his surprise that he wasn’t dead or dying. He was still being dragged by that woman… or at least another woman, he hadn’t checked, but it would be too much of a coincidence. Not that his savior had been replaced by another woman while he had been unconscious, but that she had been replaced at all, male or female.

And that woman had managed to get him out of the city. For before him stretched the flaming remains of the city.

The blood, the corpses, and the broken spider that had wiped everything out, the limbs twisted to uselessness, the tank smashed to pieces.

How had that happened?

And while he was at it, what had happened to make him lose consciousness? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember anything beyond the devastation that had occurred around him. It was like a recording with a part that had been erased.

But not unrecoverable. It came back to him along with the return of pain. The truth was also an answer to why he was in pain.

A metal rod had pierced his chest.

Through and through, cleanly.

Being dragged along he was leaving behind a thick trail of blood. It made him think of a snail and its drool, for some reason. The first comparison his mind, that was running out of oxygen, just as his body was running out of blood, had been able to come up with.

How he hadn’t died, indeed.

He had a hard time thinking that a human being could survive something like that. He found it hard to think that a human being would have so much blood inside his body.

And he still had quite a while to go before he bled out. Die by bleeding out.

Desmond coughed. What he expelled was not air.

He spat blood on the floor and also, mostly, on himself. He told himself it was disgusting only vaguely aware of that feeling.

He had other things to worry about.

He was conscious, he could think more or less clearly. And he could still feel pain. That, especially, was good. He believed. He’d learned things like that from books and people’s mutterings. But he had never faced anything like this before.

The woman stopped dragging him. His slowly stopping heart pounded with redoubled strength at that.

Please, he begged. Don’t give up. Don’t leave me for dead.

He stared at the woman’s face. It was bathed in blood. Blood, like the color of those eyes that were staring at him. There was no resignation in her expression. There was no reason to fear her, he realized. Because she was looking at him…

Strange as it seemed, she was looking at him like a mother. That was the only thing he could think of.

"You have to live," she said, grabbing his head, pulling it into her lap.

As if he could do anything to change his fate. He was just a child.

He heard something.

The cry of an eagle soaring through the skies, its territory. Beautiful, terrible and free wherever it went. Desmond gasped and reached out, as if to pluck it out of the air, seconds after it disappeared under the blanket of the sun.

If only I had that power…

If only I had wings…

His arm fell.

It fell, he didn’t let it fall. He didn’t even have the strength left to hold his arm up.

He sank into the darkness, the woman’s voice echoing in his skull like a magic spell.