White Hole - Episode 1: Farewell to the Aurora
Chapter 1: The Child of the Stars and the Echo of the Unknown
The life of Nerio, a ten-year-old boy whose maturity was at odds with his young age, was a mechanical symphony, punctuated by the gentle, almost imperceptible hum of the Aurora satellite. This sound, more familiar than his own voice, was the heartbeat of his existence. His parents, Ling and Alexander Moore, world-renowned astrophysicists, had raised him in this sterile and silent bubble, millions of kilometers from the superficiality of an Earth he had never known. The Aurora, a state-of-the-art orbital laboratory, was their sanctuary, a place dedicated to the pure quest for knowledge.
Nerio's education was a rare privilege, a unique fusion of astrophysics lessons from his father, where complex equations danced on holographic screens, and demanding philosophical debates with his mother, who encouraged him to deconstruct the most abstract concepts. They had forged a mind, not just a child, instilling in him a capacity for analysis and perspective that distinguished him. His existence was an equation, and he mastered every variable, every unknown. He didn't just memorize; he understood the fundamental principles, the subtle interconnections that governed the universe.
That day, the satellite cabin vibrated with a soothing mood, the murmur of the thrusters confirming their stable orbit. Ling Moore, her face illuminated by the reflection of the control screens, turned to her husband, a look of satisfaction in her eyes. "The parameters are stable, Alexander. Everything is nominal".
Alexander, his eyes fixed on a holographic graph that projected complex curves into the air, replied in a deep voice, filled with scientific curiosity. "Nevertheless, the probe has detected something unusual light-years away from any known source. An energetic anomaly... The measurements are not consistent with our current models".
Nerio, whose attention had been captured by the change in his father's tone, approached, his deep brown eyes settling on the raw data. He didn't just read the numbers; he visualized the force vectors, the quantum fluctuations. His mind, trained in deduction, began to assemble the pieces of the puzzle. "The signature is irregular, Father. Not a classic black hole. The gravitational distortion indicates a field inversion instead. A... an opposite type of singularity".
Alexander gave him a proud look, a smile forming on his lips. "Exactly, Nerio. That's what I was going to say. A white hole. A purely theoretical entity, which we thought was impossible to observe. A door to... the unknown".
Pure, intoxicating scientific excitement seized them. The discovery was monumental, a revolution for astrophysics. But the euphoria was short-lived. A piercing, metallic click, dry and brutal, resonated, tearing the quiet of the cabin. The screens, which had been displaying constellations and complex data, flickered violently, their colors turning blood red. Strident alarms went off, a deafening cacophony of beeps and sirens. The console burst into a scarlet light, casting sinister reflections on their pale faces. The thread of their scientific conversation broke, replaced by a palpable, icy tension, an imminent threat.
Chapter 2: The Fall and the Awakening of a New World
Outside the cabin, the spectacle was both terrifying and sublime. An electric blue halo began to dance, not with the poetic fluidity of the northern lights, but with a menacing intensity, pulsing like a cosmic heart. It flickered, growing at a dazzling speed, and quickly tinted with a blinding whiteness, so intense that it seemed to absorb the light itself. Nerio's heart raced in his chest, but his curiosity gave way only to cold analysis. He thought, his synapses crackling: "It's a spatiotemporal singularity, in the process of opening. The distortion field is too powerful. The satellite won't hold up. The structural materials are reaching their breaking point".
His mother, in a protective reflex, grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Nerio, get back! Now!" Her face was pale, but her eyes showed a fierce determination, a maternal love defying the catastrophe. His father, reacting with the speed of a seasoned pilot, snapped his fingers on an emergency button. "Buckle up, right away!" he ordered, his voice deep and full of authority, fighting against the din of the alarms.
But before the electronic belt could close around him, an invisible but powerful breath swept through the room. It was not a wind, but rather a silent shockwave, a raw and irresistible force that defied the known laws of physics. He saw his parents violently thrown against the walls of the cabin, their bodies inert, their faces frozen in a silent scream that produced no sound, their hands reaching out to him in a desperate gesture. The white hole, this luminous tear in space, was now pulsating, irresistibly pulling him in with an unheard-of gravitational force.
"Papa! Mama!" he cried, his words getting lost in the deafening void and the luminous echo of the singularity. He tried to resist, to hold on to anything, the control panel, the seat, but his hands slipped on the smooth surfaces, powerless against the overwhelming force. A second later, the world dissipated around him, and he was sucked into the abyss of light. He fell heavily, breathless, onto an uneven, hard floor. Around him, the darkness slowly dissipated, revealing raw wooden walls lit by the flickering and smoking glow of a torch. His hands fumbled for support on the rough floor to get up. He thought, his mind already in analysis mode: "What is this place? Where am I? This is not Earth. The gravity is different, the air density too. The architecture is primitive, medieval. It's an unknown world, a statistical anomaly".
His high-tech clothes had disappeared, replaced by a coarse tunic and worn canvas pants, rough against his skin. Through a window with imperfect glass panes, he saw not the familiar stars of space, but an ancient city with mossy cobblestones. Squeaking carts pulled by unknown beasts—massive creatures with curved horns—passed in the street, and passers-by in colorful capes hurried by, their faces marked by expressions he could not decipher. The air was heavy with new smells: a mixture of fresh bread just out of the oven, unknown spices, and a slight scent of wood smoke. He turned to an old mirror placed on a wobbly table. His reflection elicited a muffled scream from him. His eyes, usually deep brown, now shone with a supernatural glow, a silvery sheen he had never known. His skin now seemed to have an unreal softness, almost translucent under the faint light of the torch. The brutal shock of the loss, the image of his parents carried away by the white hole, and the strange exhilaration of this discovery mingled in his chest, an emotional paradox he could not yet classify. He was alone, tossed between two universes that everything separated. His name was Nerio, a former passenger of the Aurora, torn from his life by the enigma of a white hole. But he swore, with this new light in his eyes and this unknown strength within him, he would find a way to get back to them.
Chapter 3: The Betrayal and the Shadow of Cruelty
Nerio pushed the solid oak door of the modest dwelling, letting it close behind him with a muffled creak that echoed in the silence. The fresh air and the liveliness of the street enveloped him, a sensory assault he was not prepared for. His heart was pounding, torn between the wonder of this vibrant world and the fear of the unknown. For the first time in his life, he walked on solid ground, under a deep blue sky studded with strange clouds, with smooth, white shapes, like cotton sculptures. The smell of the dust raised by the carts and the sweet scent of unknown flowers invaded his senses. Every detail - the texture of the cobblestone under his feet, the feeling of the sun on his skin, the faces of the passers-by with such varied expressions - was a discovery, a new piece of data to analyze. It was a living, vibrant world, far from the sterility of the Aurora. He thought, his scientific mind taking over emotion: "I must stay calm. Observe. Analyze. This is what my parents would have told me to do. Every interaction is a variable".
As he tried to orient himself, his eyes scanning the signs and faces, he was accosted by an old man, Thorne. His wrinkled face bore a smile of circumstance, and his squinted eyes, a light blue like the Earth's sky, watched him with a curiosity he could not decipher. Nerio, still in shock, tried to explain his story to him, his words stammering in the face of the absurdity of his situation. The old man listened patiently, nodding, a barely perceptible grimace at the corners of his lips. "I see," Thorne murmured, his smile widening, revealing yellowed teeth. "You are a traveler from afar, then. A very, very long way". His tone was honeyed, but Nerio, with his sharpness, detected a dissonance, a false note in the melody of his voice.
He motioned for him to follow and took him to the city library, a large gray stone building adorned with carved symbols he had never seen before. Nerio had the impression of being in a history book, of being a character lost in a medieval tale. Hope rose in him, a small fragile flame in the ocean of his uncertainty. "It contains thousands of scrolls and codices... The old texts sometimes speak of portals, of passages between realities," Thorne explained, his voice full of promises. Nerio's heart pounded with hope. That was it! He was sure the library held the key to his return. But as soon as the massive door closed, the old man's hand, once so welcoming, struck the back of his head violently. The world went black, hope shattering into a thousand pieces.
When Nerio came to, he was lying on a cold, hard floor. The smell of incense and old parchment floated in the air, but it was now tinged with bitterness. Thorne stood over him, his features distorted by a calculating, cold smile, his eyes shining with a repulsive greed. "A young man with white hair and bright blue eyes... I've never seen anything like it. He must sell for a rare price, such a singularity". These icy words made the thin barrier of his hope collapse. Nerio suddenly understood, with icy horror, that he intended to sell him as a slave. He tried to get up, to flee, but his limbs were heavy and strengthless, numb from the blow. Without a word, Thorne brutally grabbed him by his shock of white hair, forcing him to get up with a choked scream of pain. He dragged him unceremoniously through the busy streets of the city to a sinister place, a slave market. The sight chilled the boy's blood. Men and women of all origins, with faces marked by resignation or fear, were chained, exposed to the gaze of buyers, sold like cattle. The air was heavy with despair, sweat, and the acrid smell of misery. Thorne approached a corpulent slave trader, his face sweating and his eyes small and calculating. "I'll give you four hundred gold pieces. This is my final price". The merchant hesitated, his eyes weighing Nerio's value, but the lure of profit was stronger. "Deal!" he growled, a greasy smile on his lips.
Chapter 4: The Slave Market and the Flame of Resistance
Thorne's blow had been a sharp betrayal, but the reality of the slave market was an even more brutal shock for Nerio. His bare feet touched the cold, dirty ground of the square, his hands were tied behind his back with a rough rope that chafed his skin. He felt tiny, lost in the midst of this broken humanity, and fear gripped his throat, a new and unpleasant sensation. He thought, his mind clinging to logic so as not to sink: "I have to escape. I can't stay here. My parents didn't educate me for this. I have to fight. I have to remember who I am. Analysis of weak points is paramount".
A richly dressed man approached. His face was severe, marked by a natural authority, and his dark eyes scrutinized the slaves with an air of disdain, as if he were choosing an inanimate object. "I am looking for a slave for my son," he said in a deep, demanding voice. "Someone who is intelligent, capable of learning quickly, and who can serve as a study companion". The corpulent seller brutally pushed Nerio forward, presenting him as merchandise. "Here is a young man who might be perfect, noble lord. He is of a keen intelligence, and his unique appearance makes him a... memorable subject". The client looked at him with measured interest, lingering on his white hair and blue eyes, a glimmer of opportunism in his gaze. "I'll take him".
Nerio felt a shiver of icy fear run through him. It was done. He was going to be sold, his body, his freedom, everything he was going to become the property of this man. But deep inside, a small flame of determination refused to go out. He was ten years old, he was alone in an unknown world, but he had to stay calm, observe, and find a way to escape. Without thinking, driven by a primal survival instinct that his parents could never have taught him, he broke free from the seller's grip with unexpected agility and ran through the crowd, zigzagging between the stalls, overturning baskets of fruits and vegetables, creating a momentary chaos. But his freedom was short-lived. A market guard, a mountain of a man in light armor, appeared out of nowhere and struck him violently in the face with the back of his hand. The seller, his face distorted by fury, approached. He gave the guard a sharp sign. The latter struck Nerio again, this time with more force, aiming for his torso. The boy felt a sharp pain, his breath was cut off, and a sinister crack echoed. He realized, even in the pain, that it was a rib. The client who had bought him, the richly dressed man, approached, a look of disgust on his face. "I don't want a slave who behaves like that. You should train him properly before selling him". He withdrew, leaving Nerio at the mercy of his tormentors. The world swayed, pain overwhelmed him, but the flame of resistance still burned.
Chapter 5: Hope in the Darkness and the Unforeseen Connection
Nerio lay on the cold floor, his arms and legs shackled by brutal chains that chafed his skin. Every part of his body was just a throbbing pain, a cruel reminder of yesterday's beating. The client had come, giving a glacial ultimatum to the guards: "You have one year... One year to train this kid." One year to break his spirit, to turn him into an empty shell. Nerio thought, his mind calculating the probabilities of survival: "One year. One year to survive. One year to prepare to escape. That's what my parents would have told me. Each day is an opportunity to acquire new data".
He was feeling cruel hunger. He hadn't eaten since last night, and his stomach was crying out for food, painful cramps twisting him. His strength was declining at an alarming rate. His thoughts wandered, populated by cruel mirages of imaginary feasts, the smell of the Aurora's food synthesizer. He remembered his parents, Ling and Alexander Moore, the comfortable and happy life he had aboard the satellite. It was another universe, an unimaginable existence from the cold, damp ground of this prison.
Suddenly, a soft, weak voice came from the next cell, an unexpected melody in the cacophony of his despair. "Hey... are you there?" It was a girl, another slave, who looked at him with sad but incredibly lively eyes, deep green orbs that seemed to contain an ancient wisdom. She held out a small piece of moldy bread to him, her thin hand offering the meager meal through the bars. "Here, take this... You need it more than me". He took it greedily to his mouth. It was the first solid food he had eaten in endless days, and even moldy, it tasted like hope. "My name is Aria," she replied, a slight smile forming on her thin lips, a glimmer of humanity in the darkness. "My name is Nerio," he said, feeling a warmth spread within him, a strange sensation he couldn't yet identify. "We're in the same boat, Nerio," she said, her smile widening. "We must help each other to survive here. Alone, we are nothing".
They shared their stories through the cold, rusty bars. Aria told him how her father had sold her to pay off his gambling debts, a story of despair and betrayal. He confided in her about his past as an astronaut, the white hole, and the disappearance of his parents, a story that sounded straight out of a fantasy tale to her. A silence settled between them, a moment of mutual understanding that transcended bars and worlds. "We are both survivors," Aria declared. "We must help each other to survive".
Chapter 6: The Vices of the Guards and the Birth of a Strategic Friendship
In the darkness of their cell, the voices of the guards reached their ears, low and guttural, mixed with the sound of their heavy footsteps. Aria and Nerio spoke in low voices, sharing their hopes and fears, their whispers weaving a fragile bond in the ambient hostility. It was the first time Nerio had spoken to a girl his age. His mother had been his only female role model, and this new interaction was an enigma that his analytical mind was striving to decipher. He was fascinated by Aria's ability to understand the world with her heart, where he relied on logic, an intriguing dichotomy. Aria looked at Nerio, a slight smile on her thin lips. "I'm scared... but when you're here, the fear is less strong".
Nerio's heart, usually so rational, tightened, a sensation he could not yet name. "It's a normal chemical reaction in the brain, triggered by the presence of a reassuring individual," he explained, trying to keep his tone neutral, to rationalize the emotion. "Your brain, in the presence of a figure perceived as a safety factor, releases serotonin and reduces the production of cortisol, the stress hormone. It's a positive biochemical response". She laughed softly, a melodic sound that warmed the cold air of the cell. "I think that's what you call friendship". Nerio was surprised to appreciate the term. He thought: "Friendship... a concept I had read about in my mother's books. I think I like this term. It's an unexpected, but potentially powerful, variable".
The conversation stopped abruptly. The footsteps of the guards were getting closer, sharper, more menacing. One of them, Quentin, was questioning the morality of their work, his voice betraying a certain hesitation. Another, Sébastien, sneered, reducing the slaves to cattle, his cynicism palpable. Nerio decided to play his hand, to try to manipulate Quentin, the guard who seemed to have a conscience, an emotional flaw to exploit. "Hey, guard," he said, his voice low but firm, carried by a new determination. "The line between good and evil is not always clear. Does what you do here really make you better?" His words made Quentin flinch, but he was too cowardly to hear them, too anchored in his routine of obedience. He pointed a finger at Nerio, cowardly, to his superior, Pascal. "It's him, Pascal. He gives us no rest with his phrases". Pascal, a mountain of a man with hard eyes and a face marked by cruelty, looked at Nerio, a cruel smile stretching his lips. "Ah, the kid. Do you think you can manipulate me with your big phrases? I'm going to show you what it costs to be insolent". The violence of the blows redoubled. Nerio felt pain invade him, every kick, every punch. The boy tried not to cry out, not to show anything, his muscles contracting to absorb the shocks. He curled up to protect his vital organs, at the same time analyzing the nature of the pain. It was a mechanical sensation, a series of shocks. He tried to reduce it to data, to rationalize it so as not to feel it fully, to transform it into information.
Chapter 7: The Plan and the Prepared Hunt
A year had passed. Nerio was eleven, Aria was nine. Without respite, they had perfected their escape plan, every detail discussed and refined in the secrecy of their cell. One evening, in the relative silence of their prison, Nerio explained the plan to Aria in a low voice, his voice a cold and calculated whisper.
"Aria, the time has come. My analysis of the guards' behavioral patterns is complete". He paused, his silvery eyes piercing the darkness, not with emotion, but with a scientific acuity. "I have collected data. I have observed the rounds, the team changes, the nervous tics, the conversations. It's a complex equation, but the variables are predictable". He continued, his voice a cold whisper, detached from all emotion, like a computer stating facts. "First, the guard Damien. He is so obsessed with punishing slaves, especially in the evening, that he doesn't notice anything else. It's a psychological weakness that we have exploited by pretending to be docile slaves. He doesn't expect his 'prey' to be smart enough to escape".
Aria listened, fascinated by Nerio's implacable logic. "And Quentin? The coward?" she asked. "Quentin is the most malleable tool. His need for recognition is immense. I manipulated him by giving him subtle compliments on his efficiency and by accusing him of cowardice when he wasn't paying attention to his task. This dichotomy disturbed him so much that he became negligent, too busy proving his worth to notice our movements".
Nerio pointed to a spot in the shadow, a flaw invisible to anyone who didn't have his sense of observation. "Sébastien is the simplest variable. His weakness for women is a constant. I persuaded a new slave to distract him. It's a temporary distraction, a simple diversion. The real work is getting us out". He turned to her, his silvery gaze shining in the darkness, not with malice, but with pure strategy. "Now, the plan is simple. We are going to wait for the guard Pascal to go out. He's a man of habit, a predator. He always goes on his annual 'hunt'. He has his own rituals, his own brothers. He organized a hunting game to catch us from the start". Nerio had not shared this information with the other slaves for fear of causing panic and ruining his only chance to save Aria.
Nerio and Aria slipped silently through the corridors, avoiding patrols, blending into the shadows like ghosts. Their hearts pounding, they reached the main door. Nerio took Aria's hand, her small damp hand in his. A final knowing look, and they darted into the night. They ran as fast as their small bare feet would allow, the cold ground under their steps. They didn't slow down until they reached the forest, a wall of dark trees standing before them. Sheltered behind a massive tree, they looked at each other, out of breath, their chests heaving. They had succeeded. They were free.
It was then that shouts of joy and laughter rose in the distance, sounds that resonated like a death knell. They turned around and saw Pascal, the head of the guards, flanked by a man and his brothers, standing at the entrance to the property. "Ah, the hunt begins!" the man shouted, a cruel smile stretching his lips, revealing pointed teeth. It was then that Nerio understood he had been right. The two brothers who flanked the prince were Félix and Gauthier. The boy had recognized the prince, Dorian, from the slave market. He had analyzed the symbols embroidered on his clothes, the cut of his clothes, the guards who followed him, and the way the seller had treated him. Nerio had deduced that he was a man of very high rank, probably a prince, or a nobleman, because he was not treated like the rest of the slave merchants. He had also heard the name "Dorian" whispered by other slaves, and he had looked for the name in his knowledge of the world. It was a royal name, associated with a lineage of power.
Chapter 8: The Dance Against the Elements and the Science of Survival
Prince Dorian stood, his gaze shining with a chilling excitement, his aura of power palpable. "We are going to hunt you like animals". A wave of fear overwhelmed Nerio, but he rejected it, transforming it into data to be processed. Aria took his hand and looked at him with fierce determination. "We will not let ourselves be caught," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "We are going to fight for our freedom".
Nerio looked back at her, not with fear, but with an excited and calculating smile. His mind was buzzing, every synapse crackling. He had planned everything. He had known for a year that the prison's protection was getting weaker and weaker, not by accident, but by design. It was a manipulation to push them to escape, a staging for a bigger game. He knew that the other guards were not going to prevent them from fleeing, because Prince Dorian and his brothers had their own game to play. The hunt was a luxury distraction, but they had an advantage over their pursuers: they didn't know he had planned their movements. "Aria, they think we are prey," he whispered, his simile widening, a glimmer of defiance in his silvery eyes. "But prey doesn't know the rules of the game. I know them. And I also know the variables. Dorian is a hunter who is used to winning, but we have an advantage: he doesn't know we exist, that we are free".
He glanced at Aria, his heart pounding. "We must blend into the darkness. We must escape, not just to save ourselves, but to outwit him. It's a new equation, and I'm going to solve it". And with those words, the hunt began. They had to run for their lives, not knowing what awaited them, but with a strategy in mind.
The forest became the arena of an unequal struggle. Around them, the elements raged, manipulated by the magical power of the princes. Gauthier, his eyes shining with a sadistic joy, raised a hand adorned with a ring inlaid with an azure stone. Instantly, a column of air swirled around the fleeing slaves. The wind, at first a gentle breeze, turned into an invisible and brutal force that tore branches, lifted the earth, and carried the weakest away like wisps of straw. An old man was lifted up, his limbs flailing, before being projected with a terrible force against the rough trunk of a tree, where he crashed lifeless. Nerio observed the scene with an analytical coldness. He noticed the way the wind formed around Gauthier's ring, the direction of the currents, the impact zone. He understood that the prince was not creating the air, but forcing it to move with a destructive intensity. "Air resistance is proportional to the square of the speed," he thought instinctively, looking for a flaw in this demonstration of power, an application of fluid mechanics. "Hold on, Aria!" Nerio cried, crouching down to offer less resistance to the wind. He noticed areas where the wind seemed less intense, micro-climates created by the density of the trees and the rock formations. He guided Aria through these zones of relative calm, using the terrain as an ally, an environmental variable to be exploited.
Then, Félix entered the scene. His ring, set with an opal with shifting reflections, sparkled. From the ground rose a wave of dark and fast water, growing at an alarming speed. The water, manipulated by the prince's will, twisted and formed eddies, threatening to swallow the fugitives. Another slave was caught by the current, his screams muffled before being violently thrown against the trees. Nerio evaluated the mass of water, its speed, its trajectory. He remembered the principles of hydrodynamics learned in the Aurora simulations. "Molecular cohesion... surface tension..." he murmured these concepts, looking for a way to counter the wave. He noticed a cluster of sharp rocks just ahead of them. "Aria, follow me!" He pulled her towards the rocks. The moment the wave reached them, he threw himself flat on his stomach, using the irregular shape of the rocks to break the force of the impact. The water shattered against the stones, losing its power and dividing into multiple, less dangerous currents.
Finally, Dorian, with a golden ring adorned with a flamboyant ruby, manifested his power.
Chapter 14: The Traveler, the Onyx and the Elysium: A Timeless Encounter
Quentin's body lay in the middle of the clearing, a motionless silhouette under the twilight sky. The glow of his onyx ring had died out, and his death had served as a shield of flesh and courage, a sacrifice that would resonate in the story of Nerio and Aria. Nerio, hidden behind the trees, watched the scene with an analyst's eye. He had seen death, he had seen cowardice, and he had seen courage. For him, Quentin's death was just one more variable in his survival equation. It was a necessary variable that had allowed the others to survive. He felt neither sadness nor anger, just a cold satisfaction of implacable logic. Aria, on the other hand, was crying in silence, her shoulders shaking with sobs. She had seen the man, the coward, become a hero. She had seen his goodness, and she had seen his death. For her, Quentin's death was not a variable, but a wound, a wound that would take time to heal, a scar on her soul. The princes, their excitement subsided, contemplated their work, their faces full of satisfaction. For them, he was just one more slave, a pawn sacrificed on the chessboard of their cruel game. Pascal and his guards stood behind them, mocking Quentin's courage, their laughter echoing in the forest. "This is what happens to traitors!" Pascal shouted, his face distorted by a sadistic smile, spitting on the inert body.
It was at that precise moment that a chilling presence invaded the air, a distortion in reality itself. The man with water eyes, appearing from nowhere, stood there, his black suit contrasting with the forest setting, his silhouette cutting a shadow. The princes, surprised, looked at him with suspicion, their hands resting on their rings. Pascal, for his part, stared at him with growing contempt, unable to understand the threat. "Who are you?" Pascal asked, his voice menacing, his sword half-drawn. "This is our hunting ground!" The man gave him a look of deadly coldness, his face expressionless, his eyes like frozen lakes. "Three S-rank artifacts in a single day. That's incredible. But I can't kill the princes, they have artifacts. I only kill the rabble". Then, he turned to Pascal, his gaze settling on him with absolute disdain. "And you, you don't have magic. You are just cannon fodder". Pascal mocked him, his guards laughing in chorus, their bravado masking their fear. "Do you think you can scare us? We are the guardians of the princes!" The man, without a word, raised his hand. Pascal and his guards saw a blue light escape from his fingers, a glow that, in a fraction of a second, invaded their bodies. They screamed, their faces distorted by horror, their eyes rolling in their sockets. They felt their bones breaking, their muscles tearing, their bodies twisting in silent agony. Their bodies rose into the air, a macabre dance, before crashing to the ground, lifeless, their limbs dislocated. The silence fell, broken only by the sound of bones clattering against each other. The princes, paralyzed, had been able to do nothing, their faces pale with terror. The man with water eyes had killed Pascal and his guards with a simple gesture, with no apparent effort. He turned to the princes, his gaze of unfathomable coldness. "Go away". The man raised his hand, and, as if by magic, the rings of Dorian, Gauthier, and Félix, sparkled. In the blink of an eye, the precious stones flew away, floating in the air, then landed in the man's palm, their powers drained.
Chapter 17: The Shadow and the Light: The Monsters of this World
Nerio and Aria found themselves at Éléonore's small farm, a world of tranquility far from the horrors they had experienced. The chickens, with their incessant chirping, welcomed them like old acquaintances, pecking at their feet. The mischievous and lively goats watched them with curiosity, their eyes round and bright. Aria, who had never known such freedom, had fun running after the chickens, her crystalline laughter filling the air, a sound of pure joy. Nerio, for his part, watched them, his mind elsewhere, his eyes scanning the horizon. He was fascinated by this world, by its laws that were illogical for a scientist. He thought about the magic of the princes, the artifact of Quentin, the power of the man with water eyes. It was an unknown variable in his equation, a force he could not yet quantify. How could magic exist? What is the link between mana, artifacts, and power? He was asking himself questions, his mind bubbling with hypotheses. The day passed quickly, punctuated by the simple tasks of the farm. Éléonore returned, tired but smiling. She had worked hard, but she had managed to cultivate her wheat field, harvest vegetables, and take care of her animals. She had a strength and resilience that Nerio had never seen, a strength that came from her heart, from her love for her grandchildren, an unquantifiable energy. In the evening, around a vegetable stew and warm bread, Nerio spoke up, his voice calm. "Éléonore, where are your grandchildren?" he asked, his voice curious, trying to understand this new emotional variable. Éléonore's smile faded, replaced by a deep melancholy. "They left, so long ago". She looked at the fireplace fire, her gaze getting lost in the past, her eyes misty with tears. "Five years ago, their parents, my son and daughter-in-law, fell gravely ill. The illness was rare and incurable. We were told that only the body of a mountain monster could cure them." She stopped, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice breaking. "My grandchildren, warriors, went to hunt these monsters. They succeeded, they saved their parents. But..." She stopped, her voice broken. "They left again. Their father, my son, fell ill again. The disease had returned. They left a year ago. They left to hunt even more powerful monsters, to heal their parents." She looked at the two children, her eyes filled with hope, a fragile glimmer. "They will come back. I know it. They are strong. They will come back and we will be together again. But last year their parents died, the illness took them away".
Chapter 18: The Spectre of Mana and the Cruel Choice
The village of L'Aube, once a haven of peace, was shrouded in a sinister shadow. The sound of hooves echoed, not that of a horse, but of a being that walked with supernatural gravity, each step making the ground tremble. The creature that entered the village was a fascinating horror. It had the body of a skeletal horse, its gray, emaciated skin like burnt leather, and its eyes, empty, phosphorescent orbs, glowed with a malevolent light. But the strangest thing was its clothes: a refined velvet jacket, a silk shirt, and a tie, the garments of a nobleman from another era, a chilling contrast to its bestial form.
The monster, with a slow and heavy gait, headed towards the center of the village where the village elder stood, an old man with a white beard and a face wrinkled by life, petrified with fear. The elder, unable to move, stared at him, his eyes wide with horror.
"I sense an incredible mana," the monster said, its voice rasping like rubbing gravel, a hoarse and inhuman sound. "Even though it seems weak, it is special. It is here." The monster lifted its head, its empty eyes scanning the village, its nostrils flaring. "Some people came here recently. Didn't they?"
The village elder, his stomach in knots, stammered, unable to speak, his throat tight. It was the first time he had seen a talking monster, and the thing was an indescribable horror.
Meanwhile, a woman, her eyes wide with fear, ran toward Eleonore's house, her face distorted with panic. "Eleonore! Eleonore! A talking monster is in the village square! He's looking for children! He senses a special mana! If we give them to him, he won't kill us! Just them!"
Eleonore, her face pale, looked at her, her eyes filled with new determination. She understood the situation. She knew what it meant. The village was going to sacrifice the children for their own survival, a cruel but logical decision for desperate people.
The woman, panicking, was about to shout and tell everyone where the children were. It was then that Eleonore, with surprising speed for her age, pulled a knife from her apron and plunged it into the woman's neck. The murder was quick and merciless, the body collapsing silently.
Eleonore, tears streaming down her cheeks, turned to Nerio and Aria, her eyes filled with sadness and resolve. "You must go! Hurry!" She handed them a piece of paper, her hands trembling. "Follow this road. It will lead you to a safe place. The mages of Elysium are there."
Nerio, his face impassive, nodded. He had seen the murder, he had seen the old woman's determination, and he had seen the fear in the woman's eyes. It was another aspect of human nature he had to analyze, a complex variable. He did not feel uneasy, but he was satisfied. The old woman had given her life for them, and she had given them a crucial piece of information.
Aria, paralyzed, her face pale, looked at the bleeding body of the woman, her eyes fixed on the scarlet stain. She had witnessed a murder. She had seen one woman, a woman who wanted to save her, killed by another woman who wanted to save her. It was a contradiction, a confusion she could not comprehend, an emotional paradox.
Nerio, his face frozen, took Aria's hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Come. We have to go. We have a quest to fulfill."
Aria, her eyes wide and round, looked at him, searching for an explanation. She could not say anything. Nerio, for his part, knew he had to be strong. He had to be a protector, a warrior, a mage. He had to become what he was meant to be, the solution to the equation.
Chapter 19: The Passage to Elysium and the Promise of a New World
The woman's scream faded, replaced by the heavy silence of horror. In the village square, the horse-bodied monster, annoyed by the lack of a response, began its own hunt. Its skeletal body moved with unnerving agility, and its empty eyes, cold and phosphorescent orbs, fell upon the village elder. The old man, still paralyzed with fear, could do nothing. With a simple movement of its hoof, the monster tore him apart, his bones breaking with a sinister and horrible sound, his body collapsing into a formless mass.
Then, the monster turned on the others. The villagers, who had gathered, screamed and ran, but the monster was faster, a deadly shadow. It killed them, one after another, their bodies piling up on the ground, their blood mixing with the dust. The monster's laughter echoed through the village, a laugh of indescribable horror, a deathly laugh that chilled the blood.
Meanwhile, Nerio and Aria stood outside Eleonore's house. The woman's bloody body lay on the ground, a brutal reminder of the world's cruelty. Nerio, his face impassive, analyzed the situation. He remembered the words of the man in the suit: "Just by seeing your mana, they will let you in." He also remembered Eleonore's words, who told him it was the only place they could be safe. He understood that the path was not a road like any other. It was a passage. A portal. A singularity.
He looked at the piece of paper Eleonore had given him. There was a drawing: an empty horizon, with a small, shimmering star. He remembered the words of the time traveler. "They will let you in." He understood that this was the path to Elysium, a gateway to a new chapter.
Nerio took Aria's hand, his eyes fixed on the drawing, a new determination in his gaze. "Aria, we must go. We have little time left."
Aria, paralyzed, looked at him, her eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. "But where are we going? The road leads nowhere!"
Nerio smiled, a smile that held both the excitement of discovery and the gravity of the situation. "It leads to the unknown. And that is what we are going to do."
He headed towards the indicated path, a road that led to an empty and slightly distorted horizon, the air vibrating with an invisible energy. There was a kind of invisible wall, and when he touched it, he felt a wave of magic wash over him. It was an immense force, a force that pulled him forward, an irresistible attraction.
He took Aria's hand, and he threw himself forward. They found themselves in another dimension. Before them, there was a city. A city of mages, with towers that rose to the sky, buildings of glass and metal that glittered under a strange light, and inhabitants who floated in the air, their bodies defying gravity. It was a world of magic, a world of the unknown, but a world of hope, a promise of power and knowledge.
Nerio and Aria, their hearts pounding, looked at the city, their faces illuminated by the glow of the buildings. They had succeeded. They had crossed the portal, they were in Elysium. The war, however, was only just beginning, but they were ready, their minds and hearts prepared to face the challenges of this new world.