[Raven's perspective]
There are memories that do not return because you recall them, but because they refuse to disappear. They stand behind your eyelids whenever you close your eyes, waiting for the moment you weaken so they can return on their own. Memories like these need no permission to visit you. And this was one of them.
My childhood, or what was left of it, came back to me. I lived back then with my mother and father, in a place I do not remember well but that was warm enough for its memory to remain in my heart. I could not remember my mother's features precisely, but I still remembered the warmth of her hands. As for my father, he filled the place with the sound of his laughter. A simple man, but to me he was an invincible hero.
For a moment, I believed happiness could last forever. But nothing in life lasts forever. When I turned eleven, my mother began to wither like a flower watered with tears instead of water. She hid her pain well at first, but over time her condition deteriorated until she could no longer conceal it. I watched her helplessly.
One morning, she left this world after a long struggle with illness. She was lying on the bed, and before she closed her eyes for the last time, she turned to my father and said:
"Live your life, raise our son, and forget me."
My father sat beside her in silence. He did not cry, only held her hand. He stayed there for hours. From that morning on, my father was no longer the same. The man who filled the house with laughter and stories, who lifted me high as if I were the most precious thing in the world, ceased to exist.
After my mother's death, the debts began piling up quickly. It was as if life had decided to finish what death had started. My father sold everything we owned, the house, the shop, even his old tools, in a desperate attempt to save her.
When the money ran out, they came. On a gray morning I still remember clearly, violent knocking echoed at the door. My father did not move. He sat on the wooden chair by the window. They broke the door and entered, three burly men whose faces held nothing but cruelty. They did not speak much. They only looked at me, then grabbed me harshly.
I screamed, "Father!"
I cried, ran toward him, and stretched my hand in the air. But he did not move. He did not utter a word. He did not stand up. He did not open his arms. He did not say, "Take me instead." He did not even say "No." He just stared in silence.
…
I was thrown into a rusty cage in the corner of an abandoned warehouse. The place reeked of mold, urine, and old iron. No one treated me like a human. Not even like an animal, animals at least would be given a bowl of water or a touch of sympathy now and then.
At first, I screamed and banged on the bars, calling my father's name, begging them to open the door. But every time they heard me cry, one of them would drag me out of the cage and beat me with a long wooden stick until I lost consciousness.
Days passed, or maybe weeks. Then, one morning, they took me out without a beating. I could barely stand. They led me to an entirely white building. There, I was among dozens of other children.
In front of us stood a man whose face was half disfigured, with a deep scar running from his left brow down to his jaw. He extended his hand slowly, inspecting us as if we were dolls for sale at an auction. When he stood before me for the first time, he bent slightly and said:
"You're special, so I'll treat you the best way possible."
From that day, the real suffering began. They threw me into a dark, furnitureless room with no window and not even a lamp. At first, I talked to myself. As the days passed, I began to doubt everything. I was no longer sure if I was even alive. I would sit there in the corner, my head between my knees. Just me, and me, and me. I nearly lost my mind. Then, after a time I could not measure, the door opened and that man entered, pulling a small ring from his pocket. The ring was made of black metal, surrounded by white engravings.
He raised the ring before me and said:
"This is the Ring of Silence. An ancient system artifact, holding the Authority of Silence. I will grant you the honor of obtaining this power."
He then muttered in a strange language. With each word, the engravings on the ring began to glow with a faint light. I felt as though something was violently forcing its way into my body. I rolled on the ground from the pain, trying to scream, but no sound came from my throat. He watched me, his face brimming with delight. After what felt like an eternity of torment, the pain stopped.
He bent beside me and whispered in my ear:
"You have successfully absorbed the Authority in its first stage. Congratulations, little one. Your chances of success were no more than five percent."
Then he rose, leaving me lying on the ground.
…
For about a year, at least I think so since I had no way to truly measure time, everything in that place was designed to strip you of your sense of it. During that year, I could not speak.
But recently, I began to regain the ability to talk, albeit faintly. I was alone. The children who shared my suffering vanished, one after another. At first, I thought they were moved to other rooms. Then I began to understand the bitter truth. Their faces haunted me every time I closed my eyes.
Over time, no one remained except me and a single girl, with long red hair. She was silent like the rest, but her eyes were different. They did not hold the lost look of the others. It was as if she was telling the world, and the mad doctor, "I am here, and I will remain."
I watched her from afar. I saw her sitting crouched, arms wrapped around her knees, her head tilted against the wall. We never spoke, but her mere presence made me feel I was still alive.
…
I had reached an inner certainty that I would never leave this place. Then the unexpected happened. On a day like all the others, I heard the creak of the iron door. But this time, it was not the doctor who entered, nor any of the usual guards.
A boy about my age walked in. His frame was thin, and he wore a strange mask covering his entire face, a mask with a sorrowful expression. He scanned the room, then went straight to the red-haired girl. Once he stood before her, he raised his hand and removed the mask.
When his face appeared, the girl's expression tightened and her eyes widened. Her face showed a mixture of surprise, distaste, and relief.
"You're late." she said.
He shrugged as he fixed the mask back on his face.
"Oh, sorry, my imprisoned princess. I had no idea that finding a secret underground lab guarded by forty men, a security dog, and two lunatics would be so easy."
He then pulled a small tool from his pocket and began unlocking her restraints.
"Now, will you let me save your life? Or would you prefer to stay here until our one-eyed friend returns?"
"How did you get past the guards?" she asked as the shackles fell from her wrists.
"Told you, no time for questions now," he replied as he rose to his feet.
He turned toward the door and motioned for her to follow. I thought he would ignore me. That they would leave, and I would remain here in the dark, as always. But the red-haired girl turned toward me and said:
"Aren't you going to free him?"
The masked boy stopped, looked at her first, then at me, before saying:
"Don't worry, the men from the Public Investigation Bureau will be here soon. They'll take care of him, put him under the big lights, ask him a few questions, and give him a new life with a handful of official papers."
"The Bureau's men? And what would bring them to this place?"
"Oh, that's a long story. One best told in a café, after we make it out alive. That's a promise."
"I'm not leaving here without him."
The masked boy muttered something I could not catch, then said:
"Fine, fine, noble knight. We'll save the silent stranger too."
He came closer, knelt on one knee, and pulled the small tool from his pocket again. He worked in silence without looking at me. The restraints fell away from my hands. He then stood and said quietly:
"Now, let's go."