In Faoros’ eyes reflected the three stick-thin murderers who stood on the platform. Their coats were ragged. Pockets turned inside out. While no chains bound them, they faced the fanatics before them directly. They embraced their cries for justice and their curses.

  “Put them down!”

  “Hang them!”

  “Lords take them! For the Unbound!”

  The surging crowd was resisting Faoros’ advance, but he was determined to get a better view of the execution before returning to his friend. Dust and smoke had smeared his tattered clothes, turning them from white to shades of gray and brown. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to join the others in their frenzy. He was one of the silent few, failing to unmask the meaning of this brutal reality.

  The executioner leaned toward the wooden frame of the gallows, each of his words being met with another burst of applause. “We have gathered here to uphold the law and deliver justice to the murderers of the Unbound household!” He licked his lips before turning to face his victims. “The noose holds tight to your necks and your fate. There are no last words for your kind. Play it tough, but murder is just another route to the afterlife, albeit a shorter one.”

  “Not even the academy is so suffocatingly confining,” Faoros growled, his conflicted feelings giving rise to a violent flame inside his heart. His doubts were erupting into a raging fire. The questions gnawed at his mind. How could the Unbound Lords create such a cruel world? Even if this was the point of the lesson, he couldn’t accept its necessity. This had to change. He always knew this and now the proof was in front of him. Death remained the most bitter reminder of all. Gritting his teeth, he dove into the crowd that spread in front of him.

  “Feast your eyes, young and old, righteous and sinful, on the fate of those who oppose the order of this world. Look upon the impending doom of all who dare to sin openly and harm your compatriots. For the Unbound! For the only Etal Gods!” The executioner pulled the metal lever. In the blink of an eye, the three murderers were left hanging in the air. Their eyes turned bloodshot and their faces violet. They did not mumble or curse. Their eyes said it all. They hated the frantic crowd, they hated him. He wanted to ask for forgiveness but his throat had grown dry.

  “Serves you right, you won’t salvage our property now!” an excited old Etal behind him screamed. He pushed Faoros almost in front of the platform. He stumbled, but the crowd was too dense to allow him to fall. Another person cursed him. His ears were already buzzing. He could not make out the words spat at him. He had never felt so powerless, not even in front of his teachers.

  Was this really how the world used to be? For a moment, he wished to rush back to his friend and get away from the front row, pushing himself away from the murderers and the most frenetic part of the crowd. But he wouldn’t. He had promised that he would push himself to the limit during this trial. The emerging thought rekindled his desire to witness the execution to the end. He immersed himself in this lie and witnessed the pinnacle of the Lords’ creations. That was the lesson he had to learn before he could advance to the next stage and finally face adulthood. This was the mystery Faoros had to unfold in person.

  A wrinkled hand grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him back and forth as he urged him to join the ecstasy. “Scream, child! Scream for those who died in vain!”

  “I…” Before Faoros could gather his thoughts, someone else joined him, raising his fist to the sky.

  “Justice for the deceased!” To his surprise, the one standing beside him had a smooth face. Perhaps he was as young as Faoros, though he doubted it. The young-looking Etal fixed him with glittering, dark eyes and grinned. “Life is precious in every world. Cry for the fallen, junior. Cry for those whom the world ignored.”

  “A-are you from outside?” The words escaped Faoros’ lips without much thought when the stranger turned his back on him and charged in front of the platform.

  The Etal fell to his knees. He waved his hand frantically toward the murderers’ purple-hued faces. “Defenders of our ruined world! Let your wisdom echo through your actions! Justice! Justice!” He was consumed by ecstasy and clawed his smooth face with his dirty fingers, his uncombed hair smeared with mud.

  “Make way!” Faoros cried out and turned to leave. He had heard of unexpected accidents happening during the Trials, but they were rare occurrences. No student wished for such a situation. Without leaving him any room to react, another body crashed into him, his backside meeting the cold ground. His vision turned blank and, for a moment, he couldn’t make out his surroundings. The world had turned into a cacophony of splashed colors and distorted sounds.

  “Don’t… look…” A force pulled him up and foreign hands pressed against his sides to steady him. “Don’t you dare die on me. Wear a better expression, Lords be damned.”

  “What?” Faoros asked. His vision hadn’t recovered. In front of him stood a young female raven-haired Etal with pitch-black eyes that sucked up all the light. For a moment, his mind strayed away, years back when he was a child. He had seen this lustrous dark hair again. “W-who are you?”

  “Who am I, really? What a risky question to ask a stranger.” The woman giggled, pushing Faoros aside. “If you are alive, that suits me fine. Try not to get lost, young student!”

  Faoros was left staring at her back as she trekked toward the front rows. “Student? Did she just call me a student?” Faoros stumbled. He had only just reached the center of the crowd when his friend jumped towards him.

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  “Faoros.” He reached for his hand, and, with a pull, brought him to his side. “Arom would not believe his eyes seeing you in this state. It looks like you have seen a row of zeroes. That’s solid truth!”

  “No…” Faoros groaned, pushing the thought away. Zeroes always made science students uncomfortable, but this time, he was even more disturbed. “Belo, is the Lords-damned Game supposed to take such a turn? Is this scripted? Is there a chance that it simulates our surroundings according to our most precious memories? Still, that Etal actually—”

  “Calm down.” Belo said, running his fingertips along the outer corner of his left cheek. His expression relaxed and formed a sheepish smile brimming with innocence. His black hair, cut short enough to expose his skin, gave him a rough edge that contrasted with the purity of his big, brown eyes that mirrored a towering and healthy tree. They formed a strange pair with the brown rags he wore. “The executioner did his job. It was the same as the last nine times. This must be an error. Be patient and we will be out of here in no time. Don’t get paranoid.”

  “Lords take my life, but there was a lunatic right in front of the platform. This is worse than standing in front of a teacher and shouting how flawed he is.” He recalled himself doing exactly that one too many times. “Look for yourself!”

  Belo narrowed his eyes. At first, confusion overtook his expression, but it swiftly turned into fear. “That isn’t good.”

  “Our tenth visit had to be the damned charm.” Faoros cursed again, his face turning ugly. Smoke was rising from the platform and the crowd was no longer shouting for justice; instead, they were screaming disorderly. They were demanding blood.

  “We should get out of here. There is no obligation that requires us to stay any longer. The execution is already over. If we leave this area, the simulation should end.” Belo turned his head. His gaze scanned beyond the crowd for a way out, but there was none. “We have to make a path for ourselves. Follow me, I have a better grasp of the place.” He grabbed his friend’s hand and pushed his way through the crowd. He cringed as the crowd remained immovable, standing like a mighty rock against his will.

  Amidst the confusion, Faoros noticed a tiny opening leading away from the gallows. “Over there! We—”

  “No. I won’t accept your recklessness in the Game. Arom called them Faoros Initiative Actions. I say it’s stupidity. Don’t even joke about it.” Belo crashed helplessly into the crowd, barely managing to take a tiny step towards the exit.

  “But that’s the only way,” Faoros rebuked, turning his friend around to see their only hope. The gallows were a large, open arena. Thousands of Etal gathered there from all around the city. They could leave by heading away from the platform or towards it. There were rarely any people behind the executioner, as numerous guards were positioned there. Guards who were currently paying attention to the front.

  “Don’t be a lunatic. This is not allowed!” Belo hurried to argue, but Faoros was already heading toward the platform. His friend stood like a statue before him, then trailed behind, cursing with each step. Belo knew that Faoros had no reign over his unruly thoughts, but he had to admit that this time his friend was right. They were closer to the platform and, if they wanted to leave the gallows quickly, this was the fastest way. Ultimately, how they got away didn’t matter, just that they did. “This is certainly against the rules.”

  “It’s our only way out; the teachers won’t disapprove. It’s not as if we asked for this accident,” Faoros shouted back, using his body to clear a path. His muscles were already aching while the frenzied crowd pushed and kicked him. Everyone was fighting to create their own escape route. For Faoros, this was a true mystery in the making. It was completely incomprehensible in the academy's reality. It took ages for the order to harden, yet it collapsed in the blink of an eye here. This unknown force, so strong, enchanted him.

  “Almost there,” Belo reminded him. The thick smoke filled their nostrils and made them cough, but they made one last push to reach the platform. “Wait for me!” Belo’s voice lagged behind, but before Faoros had time to spot him again, a familiar figure filled his vision.

  “The Curse never leaves us. That’s the fate of anyone we hold dear.” She had found him in the park near his apartment. He no longer remembered for whom he had shed those tears. Many teachers came to find him, but only she, despite not being a teacher, had managed to grab his attention. He was drawn to her words as moths do to fire by her raven-colored hair and black eyes. “It steals and steals, and the teachers rip the profits. That’s how it was and will be. Don’t make that face; you are a brave boy. I have already blessed you. I will cure it for you, okay? Smile a little.”

  He no longer cared about his friend. He quickly slid to his left, the slender body passing by him narrowly without colliding. “You?” Faoros was stunned when the raven-haired Etal rushed away from the platform. She was covered in dirt, her clothes stained crimson. She turned but for a moment, their eyes meeting briefly. Her deep gaze swallowed his consciousness. His body acted on instinct, stretching his hand and grabbing her wrist. Her momentum pierced his muscles but he prevailed, an unknown desire to explain this absurdity filling him. “Did you call me a student? Do you know me?”

  “You again?” she asked, her lips curving slightly.

  Faoros persisted on the question. “Who are you?”

  “Now is not the time for questions, young Etal!” She tried to shake his hand off, but Faoros wouldn’t let go.

  He had to know. Belo was right; he was always like this, letting his personal curiosity take precedence over the orders he had been given. To this end, neither this Game nor the academy could stop him. “Not without an answer first.”

  The female Etal snatched a glimpse behind him before her face turned sour. “Damn you for a lunatic. Follow me then before they catch us.”

  Faoros let go of her and gave chase. He heard the guards shouting, excitement and fear filling his heart. Was this how this place could feel real? Was this the true lesson of this exercise? To his surprise, she managed to pave the way for him, the crowd obeying her will like a living organism. Even so, he had overexerted himself. “I can’t follow you… please,” Faoros mumbled. They had reached the borders between the gallows and the rest of the city but his breath could take him no further.

  The raven-haired stranger didn’t reply. She walked a few steps away, heading for the dark alleys. “I know you can’t.” She turned to look at him one last time. “Are you willing to take a risk?”

  “I want answers,” Faoros objected. In his so-far carefree life, only that woman from his past had made him stand up on his own feet. Only she had pushed him to question his Academy and search for the truth. She had broken in his life like a thunderstorm, disappearing the next day for good. Only to reappear now. “You can’t be her. You are from this place. Who… what are you?”

  “Again with the dangerous questions.” She grinned, placing her palm in front of her mouth. “Why don’t you find out next time?” She quickly jumped forward and reached Faoros’ chest. She grabbed his shirt and pulled his ear close to her lips. His eyes bulged as the woman dragged him out of the gallows. His consciousness faded, the Game rejecting his entry into the unknown area.

  ?? From the Desk of Schwarzburg:

  Hello dear traveler! It means a lot to me that you are here, reading these very words. I may not be a professional author, but I promise to deliver the stories of Imar at the best of my capabilities. As the first tale unfolds, I am compelled to distinguish Faoros' challenges into separate arcs. Join our protagonist in Arc I, Trails of a Raven!

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