At the end of the week, I finally accepted the invitation to go to the inn where he stayed with his family so we could share a meal. I was startled when, halfway there, I ran into the Officer also heading to meet us. It seemed we would have a long night ahead.

  When we reached the building, it was clear that this was a poorer part of the city. Situated near the walls, the area was considerably darker, the great rampart blocking even the faint light of the moon. The many lanterns scattered along the street looked like isolated points of light in the darkness, illuminating a place that felt dirty and somewhat abandoned.

  The inn was entirely made of wood, with some parts already loose and worn. From the outside it was rather large, likely housing many families, and it was far more lively than expected for such an initially inhospitable place. The first floor functioned as a tavern, and despite its simplicity, it exuded warmth and familiarity.

  To our surprise, standing on a table in the corner was Phobos, already waiting for us. We quickly took our seats, and at the table with him was his mother — a woman as pale as he was, already showing signs of age. Her hair had begun to turn white, and despite her frail appearance, she carried herself with dignity.

  Unlike her, his younger sister sat quietly at the corner of the table. Small and timid, she clung to her brother as if trying to hide from our presence. As was his nature, Askia promptly made a joke that brought a smile to her face and eased her discomfort. And so, we sat down to eat.

  As the hours passed, I began to see how deeply proud his family was of him. They trusted him. They cared for him with a rare devotion. It became clear where he found the strength to join the Order despite all his difficulties.

  Askia spared no praise for the boy. He seemed to understand that his family needed those words to feel secure. As the night went on, he talked endlessly — pleasantly drunk.

  By the early hours of the morning, the Officer himself paid for everyone’s meal and thanked them for the invitation. We all said our goodbyes and returned to our respective homes.

  Time passed, and Phobos began arriving later and later to training. His illness seemed to worsen sharply. Whenever I suggested taking him to the hospital, Askia would promptly dismiss the idea, steering the conversation elsewhere. The attitude only made me more irritated.

  How could he care so much for the boy and let him wither away without assistance?

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  Something was wrong.

  Then one day things became even stranger. Phobos did not show up. Not the next day. Nor the one after that.

  Something was terribly wrong. He had never missed a single day. His dedication as a recruit surpassed that of any other young man there.

  After a week of his disappearance, Askia called me at the end of his shift.

  — John, I think I have an idea of where Phobos might be.

  His gaze was serious, his voice low and heavy in a way I had never heard before. But my blood was boiling. A week had passed, and still he had done nothing — an Officer.

  — And what are we waiting for? You already know where he is and you’re standing there? At least tell me, and I’ll handle it myself.

  — Calm yourself, boy. I need to take you somewhere. There you will have your answers.

  — Where?! — I replied, already impatient.

  — You’ll see, boy. I cannot speak of it here. Follow me.

  In silence, we began to walk. His steps were heavy and slow, as if each meter made reaching that secret place more painful. Not once did that welcoming smile or those gentle eyes appear on his face. There was a different man there — one as worried as I was.

  Gradually, we entered narrow alleyways. Lower Surum, being the arrival district for refugees, had become a place of crowded houses pressed tightly together, forming corridors almost like a labyrinth. Yet Askia walked through them as if he knew every corner. His direction was precise. At every turn, he moved without hesitation.

  Eventually, he slowed his pace and began to speak.

  — Have you noticed something strange, boy? The outside world fears the Plague, yet within these walls we live as if it does not exist. Everyone is healthy, walking the streets without fear. Have you ever wondered what happens to those who fail the Order’s training and are deemed unfit? Perhaps you haven’t observed it, but within these walls some things do not add up. The numbers don’t match. But I can tell you this — some people have not only noticed. They have experienced things the Order does not allow to spread. We are arriving at the place where these people gather. Together, they seek answers to their questions. Justice for their suffering. Do not fear. Here we will find Phobos.

  As soon as he finished speaking, we stopped at the end of a dead-end street. There stood an abandoned building, practically fused to the wall of the rampart as if they were one structure.

  Askia knocked twice on the door. After hearing two knocks in return, he promptly said, “ordinatio.”

  The door opened.

  Behind it stood a massive man wearing a mask. Together we entered the building and followed him directly down a staircase. The path was dark and narrow. It was barely possible to see the steps, and in the funeral-like silence, each footstep echoed through the corridor.

  At last we reached a large hall.

  There, under better lighting, I could see banners hanging on the walls, tables covered in papers, boards filled with information, and a considerable number of people moving about — young, old, men, women. All gathered in haste.

  I scanned the room, searching for Phobos. There was no one with even a silhouette resembling his.

  But there was someone I recognized.

  I stepped closer. My eyes were not deceiving me.

  We looked at one another, shock and surprise laid bare between us.

  Catherine was there.