Lucian stood before the town that had been his home for as long as his memory reached.

  The silver moon glowed softly, casting its ethereal light over the silent town, but it failed to bring any light to it. Lucian smelled dust. An acrid dryness lingering in the air. No glow seeped from the broken copper Nether pipes. No light shone through the darkened red-brick buildings. No fights spilled from the doorless taverns. No children cried in those hollow homes.

  Lucian walked down the street he had known for three years, observing the cracked buildings. Only him, the night, and the silence.

  Eventually, he reached the café once known as “Morning Hue”.

  He slipped a hand into his pocket, pulled out a small box of cream, and looked at it quietly.

  The once clear glass windows that welcomed the morning sun were shattered and gone. The bronze mechanical clock above the door had long since stopped.

  He stood before the door. He wanted to open it, but he knew the little bell he wished to hear no longer existed. The aroma of coffee beans would not welcome him. The gramophone would play no music now. And there was no one left who would set aside a slice of cake for him.

  All that remained were memories. True or false, he no longer knew.

  As the eerie silence settled over him, a voice suddenly broke through.

  “What crime have you committed?”

  Lucian glanced back from the corner of his eye. The old man he had seen every day stood there, bent slightly at the waist.

  Without turning his head, Lucian smiled and said, “The crime of being born.”

  The old man was silent for a moment, then chuckled. “Indeed.”

  And then, silence once more.

  *****

  Ten minutes from the café stood a small apartment. Inside, there should have been a bed, a cramped bathroom, a makeshift kitchen, and a tin of tea leaves. Only if any of it had ever truly existed.

  If it had, then there should also have been one more thing.

  A lazy dog… no, a lazy family.

  Lucian fumbled for the key in his pocket, his breath growing unsteady.

  ‘What if it was all a lie? What would I do then?’

  With trembling hands, he unlocked the door. The moment it cracked open, a golden-furred dog burst out, slamming into him and knocking him to the floor. It licked him wildly, covering him in frantic affection.

  “Prologue… you’re here.”

  Lucian wrapped his arms around the floppy creature. A moment later, the dog bit him sharply on the shoulder.

  “Agh… why would you do that?”

  “Woof… woof.”

  As the dog barked, Lucian understood.

  “Of course. You’re hungry. Sorry I’m late.”

  The dog turned away proudly, climbed onto the bed, and curled up with the blanket as if reclaiming his throne.

  Lucian moved into the kitchen, found what little he could, and filled Prologue’s bowl before carrying it over.

  The dog devoured it in seconds, making it clear just how long he’d been waiting for his negligent friend.

  Lucian smiled softly. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

  As Prologue shuffled over and pressed against him, Lucian stroked his head with gentle fingers.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Then, without warning, a book bound in ominous dark leather rose above Lucian’s left hand.

  His vision dimmed, and the world fell away.

  *****

  Lucian found himself in a ghostly pale world. It was raining. The raindrops struck the soil and shattered soundlessly. No scent of wet grass reached him. No wind brushed against his skin.

  As panic crept in, a figure approached through the rain holding an umbrella. Lucian tried to speak, but no voice formed. He realized he had none.

  The figure was a man carrying a small box.

  He stepped closer, placed the box gently on the ground, and said in an apologetic whisper, “Sorry, buddy. But I can’t take care of you.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Lucian tried to follow, but something stopped him. He couldn’t move past the box. He tried to open it, but his hands passed through like smoke. He couldn’t touch anything.

  ‘Am I dead?’ he wondered.

  Then the page turned.

  Hours passed. The box twitched. A golden-furred puppy pushed its way out and sat on the road, shivering beneath the cold rain. Its tiny body trembled as the water washed over its golden coat.

  Time flowed on. The rain ceased. Sunlight warmed the world.

  Hunger finally drove the puppy to wander aimlessly in search of food.

  Lucian followed silently, beginning to understand what he was seeing.

  The page turned again.

  Days passed. The puppy learned how to survive, barely.

  Then one day, a group of men tightened a rope around its neck. The puppy barked helplessly as they beat it with sticks.

  A boy, about thirteen, walked by.

  Lucian watched him closely. Silver hair that swayed in the wind. Eyes the color of storm clouds. Clothes once well-tailored, now ripped, dusty, stripped of their worth.

  “What’s wrong, kid? Wanna have some fun too?” one of the men jeered.

  The boy answered in a tone no thug would expect. “Let it go.”

  The men laughed and advanced toward him.

  The page turned once more.

  The puppy and the human child now sat together on the roadside. Lucian observed from a distance.

  The boy was bleeding. His face was bruised and swollen. His silver hair matted with dirt. But he smiled satisfyingly.

  The puppy climbed onto him and gently licked his wounds.

  “Hey… no need to pity me. You saw how hard I punched that guy, right?”

  “Woof.”

  The boy’s voice softened.

  “So you’re all alone too? …Yeah. So am I.”

  Lucian watched the boy try to hold his composure, only to break. Tears spilled.

  “I… I keep having this dream. One ghost. Seven shadows. Fire. And so much pain… I-I don’t like it.”

  The puppy climbed onto him again and licked away his tears.

  “Woof.”

  The boy smiled faintly.

  “My name is Lucian. That’s… all I know. Oh, and it means ‘light.’ What’s yours?”

  The puppy tilted its head.

  “You don’t have one, huh? Then how about… hmm… how about Prologue?”

  He lifted the puppy high into the air.

  “Because from now on, this is the beginning for both of us.”

  “Woof!” the puppy barked, as if agreeing.

  “But… where should we go?”

  An old man happened to be passing by. He noticed them and approached.

  “Are you lost, kid?” he asked.

  Lucian looked up at the blue-haired old man and smiled weakly.

  “If you come with me, I’ll give you cake to eat,” the old man offered.

  “Really?” the boy said as his stomach growled.

  “Of course. And you can live with me too.”

  “No way. That’s like leeching off you.”

  “Oh? Quite mature for your age,” the old man said, surprised. “Well then, why don’t you work in my café? I’ll pay you. We might even find a home for you and your friend.”

  The boy agreed. Together, they walked toward the horizon.

  The page turned again.

  Lucian found himself in a white room.

  Before him sat the golden-furred dog, tail wagging.

  Lucian’s smile reached the corners of his eyes as he knelt and held the dog’s paws.

  Then he whispered softly.

  “Your story ends here.”

  [Epilogue]

  The page turned once more.

  Lucian wakes again in his tiny apartment.

  A strange, uneven weight rested on his shoulder. A weight without balance.

  His neck went dry. Slowly, he lowered Prologue onto the floor.

  His last friend was no longer breathing.

  A cold sensation crawled up his spine. His tongue struggled for moisture. And eyes overflowing with it.

  He shook the dog gently. No response.

  He placed his fingers near Prologue’s nose. No breath met them.

  Lucian understood what had happened.

  But he refused to believe it.

  His last family was dead.

  And he had killed him.

  *****

  Morning sunlight fell over the ghost town, a town where only one life remained.

  Lucian sat on the muddy ground before a hastily made grave, nothing more than a mound of uneven soil.

  He placed a few flowers on it. He didn’t know their name, only that their color resembled his friend’s fur.

  His tears had long since dried, leaving only their salt-stained tracks behind. And his eyes… they now held the color of a storm-heavy sky.

  His jaw tightened. His teeth ground together. A low growl escaped him, a sound born from grief twisted into fury.

  “They will pay. Every last one of them.”

  *****

  In a distant mansion, a certain room sat in solemn stillness. No lamps burned there, no candles lit its corners, yet it remained the brightest room in the entire estate.

  At its center rested a lavish sofa. An old man with a long white beard sat upon it, exhaling smoke from an ornate pipe. The curling haze drifted upward, shimmering faintly in the unnatural light.

  He spoke softly to the only shadow permitted in that chamber.

  “The Prince of White has regained his memories.”

  “Shall I arrange an assassination?” the shadow asked, its voice cold and bodiless.

  “We cannot move directly,” the old man replied. “Is there any cult or organization in that region?”

  “There is. A small group of runaway Black Librarians.”

  “Good,” the old man murmured. “Make sure the last of that bloodline dies this time.”

  As his words faded, the only shadow of that chamber dissolved into nothing, leaving the old man alone with his drifting smoke.