Ingwig calendar, year 922.
Florence.
The heavy sound of the bell rang out, melodious and profound, as if it was an echo from ancient history. Just listening, one could feel the solemn heaviness.
As the remnants of the sun set, it peeked through the clouds intermittently, dyeing most of the sky into a deep red curtain. The boys sat on the banks of the Tiber River, the calm water reflecting everything, as if they were in a realm of the sky.
This might be the city's most devout moment. The whole world seemed covered by a red curtain, everything appeared so solemn, the low murmurs of prayer echoed through this majestic city, accompanied by the continuous ringing of the bell, as if in silent mourning for the end of the day.
Two somewhat lonely figures sat quietly by the riverside, this was one of the few times they could go out during the day, but even though they were outside, they were still within the range of surveillance.
