The camera fades in on the low hum of insects and rustling tarp — just before sundown.
The sky is streaked with amber and bruised purples. The displaced are settling into a newly claimed scrap of land — bent tents, crates, and makeshift shelters dot the area. Smoke trails rise as someone sparks the first crackle of the bonfire.
Kids laugh in the background, their joy defiant against the war that left them without a home. They chase each other barefoot over the dust. Some tumble and burst into laughter; others peek from behind crates, playing hide and seek among the ruins. Their play is life persisting.
The fire grows. Its warmth draws the weary closer.
[Scene: The old man sits among shifting shadows and flickers of firelight. Children's laughter rings out in the distance, slowly giving way to the hush of the coming night. He watches the fire, its embers stirring ghosts in his memory.]
Young voice (new refugee):"Elder… will you tell us more? The tale from before the last move… You never finished it."
Old Man (quiet, measured chuckle):"Ah... yes. That tale. Of the two wayward stars — Naru and Jarn."(He says their names not as a man recalling events, but as if reciting names written in sacred stone.)
(He leans back slowly, fingers brushing the rim of his pipe, eyes still on the flame.)"You ever ask yourself… why men run?"
(The fire crackles louder as the children, sensing gravity, settle in closer. The old man's voice deepens — not in volume, but in weight.)
"Some flee beasts made of flesh. Others flee the fists of law. But the most desperate runners… are those chased by truths they dare not face."
(A long pause as he prods the fire. Sparks rise like ancient spirits reclaiming their form.)
"We clothe it in reason — say it's for survival, for justice, for peace. But in truth?"(He exhales through his nose, the pipe smoke curling like memory.)"Oftentimes… to run is not to escape. It is to search. To stumble toward the answer we fear is waiting inside us."
(Another beat. He turns his gaze back toward the listeners — softer now, more distant.)"Naru and Jarn… They did not run out of cowardice. They ran because the world offered them no path forward… except through the fire."
Camera zooms in on the flickering flame… then dissolves into the dusk-streaked silhouette of Naru and Jarn — cloaks drawn, walking through a barren stretch beyond the slums. The sound of a distant horn, a hunting party, echoes behind them.
Narrator (VO continues):"For Naru and Jarn, the world didn't pause to let them grieve. No — it hunted them. Marked as outlaws, they walked the line between fugitives and free men, not knowing which would greet them first…"
The room is dim, lit only by a lone candle near the window. Naru and Jarn sit hunched over, packs half-filled, silence hanging like smoke. The walls creak with wind and worn wood. Outside, faint sounds of a crumbling world carry on — dogs barking, distant shouting, a baby crying through the thin slum walls.
A door opens slowly. An old woman enters, framed in the failing light — her face lined with time, her steps careful but certain. She carries a weathered satchel in her arms. Her eyes meet the boys' with a depth only pain can teach.
Old Woman:"You boys…" (She exhales, setting the satchel down with a soft thump.)"You've gone and found yourselves neck-deep in the world's worst kind of trouble this time."
(She chuckles bitterly, then quiets. Her voice softens — not weak, but tired in that way life makes you tired when it takes more than it gives.)
Old Woman (cont.):"You know I loved that fool too… your Turin."(She runs a thumb over the stitched strap of the bag.)"I once dreamed of a life with him. Quiet. Maybe foolish. But he wouldn't have it. Said he had two sons that needed making into men."
(She shakes her head, a wry smile hiding old tears.)"Guess he was the fool after all, thinkin' he could shield you from the world by throwing you into its jaws."
(She pauses. Her hand lingers on the bag.)"But still… I'm proud of you. For defending his name. For carrying his flame, if only a while longer."
(She pushes the satchel toward them.)
Old Woman:"In there — clean clothes. Coin enough to get you past the eastern bridge. And his ashes."(Her voice tightens slightly.)"I know what it meant to you, laying him to rest. Cremation was the only way to keep it quiet… and get you out."
(She sits beside them for a moment. Silence. Then she speaks low, eyes not meeting theirs.)
Old Woman:"It's been a week. And already the cracks are showing. This place? It'll trade you for a coin purse and a promise. Folks are scared. Hungry. A bounty like yours? It'll turn kin into strangers."
(She finally looks up. Her eyes glimmer with both sorrow and a final push of courage.)
Old Woman:"You have to leave. Tonight."
(She reaches out, hands cupping their faces — rough palms full of all the mothering they never had.)
Old Woman (whispered):"Go. Go live as he would've wanted. Loud. Brave. Free."(She smiles, barely.)"Live, my sons. Not like the world made you. But like he dreamed you could be."
Night settles over the slums like a heavy blanket. The boys walk in silence, the only sounds the squelch of their worn boots and the distant cry of a stray dog. They pass shanties patched with tarp and rusted tin — light leaking from broken slats like whispers of lives still clinging on.
Naru (softly, almost to himself):"We'll make it right, Jarn. All of it — the lies, the law, the weight this world's dumped on us."
Jarn (bitterly):"And how in hell do we do that?"
Naru (hand slipping into his pocket, touching the gem):"I don't know. I just... feel it."
But the moment his fingers graze the gem — the world tilts.
Jarn gasps as Naru's body locks up mid-stride, eyes wide and unblinking.
Jarn (panicking):"Naru—? Naru! Hey! Snap out of it!"
No response. Just vacant eyes.
Desperate, Jarn slings Naru's body over his shoulder, ducking into the shadows and slipping into a crumbling, forgotten home near the slum's edge.
In Naru's mind:
A woman — graceful, steeled by life — moves with purpose in a dim kitchen. She wears a locket-bracelet. Familiar. Silver and gold. The same gem.
She unsnaps the locket. Inside: a compartment holding white powder. She tips it into a teacup.
Cut to a sickly man in bed — proud eyes sunken, but still kind. His clothes speak of high rank, but his bones betray the decay within.
She enters the room with the tea.
The Man's feelings (felt by Naru):Love. Guilt. Pride. Powerlessness.
He smiles, trusting. She smiles back, gentle and rehearsed.
He drinks. His eyes never leave hers — until they do.
His body writhes. The agony is immense — as if Naru himself is being unmade. He claws at his throat. She watches.
Then stillness.
Jarn (furiously shaking him):"Wake up, damn it! Naru! She's been taken!"
Naru (gasping):"What? Who—?"
Jarn (urgent, trembling):"The old lady — they found out. They're saying she helped us escape. They're going to kill her!"
They move fast. No time to speak, just movement. Disguises. Hoods. They vanish into the shadows.
The slum center is a circle of flickering torches and twisted faces. Rage. Betrayal. Fear. The crowd screams like beasts made human.
At the center — tied to a post — is the old woman. Defiant, calm, lips cracked but proud. Her face lit orange by firelight.
Chanting crowd:"Burn her! Burn the traitor!"
A hand throws a torch. Flames catch instantly on the oil-soaked rags at her feet.
Naru and Jarn arrive just as the fire begins to rise. The crowd holds them back with walls of bodies. Time slows.
Smoke coils. The fire climbs. And just before the flames swallow her, we get a final close-up of her face.
Her lips move (silent, but seen):"Oh, my sweet Turin… I'll be there shortly."
Smoke lingers in the air like a ghost refusing to pass on. The scent of burning cloth and flesh still clings to their coats.
The two boys, faces half-shadowed beneath pulled-down hoods, stand at the edge of the mob. Their eyes shimmer, glassed with unshed tears.
Naru (through clenched teeth):"Damn them all..."He trembles. Not from sorrow — but rage. A fury that tastes like blood in his mouth."I swear… I'll kill every last one of them."
As the words leave him, the gem in his pocket pulses — a low, sickly glow of purple laced with blood-red. It stains the inside of his coat with flickering corruption, unseen by anyone but felt deeply within.
Jarn says nothing. Eyes unfocused. Soul distant. Whatever anchor he had to joy, to hope — it's loosened. He walks like a boy carrying a coffin only he can see.
They walk. Past the cheering. Past the leering. Past the homes that once held warmth, now mouths that spit betrayal. Naru leads. Jarn follows. Silent shadows cutting across the flickering lamplight of a port city dying in slow decay.
No words are spoken. Just the sound of boots on gravel. And breath. Heavy. Hollow.
Hours pass. They near the border, where the city thins out into farmlands and crooked roads. The moon hangs low when they spot a carriage toppled at the side of the path, crates spilled open, and a man struggling to lift one of the wheels.
Merchant (grumbling to himself):"Damned thing… every time I take the west road—"He pauses when he sees them approach.
Naru (softly, with a forced smile):"Need a hand?"
The anger is still in his eyes — but his voice is sugar. Controlled. Deceptively calm. Like a boy wearing his father's kindness over a burning chest.
Merchant (grateful):"Ah, yes! Saints bless you. You're a gift, lad. Thought I'd be here till sunrise."
Naru helps reset the wheel. Movements precise, hands steady. Too steady.
Merchant (as they finish):"Thank you. If you're headed out, I can offer a ride to the next town. Least I can do."
Naru nods, gestures toward Jarn.
Merchant (eyebrows raised):"Your friend… he alright?"
Naru turns to Jarn. His eyes linger on him — vacant, lips parted, still walking a dreamless nightmare.
Naru (flatly):"He's just quiet. Always been that way."
Merchant (pauses, measuring):"Maybe. But I've been around enough pain to know its smell. That boy's bleeding something inside."
Silence.
Naru looks away, feigning distraction with a loose strap. He doesn't answer.
Merchant (reading the mood):"…Right. None of my business."
They ride on. The clatter of hooves the only sound between them.
Slow zoom out. The carriage becomes smaller, swallowed by road and darkened forest. In the distance, the port city flickers with its fading lights, indifferent to the two ghosts it just birthed.
The gem glows faintly once more. Almost... breathing.