The rain was falling heavily, washing over the streets of Casalini and casting faint reflections of light across the wet pavement.
In a filthy alley, Mildo walked with heavy steps, carrying his weapon, the rain pouring down on him, on his body, and on his heart before anything else.
He stopped in the middle of the street, staring into the empty road, where nothing remained but the roar of the storm swallowing the last of his silence.
Behind him walked the one who had always shared the smallest details of his life, his misery, his pain. He looked at Mildo, who walked without aim, without spirit, and asked,
"Where are you going?"
Mildo turned to him quietly, holding his mask in his hand and staring at it for a long time. Drops of blood fell one after another onto its surface.
"Nothing has changed. No matter what I do, no matter how far I search, I still remember nothing. I still do not know who I am."
He then staggered forward, his steps fading little by little. The man remained standing in place, watching him vanish into the rain, his face carrying a strange expression, as though he had surrendered to reality.
Mildo reached a stone railing overlooking the river. He stood there for a moment, as if silently bidding farewell to the world. He lifted the mask and placed it over his face. A single tear slipped from his eye and disappeared into the rain.
"I am tired of everything. I will simply end it here."
A misstep, and he lost his balance. His feet slipped, and he fell into the cold depths of the river, leaving everything behind.
He sank slowly, with a strange calm, offering no resistance. His eyes opened briefly, and he glimpsed a figure moving toward him. Yet he was certain it was only an illusion, for no one existed who would ever weep for his death.
Later, he awoke in an unfamiliar house. A faint light filtered in through the windows.
He rose slowly, studying the room around him. It was neatly arranged, the elegant furniture shining as if someone had just finished cleaning it.
He did not remain still for long. In haste, he grabbed his belongings. Approaching the window, he opened it, put on his mask, and leapt without hesitation. The rain was still pouring, the wet ground slowing his pace, but he did not stop.
At last, he reached an empty, half-abandoned place. He removed his mask and drew in the cold air, feeling its chill against his skin. Then he pulled out a black leather-bound notebook and a pen.
Behind him, the man appeared once again, suddenly and without warning.
"What will you do now?"
Mildo ignored the question and sat down on the cold floor. He blocked the window with a tattered piece of cloth and lit a small candle that flickered weakly, its flame threatening to die out, as though it shared in his solitude.
Wrapping himself in an old cloak to shield against the sting of the cold, he released a deep sigh that carried with it an unbearable weight.
Before he reached this state, before he became the cold young man accustomed to solitude, there was another time, a very different time.
At the age of nine, his life seemed simple and quiet , or at least, that was what he believed.
Mildo lived in a house that was warm but lacked the warmth of family. His mother had died when he was very young, leaving him with only the faintest fragments of memory, and his father was rarely home.
Every day, Mildo would go to the railing to watch the sunset from there. One day, a lively girl approached, clutching the railing with enthusiasm, her hands smeared with mud from play.
When she noticed him, she ran toward him with boundless energy, splattering mud across his face and clothes.
"Hi! What are you doing here?" she asked with a bright smile.
He wiped the mud from his face and looked at her in wonder. How could she laugh like that, despite all the chaos around them? In a soft voice, he answered,
"I like watching the sunset from here."
Her smile grew wider. She grabbed his hand with her muddy fingers.
"Me too! Do you want to play with me?"
She didn't wait for his answer. Instead, she pulled him along toward a place filled with children his age, and some even younger.
"Let's climb the rope pyramid!" she said eagerly, pointing toward a structure of nets and metal bars.
He couldn't resist her smile, so he decided to follow her into her little adventure.
They climbed together, and just as he was about to fall, she grabbed his hand quickly and held on, her gaze fixed on him.
"Is this your first time here?" she asked, laughing.
"Yes," he replied quietly.
His answer surprised her. She paused for a moment, astonishment flickering across her face, but she didn't let go. Instead, she laughed softly and said,
"Hah… why? Don't your parents ever bring you to the playground?"
In a calm voice, he replied,
"My mother is dead, and my father doesn't come home often."
Her expression softened, and she squeezed his hand gently.
"That's okay. I'll be your friend here."
"My… friend?" he murmured, as though he could hardly believe the word.
Days passed, and he saw her every day. She would take him to play in different places, and he felt a strange warmth he had never known before. He wished that feeling could last forever.
Weeks later, she appeared before him dressed in an unusual black outfit, her face pale and distant, as if she were a ghost from afar.
She hugged him tightly, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm leaving this city today," she said.
Confused, he asked, "Why? Where to?"
Her trembling voice broke as she answered, "I don't know."
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a strange iron pendant.
"Here… this is for you. A gift."
Behind her stood a strange woman in silence. Finally, the woman spoke,
"Come, it's time to go."
The girl waved, then ran off, calling, "Goodbye!"
Mildo returned home after sunset, only to notice one of the curtains drawn open. That was when he realized his father was inside.
He rushed inside, brimming with excitement. "Dad, you back!"
But his dad did not look at him, as if his words had not even reached him.
He held up a carefully painted canvas, hoping to share his joy. "Look, I painted this!"
His dad pushed him away carelessly. "Not now. Later."
The painting fell onto the fireplace and burned. But Mildo did not feel sorrow; he was used to it.
The smell of his dad's drink filled the air again. He was lifeless, merely a body moving without a soul.
His dad had not always been this way. Once, he had been a man of authority and strength, a great leader feared by all. Even his followers thought twice before speaking to him, afraid of his wrath.
But after his mother's death, everything changed. He abandoned himself, left his team, and became just a hollow shell.
Mildo went to his room and sat at his desk, writing a few special words about his day. He loved writing; it was his small refuge.
Eventually, he dozed off at the desk, and when he awoke, he found a scarf draped over his shoulder. A tear fell down his cheek for reasons he could not understand. He whispered to himself, "My dad came into my room and covered me…"
Moments later, the sound of gunfire rang out.
He ran toward the living room, only to find his dad lying on the floor, facing people he had once respected.
His dad raised his hand, shouting, "Run, my son!"
His eyes widened, and he shouted in a trembling voice, "Dad, no!"
He opened the door and ran as fast as he could. They chased him, gunfire roaring behind him.
He fell down a slope but quickly got up and kept running, calling out, "Dad!"
Suddenly, a carriage appeared, about to hit him. It stopped just in time before striking him.
He ran toward it and grabbed hold, pleading, "Help me! Someone is trying to kill me!"
The passengers looked at him in surprise. One asked, "Who is this boy?"
Another replied, "He's a poor child. I think we should help him."
Then he turned to Mildo, a strange smile on his face.
"Come on, boy. Get in quickly. We will help you."
He climbed into the carriage immediately, but before long, a piece of cloth with a strange odor was pressed against his mouth. He whispered in shock, "What?"
He began to feel dizzy and collapsed into their hands, powerless to resist, while everything around him turned mysterious and dark.