The sound of the suitcase wheels echoed over the ancient stones of Florence, blending with the chatter of tourists and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the small cafés on the corners. The sky was clear, a deep blue, and the sun gilded the façades of the old buildings.
Arion had been typing on his phone since the plane landed.
"Dude, did you happen to disappear without telling your manager?" Lior asked, incredulous.
Arion looked at him, surprised."How do you know?"
Lior let out a theatrical sigh."Because… unfortunately, I know you." He paused, then added with a crooked smile, "And I pity the poor guy."
Lior stretched his shoulders and muttered tiredly."I thought, since it's close, it wouldn't be such a tiring trip… but I'm exhausted, man."
Arion stared at him with mild annoyance while adjusting his backpack strap."That's because you'd rather die than exercise. So any little physical effort just wipes you out."
Lior made a childish face, stuck out his tongue, and adjusted his sunglasses before spinning on his heels, looking at the street around him with a sparkle in his eyes."Okay, I take back what I said about tiring trips." He inhaled deeply, a smile spreading across his face. "This city smells of history… and pizza."
They walked side by side along the cobblestone street, the sound of their steps mixing with the ebb and flow of pedestrians. Occasionally, Lior slowed his pace to look at a window displaying old books or a street artist sketching portraits with quick strokes. Arion, on the other hand, seemed more focused on his phone, following the map carefully.
They wandered through the narrow streets, observing the Renaissance architecture and dodging small tourist groups, until Arion suggested:"Let's drop the luggage at the hotel before going to the academy. No point in carrying everything around."
The hotel was modest but charming, with Florentine windows and stone floors that creaked under their steps. They left their bags in the room, taking a deep breath as Arion checked they hadn't forgotten anything."All set," he said, closing the suitcase. "Now we can go to the Accademia di Belle Arti."
The morning sun reflected off the windows and façades of the Renaissance buildings, casting golden patches on the ground. At every corner, a different aroma: coffee, fresh bread, oil paint. The air felt heavy with memories, as if each stone held the echoes of centuries past.
"It's weird," Lior said after a few minutes of silence. "We came looking for answers about mysterious disappearances and ended up in a place where everyone came seeking immortality through art."
Arion gave a faint smile."Maybe it's the same desire, in a way. Only the outcome changes."
Lior raised an eyebrow."That was… poetically depressing."
"Thanks," Arion replied with irony. "Been practicing."
As they turned the corner, the Accademia building appeared ahead: imposing, with pale columns and tall windows, an elegant contrast to the chaotic street. A group of students sitting on the steps discussed color and composition animatedly, while another, in the courtyard, tried to balance a canvas against the wind.
Lior paused, taking in the scene."Wow. I feel dumber just being here."
"Welcome to the club," murmured Arion, putting his phone in his pocket. "Let's see if anyone still remembers Elric Vaël."
"This is where things started to go wrong for him, as far as we know," Lior added, consulting his phone. "Records show he was studying painting but took some sculpture electives too."
Arion looked around, observing the students' movements and the sound of brushes scraping over canvases in the distance. The smell of paint mixed with polished marble and old wood."I can see why he got lost here," he whispered. "This place feels like a labyrinth of genius."
Lior raised an eyebrow."'Labyrinth of genius'? You're poetic today."
"It's the Italian air," Arion replied, looking away with a faint smile. "Must be some inspiration mixed in with the pollution."
The ambient sound changed as they crossed the academy gates. Footsteps echoed on the stone floor, blending with murmurs in Italian and the soft scratch of charcoal on paper. History seemed alive here; every wall seemed to hold a fragment of art and secrecy.
Lior laughed softly, pointing to a slightly worn bronze plaque."We've found the administration. Let's see if anyone remembers Elric."
They walked down a corridor lit by stained glass, sunlight filtering through in blue and gold hues. The air was dense, carrying the scent of oil paint and old wood. Portraits of former students decorated the walls—serious faces, ambition frozen in time.
Upon entering the small administration office, they were greeted by a middle-aged woman, her hair tied in a neat bun and glasses hanging on a gold chain. She looked up from a pile of papers, offering a polite smile."Buongiorno. How can I help you?"
Lior and Arion exchanged a quick glance before he stepped forward."We hope you can," Lior said in hesitant but friendly Italian. "We're looking for information on a former student."
The woman raised her eyebrows with interest."A former student? May I ask the name?"
"Elric Vaël," Arion replied, his voice firm, but with a curious edge of nervousness.
For a brief moment, her smile faltered."Vaël… yes, I remember that name. A very talented student, a bit… intense." She flipped through a folder, eyes half-closed. "But his record was closed years ago, after… incidents."
"Incidents?" Lior repeated in English.
She shrugged, her gaze lingering on some distant point in the past."Young artists' things," she said vaguely, continuing to flip through the papers. "Disagreements, accusations, drama… nothing unusual in a place like this. But his case was… different."
Arion leaned slightly over the counter."Different how?"
The woman lifted her eyes, weighing her words."He disappeared shortly after a conflict with some classmates. I don't remember the details"—she paused briefly—"or perhaps I prefer not to. There was a lot of tension back then."
Lior rested his elbows on the counter, curious."And these classmates, are they still around?"
The woman thought for a moment, pulling out another document."I don't have permission to give personal information, but"—she lowered her voice—"I can tell you one of them still lives here in Florence."
Lior straightened."Still here? Who?"
She hesitated, glancing at the corridor behind her as if afraid of being overheard."Caterina Moretti," she finally said in a low voice. "She was one of Elric's closest classmates. They studied together, worked in the same studio… until everything went wrong."
Arion frowned."She was involved in the accusation against him, wasn't she?"
The woman took a deep breath, removing her glasses and placing them on the desk."Yes. She was one of the three."
Lior exchanged a glance with Arion, his tone now more serious."And she's still here?"
"As far as I know, yes." She scribbled something on a small piece of paper and discreetly pushed it toward them. "She works in a restoration studio near the Arno. The 'Studio Moretti.' But…" She paused briefly, her gaze wavering. "Be careful. Not everyone likes to talk about Elric Vaël."
Arion took the paper, folding it and putting it in his jacket pocket."Thank you, signora…?"
"Bellucci," she replied, offering a polite smile. "And good luck, gentlemen."
Lior nodded, and as they left the office, he let out a low whistle."Man… this is starting to feel like an artistic conspiracy movie." He inhaled deeply and continued. "Everything's so strange. For heaven's sake, the three of them publicly admitted they lied. Isn't that a crime? And she still got a job? Ridiculous."
Arion didn't look at him, his gaze distant."You didn't hear the name? I'm not surprised she and the studio share the same name."
Lior blinked, processing the information."Wait… are you saying Studio Moretti belongs to her family?" He huffed, crossing his arms. "Damn capitalists. Ruin someone's life and don't even get a slap on the wrist. But now I'm even more curious—why did they assume they lied?"
Arion shrugged, still absorbing the details."I don't know. But what matters is we now have a starting point."
They walked down the narrow street, flanked by yellowed stone buildings, the aroma of fresh coffee blending with the faint smell of paint and oil coming from a nearby studio. The distant sound of street musicians competed with the hurried steps of tourists.
"And do you think she'll want to talk to us?" Lior asked, frowning.
"I don't know," Arion replied calmly. "But we have to try. If there's anything that can explain the accusation against Elric… or any connection to the disappearance… that's where we'll find it."
As they walked, the warm Florentine air seemed to envelop them, and despite the weight of the investigation, there was a slight thrill in the tension they shared. Every step brought them closer to answers, and for a moment, Arion allowed himself to observe the city as Seraya would have: minute details, subtle colors, shadows that told stories of their own.
They arrived at the discreet façade of Studio Moretti, dark wooden doors and tall windows with half-open curtains, letting escape the distant sounds of hammering and soft laughter from a studio in activity.
"All right," Arion said, taking a deep breath. "This is it."
"Let the hunt begin," murmured Lior, a gleam of determination in his eyes.