He walked through the Gardens park, where the pink cherry blossoms of Yugen and the wooden bridges over ponds with golden carp created an artificial peace. Evan looked at the sky, now veiled by a thick white blanket. Maybe the Cloud God really is watching, he thought.
The academy was already silhouetted atop the hill when the sensation pierced him: it wasn't observation, it was danger. From the corner of his eye, he saw two figures cutting off his path, one from each side. They wore suburban rags, with tattooed arms and the gaze of predators.
"Heeey, friend… you got a minute?" said one of the boys, with the dragged-out tone common among the dishonored of the suburbs.
"No, sorry. I'm in a hurry, I can't." Every part of Evan screamed danger, and fear began to flow through his veins.
"It's just a minute, friend. I'm selling these socks… just asking for a little help so I can eat today. I'm starving! Haven't eaten in three days," insisted the other, stepping closer.
Evan smiled with a nervous laugh, while quickening his pace and trying to wave them off with a gesture of his palm.
"Look, friend, I'll give them to you, and you give me what you can. Please," the voice was more insistent now, almost a hoarse whisper.
"No, sorry. Really, I have nothing."
"Here, take them! I'm giving them to you!" said the boy, shoving the pair of black socks at him with such insistence that Evan, by reflex, grabbed them.
Evan had no choice but to stop to hand them back, but the boy wouldn't take them; he just clasped his hands in a pleading gesture.
Evan, in a panic, tried uselessly to offer the socks back.
In an instinctive movement, he made as if to reach for his small coin pouch—maybe he still had two sales—but he stopped dead.
The two boys tensed as if about to pounce, their eyes now stripped of all humanity, seeing only a bag to loot.
It was that look, the look of predators before wounded prey, that snapped Evan's last nerve. His heart burst into a gallop and his legs reacted on their own.
Evan didn't wait to confirm it; his heart burst into a gallop and his legs reacted on their own.
He ran, but they were taller, with longer strides. They caught him under the canopy of an old oak tree. With no escape, he drew his short sword with trembling hands.
"Now you gotta hand over what you got there, friend," spat the closer one, pulling out a long knife.
Evan was the perfect target: expensive uniform, but the jet-black hair of a commoner. No one would protect him. Fear clouded his mind, twisted his guts. He crossed swords with the bandit, and the impact was brutal: a clash against a mountain. The blade flew from his hands, and a rough hand threw him to the ground, grabbing him by the neck.
Then he screamed, desperate:
"Come to me, daughter of knowledge Andarius!"
The bandit raised a mocking eyebrow.
"What the hell are you sayi…?"
A dull thud. A crossbow bolt pierced his skull from side to side. His companion turned, stunned, and a second bolt pierced him from front to nape.
A third bolt was fired. Evan held his breath, sure it was meant for him, but the projectile embedded itself with a dry crunch in an owl perched on the very tree he was under. The bird fell like a pinecone, stiff and graceless, before hitting the ground. By then, the woman was already gone.
Evan got up, trembling. He observed the two lifeless bodies, those guys who made the suburbs a hell. A cold, almost involuntary smile formed on his lips. He nudged them with the tip of his boot, making sure they were dead. Two fewer. They won't be a bother anymore, he thought, with a deep, bitter relief.
The ten bell tolls, followed by the mournful chime, snapped him out of his trance. He was late! He picked up his sword, fastened it to his belt, and ignored the damp warmth in his crotch. There were no witnesses. Everyone was locked inside. And he ran toward the academy as if death itself were chasing him.