"Stay quiet," Brando murmured to the puppy as he walked along the Academy's inner pathway. "We can't afford any more trouble, I've already caused enough damage with those guards."

  The volcanic stone-paved path wound between ancient trees, their shadows dancing in the morning breeze. Occasionally, a patrol drone passed silently overhead. From the way the cameras lingered on his worn clothes, Brando knew he had already been categorized as an out-of-place element.

  The path led to a circular plaza that resembled a natural arena, surrounded by basalt columns. A handful of new students were waiting for the shuttle, dressed in the Academy's white uniforms. They wore immaculate military jackets with gleaming brass buttons, gold epaulettes and boots so polished they reflected the light of the sky. Each uniform bore different emblems and decorations: elaborate pins, colorful badges and symbols of aristocratic houses.

  Brando caught his reflection in a nearby puddle: worn jeans, plain black t-shirt, and an oversized leather jacket found at a second-hand market. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulders, trying to appear somewhat decent in the eyes of his future classmates.

  A girl with a silver snake-shaped pin on her collar leaned toward a companion. "Is that the Cold Veins orphan my father was talking about?" she whispered, loud enough to be heard. "The anomaly?"

  "Must be him," the other replied, a tall guy with so much gel in his hair that he looked like a melted candle. "The first orphan in Academy history. Not only does he lack the regulation uniform, but he also has the nerve to show up late."

  "Cold Veins are a sacred gift," interjected a raven-haired girl whose emblem depicted a mermaid. "My family has arranged marriages for generations to keep the bloodline pure. I just hope he's not the first of a long series."

  "I heard he comes from Rione Sanità," whispered another with an emblem depicting twins, as if pronouncing the neighborhood's name could contaminate him. "Imagine, a Cold Soldier coming from the slums."

  Brando let the words slide off him like water on ice. He had prepared for this, knew it would be like this. The lack of uniform was just the most visible symbol of what they saw as a contamination of their perfect world.

  The bus arrived with a hiss of brakes, interrupting the disdainful chatter. Brando was the first to board, heading straight to the back. He sat by the window, observing his reflection in the fogged glass. Behind him, the others took their seats, maintaining a studied distance from his seat as if he had a contagious disease.

  "INCOMING!" the driver shouted. The doors closed and the bus departed. But a boy had darted inside a moment before the doors closed and looked around. And suddenly, he plopped down with a thud on the seat next to Brando. Brando turned, astonished. Who would want to sit next to him? Half the bus was still empty.

  Then he saw his emblem. A two-headed dog on opposite poles with eight legs. A Volpe, a member of the most influential family in Nea-Polis.

  Tsk. Troubles... Brando thought, wrinkling his nose. However, his uniform wasn't as perfect as the others'. The jacket was slightly crooked, he kept a button undone, and the collar wasn't perfectly ironed. And then his messy reddish hair was a disaster, and freckles scattered across his nose gave him a mischievous air.

  Also, the newcomer had such a wide smile that it seemed to light up the entire bus. A complete contrast to the mephistophelian grins of the other classmates.

  "Yo! Giordano Volpe, nice to meet you!" he introduced himself, extending a hand as if they were at a party and not on a shuttle where contempt was almost tangible. "You must be the famous Brando, the one who pissed off the guards this morning!"

  Brando raised an eyebrow and spoke with a voice dripping with skepticism, ignoring the hand. Gossip traveled too quickly around here. "Volpe? That family of—"

  "Rich, spoiled jerks with their noses in the air?" Giordano interrupted with a smile that grew even wider as he withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair. "You forgot 'arrogant,' 'presumptuous,' and 'with a stick up their asses.' But don't worry, you're right across the board."

  Brando blinked, caught off guard. There was something disarming about the way Giordano talked about his own environment.

  "Of great Cold Soldiers," Brando finally said, turning toward the window. "That's what I meant."

  "Oh, come on!" Giordano gave him a friendly nudge. "Seems like you have the Cold Veins too. An orphan with Cold Veins! This is the most interesting thing that's happened at the Academy since... well, forever!"

  "I don't know," Brando replied. "I don't even know who my parents are."

  He expected the usual look of pity, but Giordano simply nodded. "Well, then that makes two of us who don't exactly know who we are," he said, shrugging. "I, for instance, know who my father is. I am a Volpe, after all. But it's like I don't know, since he treats me like I don't exist. The problem is that I don't know who my mother is."

  Something in his words sparked Brando's curiosity, turning toward him. "You mean you're..."

  "Yeah, a bastard. Don't worry, I'm not offended. Although I generally prefer 'illegitimate son,' but that works too. The stain on their perfect reputation. Not just the black sheep, the pitch-black one."

  "Must be difficult," Brando replied, "to bear a name like that but not bear it at the same time."

  "Just as it must be difficult to not have one at all," Giordano replied, and there was an understanding in his eyes that Brando hadn't expected to find.

  The puppy chose that moment to peek out from the jacket, perhaps drawn by the more relaxed tone of the conversation.

  "Oh, and who do we have here?" Giordano said with mild curiosity. "Do you collect stray animals?"

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  "I found him this morning," Brando said, trying to hide the puppy again. "Some punks were torturing him."

  Giordano's smile was different now, more genuine. "And then they say that we 'impure ones' are the ones without hearts."

  Brando felt the corners of his mouth turn upward, despite himself. "Don't talk nonsense. It's not like I do this every day."

  "Oh, a smile! Did I win something?"

  "Shut up."

  But there was no hostility in his words. And when Giordano made himself comfortable in the seat, resting his head against the backrest as if that had always been his spot, Brando didn't protest.

  A couple of minutes had passed, and Brando had looked away from Giordano, who was already snoring beside him, and turned toward the window. The bus, meanwhile, was climbing up the winding roads of Vesuvius.

  That's when he saw it.

  The Alien Artifact dominated the landscape on the side of Vesuvius. A perfect sphere, so titanic it could rival the size of the volcano itself and so dark it seemed to devour light itself, suspended a few inches from the ground as if gravity didn't exist.

  He remembered the stories Adelaide would tell him at night in the orphanage, about how in September 2005, the sky above Vesuvius had torn open without a sound. About how the Artifact had appeared from nowhere, without producing any explosion or crater.

  Fate had decreed that it would crash right in the heart of Vesuvius National Park. For years, the best scientists had studied the Artifact, but despite every effort, it had remained an impenetrable mystery. Eventually, the government had declared the zone off-limits, tired of wasting resources on an enigma that seemed to have no answer.

  But one thing was clear, even without the need for in-depth studies: the Alien Artifact had brought the Cooling Down.

  The nanoparticle spores released from the sphere had transformed the world into an icy wasteland. The DNA of living beings had been altered, creating aberrations of what they once were. The infected animals, the Glacials, had developed incredible resistance to cold and a ferocity that made them virtually invincible with conventional weapons. Even the most innocent creature could become a lethal predator.

  Most humans hadn't been infected. Some, however, had been and had maintained both their appearance and consciousness. Thus, they had developed what came to be defined as Cold Powers. The Bearers, they had called them. Superhumans capable of materializing ice different from normal ice, endowed with unique abilities. The only real defense against the Glacials that threatened to push humanity toward extinction.

  After a few years, the release of spores ended, and it was at that moment that the first Great Domes began to be erected, energy barriers built to protect what remained of civilization. Inside, the climate remained as it once was. Outside was a world that no longer belonged to humans.

  The Great Dome that housed Naples, the gulf, the Vesuvian area, and the three islands of Capri, Ischia, and Procida was then renamed in 2025: Nea-Polis. Seventy years had passed, and it was still standing.

  The puppy in Brando's jacket shifted, seeking a more comfortable position. Some animals had been partially infected by the Spores and became what were defined as Pseudo-Glacials. Brando smiled bitterly; one day, this would become a creature similar to a lion in aggression and strength despite being a dog. But for the moment, it was just a tender puppy.

  "Hey," Giordano's sleepy voice made him start. The boy had woken up and was looking at him through half-closed eyes. "You're thinking about things that are too serious. I can tell from your face."

  "None of your business," Brando replied automatically, but without the coldness of before.

  Giordano stretched. "You know, my family claims to know everything about that thing over there, the sphere. The Volpes have historically been at the forefront in studying the Artifact. They say that Cold Veins themselves are a sign that we've been 'chosen' for some great destiny."

  Brando raised an eyebrow. "And you believe that?" he asked, surprised. It was strange to hear a Volpe, however "impure," speak with such contempt about family traditions.

  "Nah." Giordano adjusted himself better in his seat. "I think nobody knows shit. Neither why it's here, nor why some of us have these powers instead of turning into monsters. The other day I saw my father's reports, and last week an entire squadron of Cold Soldiers was massacred by a pack of Glacials while they were in the outside world on an excursion. They all had pure bloodlines."

  He then turned to Brando without a smile. "Let me tell you something that isn't discussed openly. After 70 years, the barriers are beginning to weaken. The Glacials are becoming stronger, more organized. And we continue to play at being nobles with our pure bloodlines while the world out there becomes increasingly vicious."

  The puppy in the bag emitted a small whimper, as if in response to his words.

  "And then," Giordano continued, absently scratching behind the puppy's ears, "someone like you arrives. Someone without lineage. A complete anomaly that screws up all their beautiful theories about blood purity."

  "Is that why you sat here?" Brando asked. "To study the anomaly?"

  "I sat here because I'm tired of these stories." Giordano turned back toward the Artifact. "Stories about blood purity, stories about destiny, stories about who is worthy and who isn't. Look at that thing. It's been here for 90 years, and we still don't know why it's here. Maybe that's the point: we don't have to understand, we just have to survive."

  Brando remained silent for a long moment with Giordano's words resonating in his head. "There's more to it, isn't there?" he finally asked. "In your contempt for your family."

  Giordano let out a dry laugh. "So perceptive for a commoner." He ran a hand through his red hair. "You know what happens when you're born a bastard in a family like the Volpes? They raise you by constantly reminding you that you're a mistake. An accident. The living proof that pure blood can be contaminated."

  He turned to Brando, and there was something fierce in his eyes. "But you know what's the funny part? My Cold Veins are stronger than my legitimate brother's. Than all my brothers and half-brothers, actually. And that drives them crazy. It drives them crazy because it calls into question their entire system."

  "Is that why you're here?" Brando asked. "To prove they're wrong?"

  "I'm here because..." Giordano hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "Because out there is a world of monsters that wants to kill us all, and they're too busy worrying about blood purity to realize it. I want to prove my worth despite my lack of pure veins. No one cares if a Glacial mauls you, you know? It doesn't stop to check your family tree before ripping out your throat."

  He paused, suddenly looking at Brando differently. "But here I am doing all the talking. What about you? What's your story? Why would an orphan with Cold Veins want to become a Cold Soldier? Money? Don't tell me it's to serve Nea-Polis or something like that."

  Brando smiled. But before he could answer, the bus stopped with a jolt.

  "Vesuvius Academy!" the driver barked. "Everybody off!"

  "No, no, no!" Giordano protested as the other students began to rise. "You can't leave me hanging like this! You were about to tell me something important, I know it!"

  "Another time," Brando said, standing up and taking the opportunity to evade the question and better adjust the puppy.

  "Come on! You can't build up all this mystery and then tell me nothing!" Giordano followed him as they got off, practically hopping with frustration. "It's cruel! It's inhuman! It's—"

  "It's time to go to class," Brando concluded with a note of amusement in his voice.

  "You're a monster," Giordano muttered. "Worse than a Glacial. At least they just maul you and get it over with, they don't torture you psychologically."