"Is it reality or just a fake refraction of your illumination?"

  The dawn he had woken up was eerily as empty as the last night, devoid of colors and chatter.

  Usually, he would slip out together before dawn, when the streets were still damp with mist, to fetch bread from the market stalls. Finnian would chatter about nothing, scurrying around the orphanage or even the streets. He would babble about how many cats he’d counted in the alley, which vendor had the sweetest apples, which guards looked the sleepiest. Sol would listen, half-smiling, letting Finnian’s voice fill the silence of the Underground, sometimes he would chatter along.

  But when Sol tried to leave that morning, Madam’s shadow fell across the door.

  "No bread today," she said, folding her arms over her broad chest. Her tone left no room for argument. "You’ll stay put. Soon enough you won’t be running errands like a street rat. Your family will be coming for you. So, best to learn to sit proper, hm?"

  Sol blinked. "…Family?" Saying the word tasted bitter.

  Ungrateful. He heard that as Madam’s lips pressed thin at his behavior.

  "The noble house has made their choice. That should please you, boy. Don’t scowl at fortune." She instructed.

  He didn’t answer. She swept away with only the sound of keys clattering at her belt.

  The day stretched long and heavy. The orphanage was noisier than usual by then, or maybe it felt that way because he never really stayed there. The children scrubbed floors until they shone, polished their shoes until they reflected candlelight, and lined themselves up for choirs. And he watch as he sat on a bench in the corner rather restlessly. His hands wanted to be elsewhere, wrapped around the hilt of a wooden sword, or better yet a real blade.

  A tug at his sleeve broke his thoughts. He turned to see a younger boy peering up at him with wide eyes. "Sol! Tell us about the Trials again. Do they really fight monsters?" He pushed.

  Before he could reply, another girl perched on the bench beside him. "Will you take me with you if you go? You’ll be strong enough to win, I know it!"

  Others gathered quickly, their chores forgotten, and faces bright. To them, Sol wasn’t the boy who got punished in the basement, or the one Madam scolded for sneaking out past curfew. He was the big brother who dared to whisper about leaving, about adventures, and everything beyond those looming walls. For them, he was different.

  "They say the Trials are cursed." A boy piped up, whispering as though Madam could hear. "Those who go there die screaming in the pits. My brother told me so, before he departed to the Cathedral."

  "That’s just a story to scare you! The Sun blesses the winners." Another girl retorted. Then she turned to Sol with sparkling eyes. "Right, Sol? You’ll win, won’t you?"

  He forced a smile, ruffling the girl’s hair with affection. "Maybe. One day, I'll take you all there to watch!" He whispered and they all nodded in joy.

  By evening, the orphanage smelled of boiled roots and thin soup. All the children ate in silence with Madam pacing the rows like a warden. Sol sat with his bowl untouched. He stared at Finnian’s seat that was empty.

  Finnian had not come back.

  And for the first time, surrounded by dozens of children, Sol had never felt more alone.

  The meal passed in silence, the bowls scraped clean, and the benches emptying one after another. When the lamps were dimmed and the dormitory filled with the restless quiet of children trying to sleep, Sol sat awake.

  Finnian’s bed has been untouched since this morning. Recalling that, Sol panicked, moving before thinking, rushing out after bedtime hours, and tip toeing around the place. The floor wood creaked in pain under his feet and he tries his best to be quiet. If the Madam woke, it would be even worse. He slipped into the kitchen, then back into the hall and passed by the bathrooms and even the basement, which he does not dare enter, but peers over from the door.

  Not a soul is present inside.

  Finally, with careful hands, he shoved the crooked window open and hauls himself through, landing on his feet on the cobblestone, ready to rush out the orphanage.

  The night air was cold, the streets half-dead, and the gas-lamps struggled to fight the dark.

  When he looked around, he spots the familiar jacket in the corner of the street right next to the gloomy alley. Sol rushed there with recognition and panic in his eyes. He gripped it in his hands, it’s sleeve has come undone and frayed at the edges, signifying struggle.

  "Finnian…" It was without doubt his jacket, he knew the patches he made each time it tore or came undone after too much usage.

  There is no way— Realization hits him like a slap.

  Sol stood up. His vision now blurred as he let the jacket slip from his hands, letting the dirt swallow it once more. He had no place in mind as tears began to well up in his eyes, and he runs into the outskirts of Solthar with his heart pounding like a drum, and fueled by complete desperation.

  The underground bled into the overworld city, and soon into the grassy fields of the outskirts.

  Sol stood trembling at the door, the old wood swollen with rain and silence. The house had been empty since Granny Lethea died. It was now only dust, mold, and memories pressed into its walls like dried flowers and no life.

  The hinges screamed in protest as he opened the door, and the familiarity hit him like a ghost. The clock still ticked, though it's time only stuck itself at 3:40. As if time itself had really dared to stop here.

  Sol’s hands were shaking.

  Why? Why had he come to seek her and not alerted his Madam? Why did he not rush to the police station?

  Why?

  Why?

  Why?

  "Of course, I should go to the police." He muttered in a hollow voice to the air. His legs had brought him here, as if something older than logic was guiding him. The police did not bother with the measly kidnapping cases in Solthar. "Of course… I should…"

  His eyes wandered throughout the room, landing to the shelf where Grandma used to keep her collection of books. And then he saw it: A sliver of parchment wedged into the crevice between two books.

  Sol moved toward it as if in a trance, as if red strings of fate were guiding, pulling, him. He picked up the paper observing how it was yellowed, and burnt around the edges.

  He unfolded it, breath catching as the words leapt out at him in a revelation.

  Sol stumbled backward at the sudden burst of energy. It was spell with a familiar language, not some strange sigils and ancient scripts. How would a spell guide him to his missing companion? Grandma had always muttered strange things. She spoke of places that did not exist, spoke of charms and always told stories of the ‘River of Souls’ or the ‘Threads of Fate.’ He thought they were just fairy tales.

  Finnian. Could it lead him? Could it bring him back? People used magic all the time, why could he not do it once in the moment of desperation?

  The Sun charm was warm in his coat pocket. He folded the paper and kept it alongside it before turning to leave one last time. The moment he shut the door behind him, the whispers of life left the house.

  · ? ·

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Slipping quietly into the orphanage, he tip toed into the kitchen and settled at the dining table. Striking the gas lamp alight, he studied the paper with deliberate care. The house was silent, and his attention remained unbroken on the parchment that he read.

  A candle in the center, four pieces of bread on each corner, and the chosen person’s belonging in the center. 6 drops of animal or human blood on the candle.

  O Moon, silver watcher

  please guide me to all that is concealed,

  turn your quiet face towards me.

  I ask only to see.

  I do not ask what seeing costs.

  Blood!? They want my blood too!? Sol panicked. He turned off the gas lamp and moved around the kitchen, searching for items to sacrifice at the altar that was once a dinner table.

  He spotted the bread he had brought the morning prior. Next, he took a candle, lit it up with a match stick, and set a slice of bread at each corner of the large table. He didn't have four bread—nor did he understand the specifications that were written rather vaguely. The jacket he had picked up on his way back was placed in front of the candle.

  He raised a glimmering knife towards his palm, his fingers, letting it hover hesitantly above the skin. Swallowing hard, he shut his eyes and allowed the blade to pierce his fingers. Sol was not allowed to hesitate.

  "O Moon!" He whispers to the dark, and drops of blood fall into the candle, burning the flame brighter. "Please guide me to all that is concealed. Turn your quiet face towards me. I ask only to see. I do not ask what seeing costs. Please lead me to where he is."

  The knife cluttered down, he jerks back and his vision blurs the moment he utters the last word. The flame is fluttered by a wind that wasn’t there for the window had been closed shut as soon as he returned. Flashes of a warehouse under the ever waning crescent appear before him, and he finds a body that no doubt belongs to Finnian, lying down in a pool of blood. Gasping for breathe Sol falls onto his knees, sweating heavily at the use of magic.

  The sight of blood unsettled him, and he shakily stood up.

  No! No, no, no, no, no! He hurried out of the house once again, and into the gloomy night, remembering the vision over and over again. His breath came in ragged clouds, the gas lamps flickering behind as if the city itself was short-circuiting despite living on steam.

  He is guided, as if by invisible threads, towards the shabby warehouse.

  · ? ·

  The warehouse loomed at the edge of the district, appearing abandoned for years. But someone had been there recently. He observed the padlock on the front gate was broken. The chain curled like a dead snake on the ground.

  Sol stood for a moment, watching the rusted sign flip in the wind, he chose to enter through the broken window high up. The only way would be to climb the pipe, but anything was better than alerting the kidnappers.

  Sol slipped through the opening, heart hammering against his ribcage or maybe even echoing off the metal. Inside, it was worse with rows of forgotten crates and old machinery. The shadows crept along the walls as if they were sentient, and the air reeked of oil and dust, alongside a hint of sulfur.

  There was soft thud and a drag of feet. They were awake, he realized. Sol stiffened as he crawled behind dusty crates. He used the moonlight to be his sole guide. It was a surprise, he thought. After all, the smog always clouded the skies of Solthar. Right now, he could not complain, he had to find Finnian.

  Finnian was here.

  Further into the depths of the warehouse, the air was thick and foul like rot. As if, something else was here alongside him, Finnian, and the men.

  He hopped down, hiding behind large machine to locate the boy. But his luck, already running thin long before, did not stay with him. A sudden scuffle resounded in the forsaken warehouse.

  "You!" He was spotted, and a man shouted, pulling out a knife in recognition. Panic spiked in his chest.

  "What?" The second man turned to investigate the ruckus.

  "A pest!?" Another exclaimed in, pulling out his weapon. Sol remembered their voices; the voices from that night in the alley. The same men who had tried to kidnap the woman in silk.

  They rushed to chase him, and Sol flailed instinctively, ducking behind a crate and letting the knife stab into the wood. It broke with the impact into wooden splinters. The other began to shoot, but Sol was faster, and he rolled aside just as bullets, or some crude projectiles whizzed past him, letting the man shoot each crate.

  The bigger man among them roared in anger, running towards him and crashed into more crates. Sol dodged, yet barely, sending wood flying everywhere.

  "What a nuisance!" The man exclaimed, seething with rage.

  The knife wielder ran towards him again, and Sol’s legs shot out in a weak, desperate kick. It landed somewhere near the man’s stomach, with more luck than force, pushing them both back away from each other, slightly. His weak kick didn't do much, as the man was ready to leap at him again.

  In the midst of it all, the boy spotted Finnian lying all the way at back of the warehouse.

  "Finnian!" He called immediately. A sigh of relief left him realizing his friend was breathing, and alive. There was no pool of blood, just him.

  "So that’s what you are here for?" The boss grinned, signaling his henchman to shoot with a crude gun.

  "Not a chance!" He hurled the closest weapon he could find: a steel pipe. The man shot at it instead, to deflect, making a clang resound in the warehouse. Sol took his chance to rush forward, dodging the knife wielder and jumping in the air with sheer adrenaline guiding him.

  He kicked the bigger man but was blocked mid air with an arm. The huge man sent a firm punch into his stomach. Sol coughed, tasting copper on his tongue, and was thrown into the crates. The wood splinters dug into his skin, making him wince in pain.

  "That’s all you got, boy?" He mocked, spitting at him. "You just walked in to your death."

  "Let…" He coughed, tasting the sharp sting of fear now. "Let Finnian go!"

  "Not a chance," he rejected. "Do you wanna know why we do this?"

  Sol was confused. Why else would kidnappers kidnap? For money? That made sense.

  One cackled. Their voices became demonic. Dread washed over him. It was no longer three people against him, but three demons.

  Three abyssal-wraiths.

  Sol felt his heart leap into his throat. Their skin was now far from skin, instead it was flesh, blood and rot letting the stench of sulfur coat the warehouse. They began to loom, now taller and missing eyes. And with teeth too long for human mouths. They grinned with hunger.

  Sol’s small chest heaved with terror.

  "You shouldn't have come," one gurgled in a voice layered with whispers. "But the fire inside you... Yes, it will do."

  The kidnappers, hungry for chaos, descended upon him like a pack of wolves. Sol leaped, attempting to run but he was slower, weaker, and way smaller. And so, he stumbled and scrambled over crates and spilled machinery. His eyes were blown wide with fear. They did not cease their attacks against anything rushing forward like his shadows, overwhelming Sol. The warehouse began to collapse onto him, and he choked on the smell of ash.

  Every breath was a struggle, as every step felt like running through tar.

  From the corner, he watched as Finnian open his own eyes, spotting him in the moonlight that slipped through the darkness. Despite the crushing odds, Sol’s heart clenched with relief seeing his friend was alive.

  Finnian. I’ll get you out. Somehow… I’ll survive this!

  In that moment, the air shimmered as if answering his unspoken prayer. Sol stopped running, turning to face the three wraiths with a profound ambition burning in his eyes.

  Light bloomed from his palm, a miniature sun bursting into a thousand brilliant flames. It cast upon their twisted faces like a snarl. They recoiled screeching, but not far enough.

  Sol leaped forward, the fire danced around his wrist. It crackled through the darkness, lighting up the warehouse. The charm harmonized with his wishes. With a plea to the Sun that bathed him in warmth, he conjured flames to burn away everything.

  Desperation clung to him and amidst the chaos, and he screamed. In an answer, flames exploded outward in a radiant arc, engulfing both wraiths around him. One burst like overripe fruit as it bled within it's body. The other was half-burned, staggering backwards with a snarl of pain as it melt with the scorching heat.

  The third fought the flames, opening it’s mouth to bite off the boy’s head. But Sol, for once, did not flinch, using his flames to wrap both of them into Sun’s flames with a second plea. Light speared through it’s ribs like molten lava and the demon incinerated into ashes.

  Sol breathed raggedly feeling his body was heating up and in pain. His knees buckled as he attempted to stand up.

  "S—" There was a sheer ringing in his ears, his vision doubled as he watched a figure run to him in panic. Sol smiled, recognizing him.

  He’s safe. Sol could praise the Sun this time, for he had never been a believer before.

  "Sol!" Finnian exclaimed right before he launched himself into the fray.

  He threw his hands wide, shielding Sol from the sharp claw of the fleshy demonic creature. Sol’s heart had lept, but horror followed immediately after. His smile vanished as blood spilled everywhere in his vision.

  "Finnian!" His voice escaped him before he realized he spoke. Both his friend, and the demon lost their lives at the same moment, with the last remnant of the monstrous wraith collapsing, blood and ash mingling on the cold concrete floor.

  The world faded away, crumbling into an abyss, as Sol cradled his friend in his arms. He was now a lifeless shell, yet a spark that could never be extinguished.

  "Sol." He coughed. "I am sorry…"

  "Stop speaking! I’ll get you out of here!" He scrambled to hold him in his little arms.

  "No…" He muttered, voice leaving him as if it was cut off from his throat. "No, Sol."

  A peak of moonlight of the half-moon shone through the shattered glass. The boy’s chest rose and fell weakly in sorrow, holding the near lifeless form against his own.

  "I… I was so jealous, so angry. I thought we could have been together, but… that was a wishful dream..." His could only whisper, life slowly leaving his eyes. "I am sorry... You deserve to be free, you deserve to leave this place… Sol…"

  "No, you idiot!" He gripped him close, tears falling. "I was never going to leave you!"

  Finnian smiled at that, guilt seeping into his eyes.

  "Be free, Sol…" And he closed his eyes one last time, as Sol wept. He sat there, his friend cradled within his arms, only accompanied by the half-moon. That gloomy waning crescent.

  Upon returning to the orphanage, he was met with a scene crafted from nightmares. Flames licked the sky, hungrily consuming the only home he had ever known. The building crackled as it surrendered. Each falling timber a testament to fragile dreams.

  Sol screamed, gripping the now-cold Finnian’s body. As the shadows danced at the mercy of flames, Sol understood. His desire to escape had become a desperate race against the night that threatened to extinguish the light.

  The aid arrived, and Sol’s vision became a blur. The only thing he remembered was Finnian’s cold body, and the burning flames before them.