Tilas rose from his bed with heavy, reluctant steps; the dream that had clung to him since waking sat like lead behind his eyes. He needed to join his grandfather for breakfast, so he left his small room and headed for the sitting room.
The apartment looked the same as always: a narrow sitting room opening into a modest kitchen, the air warmed by the scent of fresh bread and tea. To the left of the sitting room stood a simple bed beside a tiny wardrobe barely big enough for a few clothes. In the center sat an old wooden table, its edges worn away by time, surrounded by two mismatched chairs as if each had come from a different era. On the table lay a humble meal: a teapot and a small bowl of olive oil gleaming faintly in the morning light.
As he stepped into the sitting room his eyes fell on an old, stooped figure standing by the stove. His grandfather was quietly warming the bread, wearing a faded white shirt and old black trousers—pieces of clothing so washed they seemed to have the years pressed into them.
The apartment was cramped and simple.
The grandfather placed the reheated bread on the table, looked at Tilas, and said in a warm voice, "Come on, aren't you hungry?"
Tilas shook himself from his thoughts and answered hastily, "Yes… I'll just go wash my face."
The washroom was not inside the apartment but at the far end of the corridor, shared with the neighbors—like the dwellings in the poorer districts of many Third World cities, where bathrooms are communal. Such a place could barely be called a home.
Tilas stepped out and turned right, reaching a small tin door barely wide enough for a grown man to pass through. He opened it and was immediately hit by a foul stench that made him recoil; he hurriedly pinched his nose and said in disgust, "What a horrible smell!"
He stood before the basin and began to wash his face and hands, then lifted his head to look into the mirror with its rusted frame. His pale reflection stared back; his crimson eyes still carried an odd, worrying glow. The dream drifted back into his mind.
What was that black book? he wondered, a chill running through him. It was the first time he had seen it.
The nightmare had recurred many times, but tonight it felt different. The mysterious creature—its features always blurred in the dream—had held that strange black book, as if darkness itself seeped from its pages. A heavy feeling settled in his chest, telling him this detail was not incidental.
Tilas returned to the apartment and sat at the table to eat with his grandfather. While they ate his gaze fell on the bed placed in the sitting room and his heart tightened with sorrow. "Grandfather… you should sleep in the room. I'll sleep here," he said.
His grandfather was surprised for a moment, then smiled tenderly. A warmth lit his eyes as he replied in a teasing voice that hid the truth: "What are you saying, boy? I wake up a lot at night to drink water; I like being near the tap… Are you planning to steal my spot? Haha."
Tilas forced a faint smile but was unconvinced. Deep down he knew his grandfather always sacrificed his own comfort for him, as he always had. Tilas bowed his head and said gratefully, "Thank you."
They finished breakfast in silence, and then the grandfather said suddenly, "By the way, Tilas, the academy entrance exam is tomorrow. Are you ready?"
Tilas was taken aback for a moment, then answered, "Yes. I'll do my best."
"You'll astonish them with your abilities," his grandfather said with pride. "I'm sure they'll accept you. After all, you're my grandson."
Tilas smiled. "I won't let you down."
The grandfather glanced at the small television mounted in the corner of the room, checked his watch with a worried look, and said excitedly, "Tilas! Quick! Where's the remote?"
"Why?" Tilas asked, surprised.
"Today is the Emperor's address to the Continent of Darkness! Hurry!"
"An address?" Tilas repeated, searching until he found the remote atop his grandfather's bed. He turned on the old TV and switched to the broadcast from the Continent of Darkness.
The announcer appeared on screen: "Dear viewers, in a short while our great Emperor Protos Behi will deliver his speech on the four-hundredth anniversary of the Behi dynasty's rule."
The broadcast came from Nita—the greatest and most powerful nation on the Continent of Darkness. A massive crowd filled the square before a grand palace that resembled a medieval fortress, with an ornate golden podium at its center. The crowd chanted fervently, "Long live Protos the Great!"
A man emerged onto the palace balcony. He was tall, clad in black armor with a red cloak spilling from his shoulders like a waterfall of blood. A dense black beard framed his face, his brows were sharp as blades, and his dark eyes were hard and commanding. He wore a black crown set with a single red ruby atop short black hair.
Tilas's eyes shone with awe. He thought, He is majestic.
The Emperor stood before his people, sweeping them with a stern gaze, and said, "People of the great Darkness, I am Protos Behi. I stand before you today to affirm the legacy my family began four hundred years ago—a legacy that has known no retreat or weakness. The Behi house founded the pillars of this state, and I am here to lead it into a new era of strength. I will enforce justice and order throughout our land, and I will secure our law with the authority of the sword."
Protos paused, looking over the crowd with solemnity, then continued, "Today I announce a strategic decision: we will cease all military conflicts with the Continents of Light and Science. This choice does not stem from fear, but from strategy—to redirect our full strength toward the true threat: the Continent of Evil and the Shamans. Our aim is to crush their influence and end the corruption that jeopardizes the world's stability. Our priority is decisive action; we will not allow side conflicts to hinder our path to securing the future."
The crowd erupted into hysterical cheers: "Long live Protos the Great!"
Protos concluded his speech and retreated into the palace amid thunderous applause.
Tilas sat stunned. He turned to his grandfather and found pride sparkling in the old man's eyes. Tilas found it odd; his grandfather had never been one for politics, yet his upbringing had taught him to revere the ruling family unquestioningly.
"Grandfather… do you really think we can defeat the Shamans and the Continent of Evil?" Tilas asked hesitantly.
The grandfather regarded him with surprise, then answered devoutly, "Of course. As long as His Majesty leads us, we will be fine, and the nation will prosper under his wisdom."
Tilas raised one dark eyebrow but did not press the matter. At that moment there came a sudden knock at the door: "Knock… knock… knock."
Tilas moved toward the door, wondering who could be visiting. He opened it to find a young man standing there—tallish, of average build, fair-skinned with wavy brown hair brushing his neck. He wore fine clothes and a broad, easy smile.
Tilas blinked in surprise. "Zeif?!"