After the discussion with Salva, I took the whole evening and the next morning to wrap my head around what I had learned, shifting around in my room. I eventually decided to try cooperating with my captors – or saviors if I were to believe him. This way, I thought, I would understand more about my situation. It was early afternoon, after eating lunch alone in my room that I decided to ask the young man who was responsible for me to finally introduce me to the rest.

“Liang Hanying. You can call me Hani,” the woman in front of me said in perfect Spanish, while her appearance and name betrayed her Asian descent.

“She is our Instructor, and I am Oriol,” said the young man who since extracting me from the makeshift camp in the Chinese District has always been by my side, watching over whatever I did. He had just introduced me to this thirty-something-year-old woman with long black hair and a striking unusual beauty.

“Ángel Vázquez,” I blurted out, not even thinking before giving my full name, copying the Instructor. It was common courtesy to reveal your last name if the other person did as well. In a world brimming with Curses that could use your given name at birth, such an action exhibited higher trust and respect. I did not doubt that both of them would communicate my name and surname to all who needed to know it within the day. I bit my lip but then continued in my best Mandarin, “Nice to meet you Hanying.”

I always thought I had a good accent in Mandarin and a good grasp of the language. Spending most of my time in the Southern Chinese District and learning Mandarin in school played their part in that.

Hanying picked it up and proceeded in Mandarin.

“You can trust your name in my, mister Vázquez. We are here for the same reasons.”

Oriol looked between us somehow annoyed.

“She is responsible for Unit Bermellón. That’s where you and I belong,” he explained in Spanish.

Hanying waved at both of us to walk towards the elevator. I tried to remind myself that this building was designed as an apartment complex and not a military base, especially when I found shocking things like silly little elevators in it. It even played soothing music when in it.

“So, what does this, eh, unit do?’ I asked.

“Well, Hani instructs us. We have quite a few units, groups of Cursed, each unit around a dozen people. Ours is a bit more private,” Oriol explained, and Hanying smiled.

“Bermellón is a new Unit. We made it with old and new recruits, right after the domain collapsed,” Hanying said. The elevator indicated we reached floor seven via a distorted ring of a bell.

“Okay,” I scratched my head, “who is we?”

“What did Salvador explain exactly?” Oriol seemed annoyed at my ignorance.

“We are Escapadas. All of us,” Hanying said making a point of using the female version of the word in Spanish, “Cursed and non-Cursed, all working to escape the Trastamara Domain.”

“And you are lucky we found you now. Our members have been increasing in the past months. This is the best we have ever been!” Oriol added.

I had already guessed this was a group of reactionaries or terrorist rebels. Initially, I had trouble picturing it, as there was no mention of such a group in local media, and at least I had never heard of something like that existing in N.T. The premise was also a bit nonsensical; there was nothing to escape from or to. This was the only safe place for us, with the Antarctic cold surrounding us for thousands of miles outside the Spanish Colonies.

“Trust me, once you learn more about the domain, you will want to escape as well,” Hanying said.

I examined her. She looked younger than my mother, but the way she spoke betrayed some wisdom that did not match her years. She went on to explain how often Cursed people end up in the Escapadas, when their Curses are deemed too dangerous for the Trastamara regime.

“Regime – you make it sound like it is illegitimate. Isn’t the Queen from the royal spanish bloodline?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” she said, and Oriol tightened his lips. I felt my question was a bit naïve.

“What does it matter if they are legitimate? We are not welcome here,” Oriol said.

As we walked outside the elevator Hanying and Oriol zipped the outer layer of their jackets tighter. I did the same, although admittedly I felt no difference. Oriol’s breath was now visible by the cold condensation and Hanying shuddered. I rubbed my hands, feeling obliged to pretend I was cold. I was not.

Walking through the floor, we met quite a few people around, but compared to the other floors, most of them were not at a desk or working on a computer. A couple were chatting in one room, and a few more were exercising in another one. I had to remind myself once more that this building used to be a residential one, and these rooms used to be apartments belonging to families that were gone by now.

“Why did the members increase?”

Oriol shrugged. “The domain probably… is weakening. More and more people are not affected by the Queen’s hexes. I don’t get it, but it works for us.”

Oriol talked about the topic in such an aloof way, that I sensed he had not heard Salva’s theory about my Curse and how I was possibly related to the Trastamara domain.

“Who knows how these things work,” Hanying said in Mandarin, looking at me. She winked and smiled. I could not decide if that made me more or less awkward around her, especially if she knew of Salva’s theory. She continued in Spanish. “Domains are not my specialty. But I know quite a lot about Curses, and I help awaken them.”

“As I said, she is the Instructor,” Oriol said, “and here we have the one and only Bermellón seer! Cecilia!”

A young woman was sitting across a hall, in an empty room, in a meditating pose. I shifted awkwardly where I was standing. I have been meeting and talking to more people over the past few days than I used to talk in school. Socializing was not my favorite pastime.

“CECILIA! Oy!” Oriol yelled at the woman, who tilted her head in desperation. We walked towards her, as she started standing up.

“Oriol you sweaty pig, stop oinking,” she cussed and then followed up with more profanities.

I blushed hearing these words come out of her mouth. Hanying noticed and chuckled.

“That’s just how they greet each other,” she said in Mandarin, in a mix of an understanding and condescending tone.

“The newcomer finally decided to join our team,” Oriol said, “Come say hi.”

Cecilia looked right at me and smiled. She was a bit taller than most women I had met – but then again, most women I had met in my life were just now finishing high school. Her face exhibited a different beauty, a somehow androgynous style, and a lovely smile.

“Hanying, have you lost your mind, that is a child,” she said in Mandarin.

“Almost eighteen. And, actually, I speak Mandarin,” I hastily added, afraid she might say something I was not supposed to hear. Cecilia flicked her tongue and widened her eyes.

“Okay great,” Oriol scoffed, “do I need a translator?”

“Our Warden is right, let’s be respectful and let him join our discussion.”

With Hanying’s command, both Cecilia and I nodded.

“Did he say eighteen?” Cecilia asked looking at the Instructor.

“He will be under my tutelage. Oriol, as a Warden, it will be your duty to protect young Ángel and keep him out of trouble. Cecilia, I expect you to keep them both under your ever-vigilant sight. Understood?”

Both nodded. Hanying winked at me and then she left without saying more.

Cecilia turned to me. “So. What can you do?”

Oriol looked at both of us interchangeably.

It was widely known that inquiring about one’s Curse was rude. That being said, I never considered myself being Cursed, and I did not even know how to answer that question myself.

“I don’t know. I don’t even think I am Cursed, but Salvador insists,” I said, “I think I am supposed to prove him right.”

Cecilia bit her lip.

“Hm, I love me a good mystery. What do you think?” She asked Oriol.

“He survived the collapse,” Oriol said, “so whatever it is, it is powerful enough.”

Cecilia started walking down the hall, and Oriol jumped right next to her, almost ignoring me.

“Some warding hex maybe? Or an ice-related curse. That would be quite handy!” Cecilia said excitedly, while she and Oriol started throwing wild guesses.

I just stood there looking at them walking away. Their excitement had me frozen like a deer in front of a truck. I was taught all my life not to think about Curses and the Cursed. And now people I had just met were tossing ideas on how Cursed I was.

“Oy Ángel, move your culo,” Oriol yelled at me, snapping me out of my train of thought. They were already almost turning around in the hallway. I ran behind them.

We didn’t walk long, although listening to the two of them listing possible Curses made it seem way longer. I resisted the urge to reveal to them what Salva thought, and it was telling that none of their guesses was about a Domain Curse. It was not simply rare – it was unheard of. Only the Royals had a Domain, and these people were Escapadas.

“What happens if I don’t find what my Curse is? Do I get kicked out?” I asked. I had formulated it better in my head, but now it just sounded like I did not want to find out. Which in some sense, was true.

“Hm. Our unit is only for Cursed. Maybe they would change you to another unit,” Cecilia said.

“There is no chance mate, Hani is the best at this,” Oriol tried to assuage my worries, only to make them worse.

We reached a huge living room with a television and a kitchen. Someone had gone into a lot of effort to transform this recently destroyed apartment into a big leisure room: different colored couches were lined up and set up across a big television, the windows were enhanced glass to insulate from the cold, and the kitchen had a functioning coffee machine and fridge.

A few people were already there, most of them part of Unit Bermellón. Cecilia briefly discussed with all of them, exhibiting her social butterfly skills, while Oriol introduced me to most of them. I did not even try to remember their names and faces. My heart rate was rising and my palms were getting sweatier by the second, while my social anxiety blurred most of them into the same person.

From all the experiences so far with the Escapadas, exchanging pleasantries and socializing was the worst.

I purposefully stayed near Oriol, as still and dull as possible. Once people realized I had nothing interesting to say, they left us be.

“You will get used to it,” Oriol said, “I was younger than you when I joined. I am now twenty.”

I looked at him and wondered how long he had been part of this organization. But for the first time since I had met him, a part of me relaxed. He understood me somehow, and Hanying had assigned him to stand by my side. Maybe if I got to know him better, he could turn to be a friend.

“I…” I almost said and then the most peculiar thing happened. It felt like someone; not just anyone, Salvador, whispered right into my ear.

--Find a television and have a look.

The whisper ended as quickly as it came, and it felt as if a passing breeze shuffled my hair. I turned towards Cecilia, whose facial expression revealed she had sensed something similar.

“Can we turn the television on?” I asked. Most people ignored me, but then Cecilia yelled at one of them who was sitting on the couch. He quickly clicked on the remote control and a shaky image from the capital of the Colonies sprung right onto the screen.

“Are these the Santiago Towers?” Someone asked, and Cecilia shushed them.

The drone footage was live from the balconies where the Queen was giving a speech surrounded by the Royal family.

“We will dissolve the shadows surrounding our domain. The royal domain is stronger than ever before!” The Queen declared. She raised her hands and light emanated from them, a dazzling display of her Sun keeping the Trastamara domain in a different climate than the rest of the unwelcoming Antarctica. “I bear the light of our foremother, and I shall cast it onto you,” she continued with her speech. The room’s attitude turned sour.

“Why are we listening to this bruja?” Someone asked. A few chuckled, but some waited anxiously to hear what the Queen had to say.

Something grasped my attention. The pull was immediate.

“The man next to the Queen. Who is he?” I asked unable to move my attention away from him.

“That is Marcelo Trastamara. The heir to the throne,” Cecilia said.

“Marcelo Trastamara, I see,” I said, and as I whispered his name, I was no longer in the abandoned apartment complex with the rest of the Escapadas.

The light on my side blinded me, and so did all the drones’ lights flying around us, with their cameras and flashes.

I was standing right next to the Queen, on the balcony high on the Santiago Towers.

I panicked and looked around frantically for an exit. Where was I? Who was I? What was happening?

Then everything went dark.

“The Prince! The Prince! Somebody, bring the doctor!”

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The Trastamara Domain, altering the climate of the Spanish Colonies in Antarctica for centuries, has been breached, leaving thousands dead in the wake of its implosion. The northernmost neighborhood of Nuevo Trujillo, the Northern Chinese District, is no longer inhabitable. Ángel was at the heart of the collapse, witnessing the horrors first-hand.

To catch up with Ángel’s first Arc, start here:

And somehow, inexplicably, he survived. And after following a mysterious young man, narrowly escaping capture for things he did not understand, he is now in a desolate location, away from the men hunting him, with more questions and no answers.

75°56’17.2”S 53°44’36.7”E
Nuevo Trujillo, Spanish Antarctic Colonies
20.05.2024- 21.30 UTC +3.00

I stretched my legs, bored and miserable in the tiny children’s room that acted as my cell.

I had started to miss my home and my family. I knew by now that whatever happened to the Paseo could not have reached them in the center of N.T, in San Isidro. Still, I could not help wondering how they were coping in my absence. It has been two full days since I last saw or heard them.

It mattered not. I could not leave – they would not let me. I was not even allowed to make a phone call, and I was sure at this point my family was probably having my funeral, certain I was a piece of ice somewhere in the Chinese District.

They knew I would be on the Paseo that day, my mother had even – ironically – scolded me for going without a jacket. And now, I was lying on a bed in a specially made suit, covered in wool and hexes, making sure I could comfortably withstand the Antarctic cold. I was no longer in Trastamara’s Domain.

I was in that room for more than a day, and my anger and panic was all but gone at that point. In the first hours, I did not care, I was just happy to have a room to rest, after running from constant danger. But then, when they would not let me leave, I realized I had not been saved. I had been captured. That young man, the one with the glowing rune on his hand, had led me successfully somewhere in the Northern Chinese District, to what I hoped would be answers to my questions. But all I had found was this cozy cell. The child that must have lived here had filled the walls with posters, some now torn or shriveled. I tried not to think whether this child was alive now. Probably not.

I kicked the edge of the bed. It was annoying how good I had been sleeping and resting there. The food they brought me was also nice, and sometimes I had to remind myself I was a prisoner. The problem was, I was not clear what I was imprisoned for.

When the domain at the Paseo collapsed, I survived it. That was not a crime, right? Or perhaps it was? Maybe the government wanted the domain to fall, and a survivor was a problem. And then the people that had me closed up in a room now were some kind of paramilitary organization, tasked to keep me away from everyone.

I scoffed. I had been left alone in my own head for way too long. This scenario made no sense.

“Here we go.” The door opened. The young man who had led me here was standing right in front of it. He showed me a pair of manacles on his left hand. “Will you need these? Or can you just follow me in silence? I would much rather not use these.”

“Where are we going?” I asked. I was not planning to fight back, there was nowhere to run. We were in an abandoned, half-wrecked skyscraper somewhere in the frozen parts of the Chinese District. Only parts of it were safe and untouched by the cold, secured by specialist Cursed people belonging to this group.

“He is here to see you. He took the trip just for you.” The young man answered.

“Who is he?” I asked, but the man only smirked. With a wave of his hand, he implied I should just get up and follow him.

And I did. The building was occupied by more people wearing the same suit as we both did. They all stared as we passed by their rooms. It was bizarre walking through that building; it must have been a simple residential high-story house before the cold cloud hit it. Now, this militia was occupying rooms such as kitchens, playrooms, and nurseries and had turned long hallways into operation centers. However, there was an improvisation to everything around me, that I could not exactly explain.

I followed silently the young man through a hallway and the stairs to higher floors. I peeked through the window of the staircase. We must have been at least on the ninth or tenth floor, as it looked higher than I have ever lived in an apartment. The outside was covered in snow.

“Alright. That’s your cue,” the man said, pointing to a door.

“Are you not coming?” I asked.

“I will sit this one out.”

I felt my throat dry a bit, and I let out an awkward cough. The man opened the door and pushed me in.

Whatever the room used to be before, now it was entirely emptied. Only a few objects were in strategic positions: a desk with a lamp and a bottle of water on top, and two chairs on opposite sides. I did not need to be an expert to recognize an interrogation room. I had seen enough movies. As a reflex, I turned around to count my exit routes.

The door behind me led to where exactly I had come from. The closed glass windows into a ten-story fall. I guess that was it. I would have to go through whatever this was and just hope that whoever was going to interrogate me would believe me when I said that I had absolutely no clue what was happening.

“This is not an interrogation, Ángel.” A manly voice interrupted me, trying to counter my worries. A man in his forties, wearing a worn-out version of my suit entered the room from another door. He had hair reaching his shoulders and a kind look in his eyes, almost apologetic. He approached in slow steps. “This is, at the very least, a confession. Would you like to sit?”

“I… yes,” I said, heading to the chair. The man mirrored my move and sat at the same time I did.

“You have been treated well, I hope.”

“I can’t complain,” I answered uncomfortably, “well, I would like to be able to leave though.”

The man nodded in understanding.

“I am sure you do. And after this conversation, I assure you, you will have the choice to do so. But before that, I want to make sure you understand what is happening.” I could tell the man was carefully choosing his words. He maintained a calm demeanor almost like when in a funeral: he seemed honest, but at the same time somber about his honesty.

He noticed that I was staring at him.

“You are freaking me out,” I blurted out and then bit my lip.

He chuckled.

“Yes, you are right. I forgot my manners. I am Salvador. Salva for short. You have no reason to fear me. I cannot hurt you. To be entirely honest,” he said and paused “I am the one that fears you.”

“Uhm, okay.” I smiled at his stupid comment. Was this his way to make me feel comfortable? What did that mean?

“Ángel, do you know what a domain is?”

“Like the Trastamara Domain? What keeps us warm? Well, kept.”

“Yes, like the Trastamara Domain.”

“It is a curse, right? Magic. Some Cursed people have this power, to protect lots of people.” I explained what I had learned in history at school.

“Did you know there are many domains out there?” Salva asked.

“Well, I assume London is also under one. I know in Spain they are illegal. Only allowed here in the Colonies, to protect us.”

“New London is a whole other story. But you are right. Domains have been a problem in the past. Domains are the most powerful and rare type of Curse. A way for a Cursed to influence cities, states, even whole countries.” Salva poured some water into one of the glasses. He whispered into it.

“It is easier if I show you. I am Cursed with Insight. I can offer it to you, freely, if you agree.” He handed the glass of water to me. It seemed unusually clear and transparent, even more so than water usually was. Something I could not picture before seeing this with my own eyes.

“Salvador?”

“Salva is fine.”

“Salva. What does this have to do with what happened in Paseo?” I asked, terrified of the answer.

He nodded and pointed at the glass of water. Annoyed, I drank it up, and as I did, mist engulfed us both. We were no longer sitting in a room, but we were hovering among the clouds. I saw him move his lips.

“Follow my voice,” he said, the voice reaching me not in sync with his mouth. “I will guide you through the Insight.”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly as if I felt like falling through the clouds.

“Domains have been used for many purposes. Europe was plagued by wars for a good century, when aspiring Cursed used their domains to define their territory.”

“The Great War?” I asked.

“Yes. Domains were used extensively. Protective, aggressive, controlling. Sometimes, respecting political borders. Sometimes not.”

As I fell through the clouds, I could see balls of fire, missiles, and airplanes around us. Women and men cried. Whispers carried hexes in the wind.

“After the wars, most countries in Europe signed a treaty that forbade domains. Anyone with a domain Curse had to be registered and monitored. Even sent to exile, if that’s what’s necessary. Some domains are stronger than others, Ángel. And two domains cannot coexist.

“Humanity has thrived in Antarctica because of them. When the House of Trastamara reached here centuries ago, the First Queen established one of the longest-standing domains in history. This kind of domain is not recreated. Only inherited and expanded. A domain that protects us from all cold and binds us all into the House’s will.”

We hovered over the Antarctic colonies. I could see the trains connecting through all the major cities. Santiago’s towers, the defining characteristic of the capital’s skyline, grew tall.

“The House’s will?”

“The Cursed can control everything their powers allow, within their domain. You must understand that. Everyone in a domain is at the mercy of its ruler.” He said and continued.

Controlled? By whom? The Queen? This sounded like a wild conspiracy theory. But the Insight continued.

“What had started as an experiment has evolved into a utopia. Generation by generation, royals inherit the domain. An unbreakable one. Until now.”

The towers started crumbling.

“Another domain, meant to be more powerful than even the Trastamara domain, emerges.”

I started flailing my arms around.

“Stop! Stop!” I waved my hands around as if to disperse the mist. The insight dissipated, but the mist did not. Salva looked at me, perplexed, if not surprised.

“What does this have to do with me? What are you saying?” I asked, trying to catch my breath. I could feel my heart rate rising. My vision was blurred by spots – and I was breathing faster than normal.

Salva did not move an inch. He looked ready to say something, but did not dare move.

“Explain to me! Do I have something to do with the domain falling? Did I kill all these people?” I felt the whole room turn around, the mist itself getting thicker around me. Salva was talking, but I could not hear his words.

This made no sense. Or it made a whole lot of sense. I felt tears gathering in my eyes. I fell off my chair and curled up, hugging my knees. Salva was talking as he came closer.

Could I be the bearer of the new domain? The reason Lucía died, was me?

“Did I kill them?” I sobbed.

“No, boy.” He grabbed my hands, and I could finally listen to him. “You did not kill these people. The House of Trastamara did.”

“What?”

“You did not kill them. You could only save them! The way you saved yourself. The same way you can save everyone if you learn how to use your Curse,” Salva shook my hands and looked into my eyes. “The Sagrados and the Queen brought down the domain because somehow, they sensed you there. Ángel, they culled everyone trying to ensure you die as well.”

“I… I am not Cursed,” I said, calming down. Exactly. I was not. This man was making up things, hallucinations.

“That remains to be seen. You are certainly not blessed, young man.”

CITIZENS – THIS IS A PSYCHIC PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT. EVACUATE NORTH CHINESE DISTRICT. THE DOMAIN HAS BEEN BREACHED, WITH NO SURVIVORS. RETREAT TO THE SOUTH CHINESE DISTRICT.

The announcement persisted once again in my head. My girlfriend’s shattered body was lying right next to me, as I tried to regain control of my breathing. One bizarre thought kept popping up in my mind.

Why was I alive?

I knew fully well the sub-zero temperatures around me should have crystallized me instantly like Lucía – so there was something more at play. I was only wearing a T-shirt in Antarctica, and I only felt mild discomfort from the breeze.

I looked at my exposed arms and hands, as I tried to make sense of what happened. My hands were even sweaty from the stress.

“Am I dead? Am I a ghost?” I asked out loud, wondering if hearing the question would make it less ridiculous. I was very much alive, and, besides the bruising from tumbling down the stairs of the Paseo, feeling fine. I checked my pockets. My phone was completely shattered, and as much as I would wish it to function, it would not respond to any of my button pressing.

A thumping noise came from the direction of the Paseo. My skin crawled and I turned towards the general direction of its walls, but I could not tell what exactly I had heard. It sounded as if something collapsed, but the sound was carried away by the thick white sub-zero temperature cloud that was covering the area. The cloud held strong all over around me, limiting my vision to only five meters or so. Orienting myself would be difficult, but not impossible if I simply chose to walk as far away as I could from the direction of the Paseo. I shot a last look at Lucía’s remains and the guilt overwhelmed me. I had somehow managed to make her final moments an awkward teenage break-up, although I am sure she probably did not care anymore.

Okay, I had to focus. I had to get out of there and find someone, anyone, to explain to me what was happening. [KK1] Mourning Lucía respectfully would have to wait for another time.

“It was good knowing you and eh,” I said, feeling more frustrated than sad. I hadn’t asked to be the one to survive and I felt immense pressure to say some impressive honorary words. But I had nothing, and no one was around to see or hear this. “Bye,” I said awkwardly and started walking through the white cloud.

I kept walking for a good ten minutes, unfortunately still very much inside the white cloud of ice. I was now in the Chinese District, an area that used to be something like the equivalent of Chinatown of N.T.. From the announcement before, it sounded as if its southern part was safe, so I had a good amount of walking to go through.

It was not heavy on the legs, so much as on the mind. The entire area was normally heavily populated and quite developed. While civilians here might have had a minute or so to evacuate more than Lucía and I had at the Paseo, most of them were caught running in the street, now completely frozen in place. I could not help but look at the people of all ages who had since turned into ice sculptures in their final stance.

One of them, a person with long hair and most likely a woman, was horribly disfigured and missing a leg. The freeze had caught them as they kneeled, perhaps begging or praying. In another corner, two children were frozen mid-run, each holding each other’s hand. Maybe they were siblings.

I avoided looking further, as my mind tried to make sense of the scene by giving these people backstories. Some were completely shattered, making me nauseous. Was it the force of crystallization when the cloud hit them? Or perhaps they jumped from a nearby window in panic, as the cloud engulfed their home.

And there I was walking past them. A terrifying thought invaded my mind: what if whatever was keeping me warm would stop doing that? Any moment now, I could freeze. Maybe I was just lucky for a passing moment, spared by some kind of divine providence – and it was a matter of time before I would turn into another disfigured figure.

Should I walk faster, or would that break my luck? Should I decide on a final impressive pose, in case I was ever found?

Should I just curl up in a corner and not think anymore?

The panicked thoughts ironically caused me to sweat even more and feel hotter. I decided to start walking faster, paving my way through the snow that was now accumulating on the street. Running on the frozen roads was not an option, but the danger of delaying was greater.

It must have been a total of thirty minutes of walking fast in this condition. I had gotten used to not looking at the frozen people around me, realizing that I could not carry the thought of all the thousands of dead people surrounding me. Finally, the fog had started to thin out and I could hear commotion and noise dead ahead.

“Help!” I started yelling as I ran “Please help!”

These last seconds before I exited the fog were the most terrifying. The idea that I could just freeze over a few meters before escaping urged me to make sure people heard me and witness that I had at the very least reached so far. So, I yelled as much as I could I was running.

“I am here! I am here!”

Eventually I exited the fog and ran into what looked like an emergency camp. Tents were set up everywhere in a plaza I could no longer recognize. People were wearing heavy coats, and what seemed like doctors ran around tending to people lying on beds. Some of them did not visibly look hurt, just unconscious. Others had limbs frozen over or cut off.

As I walked in the middle of the scene, I realized immediately I looked out of place. I was wearing my summer clothes, I was probably the most in shape than anyone else, and I had yelled so loud that the entire camp was looking at me.

A doctor came right towards me looking perplexed. She pulled a flashlight to look directly into my face as I winced back. Covered in fur and snow, hands trembling and her breath visibly shaking, she was revealing a stark contrast with my demeanour.

“You-do you- are you alright?” she asked, visibly more in shock than I was.

“Yes, I think so? What is happening?” I asked, confused. People rose up to look at me, or turned around whispering. No one dared come near however. The doctor called two of what must have been her assistants that hesitantly approached. She started giving them orders to cover me in blankets and lead me to a tent.

“Please tell me what is happening?” I insisted.

“We don’t know right now,” she said, with a quiet voice, trying to compose herself “but we need to get you somewhere warm, and quick. You must be… freezing.”

I followed her as we crossed the small camp, approaching a huge military tent, rippling and moving by the cold streams of wind. The tent pulsed and jumped when we opened the zip cover. Inside, more people were cramped, covered in blankets and gauze around amputated limbs. The tent kept some warmth and provided refuge from the powerful winds outside. It was clear however, people would quickly need some proper hospitalization.

“Please wait for me,” the woman said, and left me sitting on a chair “I will be coming right away,” she said, albeit a bit reluctantly.

I obeyed. I had no option. A radio inside the tent was broadcasting news from across N.T through heavy static. I felt numbed by panic as I tried to understand what the radio was broadcasting. This was way bigger than I initially feared. Were other places affected? Had this cloud reached the center – were my parents okay? Or did they turn like Lucía? The sound of her shattering into pieces haunted me. I gradually sank into anxiety and realized I began feeling cold. I held even stronger onto my blankets and tried to calm myself down.

I waited in the tent but dared not make a sound to complain. People lying in there were hurt and moaning in pain I could only try to imagine. I looked at my watch and realized that I had been waiting for a good while.

I stood up still holding on to my blankets and walked towards the exit of the tent. As I opened the entrance only a bit, I saw outside a crowd had gathered. Not just any crowd: soldiers dressed in military equipment and holding rifles. I was about to head back and sit at my place when I noticed my doctor talking with them.

A feeling of doubt and paranoia crawled up my spine. I looked around in the tent I was in; all the victims of the attack were lucky if they were conscious, and only having lost one arm. And here I was, jumping out of the cloud of icy death looking all fine. How many questions must have been raised? I obviously knew I had nothing to do with what happened – but the realization that I looked more guilty than anyone else in this camp quickly hit.

The doctor pointed towards the tent, and I stood back. Did they see me looking? Were they here for me? Were all these guns here for me?

I started sweating again and I dropped the blanket. Should I wait and explain to them? Would they even wait for me to explain or was I about to get into deadly trouble? Should I run?

Suddenly, the regular black military-grade tent stopped moving, as if it had turned to stone. I stopped hearing the commotion outside or inside the tent.

“You have to come with me,” a voice said. I turned startled towards the middle of the tent, where a young man was standing. He was also wearing a big coat, different from the rest. One hand was wearing a glove, while the other one was exposed. A peculiar symbol glimmered on the back of his right palm.

His expression was worried but more confident than mine. His sharp and imposing characteristics only made his command sound more serious, although he was only slightly older than me. Twenty-something perhaps. He pointed outside.

“There is a whole battalion of troops ready to storm the entire camp to get their hands on the Survivor,” he stressed with a purposeful intention the “survivor”. Was I supposed to be this survivor? I wondered what he meant by that: so many in this camp had survived the onslaught of ice, much as I had, although not unscathed like me.

Everyone else in the tent seemed to not bother worrying about the weird man in the middle. It was as if only I could see him. I started doubting myself: was I hallucinating?

“My ward can hide us, but only for a while. You either stay or follow.”

His ward? What was he even talking about? I sensed the tent trembling again, and apparently whatever his hand and symbol were doing, was quickly dissipating. I had to make a call. Once he saw my decisiveness, he started walking to the exit of the tent.

“Muffle your ears, stay close and don’t let even a whimper out,” he commanded, keeping his arm up. I listened and put my hands against my ears, and as he opened the tent, I did even more so.

It sounded as if all the sounds of the camp were magnified to the tenth-degree. The young man started running across the camp, avoiding all the soldiers that were walking towards us. I stayed next to him to the best of my abilities, trying to hold myself from yelling: the noise was absolute madness.

Whatever this man was doing, no one noticed us running among the soldiers. It was not as if they could not see us, sure they glanced at us. But at the same time, they averted their gaze as if we were unimportant.

The man kept running and I ran next to him. And for the third time that hour, another terrifying thought crossed my mind. If the soldiers came for me thinking I had something to do with that white cloud, why was this man helping me?

Lucía stood in front of me, her eyes glinting with precursors of tears. I had to be careful now. Maybe my anxiety was triggering some kind of episode, but that poor girl had no reason to feel bad for it.

“I was just thinking I want to see different places, you know. High school was a bit much.”

That was it, just how I had rehearsed it. I saw her eyes squint again.

“What the fuck, Ángel?” She said in a low voice, her eyebrows raised. She pulled me closer, her hands now grabbing me by the shoulders.

Had I messed this up so much? Or was she really so shocked? This was just a high-school fling, but I could see her face turning pale with every word I uttered. I had to rip off the band-aid. Blurt it all out, get it done with. Make sure she no longer thinks she was the problem. I was.

“Look, Lucía. It is not exactly easy or fair. But in the end, we are only seventeen, and maybe I need to first explore the world a bit. It was fun. And it has been great!” I said to her as fast as I could. Or at least I thought I did.

Halfway through my script, the sun was so bright I had to close my eyes, strain, and focus to get the words out. Cold sweat trailed down my back.

“Ángel, you are not making any sense. Do you need to sit down?” she said. She grabbed me and led me to a bench. My hands were shaking badly.

“Lucía, I am sorry. I am not sure how else to say this. I really liked the time we had together,” I kept talking, but as she sat me on a bench, legs shaking, I started listening to myself speak, and nothing made sense. I was not speaking Spanish, nor any other language I recognized, for that matter.

The family that I had noticed earlier looked worried at us, and the mother of the group approached Lucía and said something. I tried to tune into their conversation, but the noise was very muffled. I could see that Lucía was very scared, alternating her attention between me and the woman, until the woman pulled a phone out of her pocket.

“Lucía. I do not understand,” I tried to say, but again I spoke in tongues. I could not even understand myself. Was that how a panic attack was? Or was I having a stroke? I looked at my hands. They looked normal, so did my breathing. I felt nothing out of the ordinary.

No, that was wrong. I felt something. The stone-cold finger from before, I could feel it hovering behind my neck. I had to push it away: I raised both my hands behind my head, trying to push an invisible finger away. I couldn’t find it.

I turned to Lucía, now talking with the woman. Her two children stood next to her, listening to the discussion. A man, probably her husband, held a small kid in his embrace, still sitting on their bench. The children were at most twelve years old. Maybe ten. An immense sense of impending doom overcame me. I turned behind me, but I just knew the finger was always floating behind my neck, somewhere out of reach. Its nail almost touched my hair.

“Help me! Get it away!” I shouted at Lucía, but yelling gibberish once more. She left her discussion with the woman and kneeled in front of me. She grabbed my hands and lowered them on my thighs.

She was talking, but I could not hear a thing. I could see in her eyes that she was very scared, and she was trying to calm me down.

“Please, Lucía, something is behind me. Please help me push it away,” I begged her. Again, utter nonsense. She nodded in a way to show me she was listening, but I knew she could not understand me.

Then I felt it. I breathed in.

An eerie calm overcame me. I turned my gaze to the north, where the Conservatorio stood as the last bastion of the Spanish Colonies, the crowning jewel of the Paseo.

I breathed out.

The finger at the back of my head pulled away, and the Conservatorio vanished. Swallowed by white mist.

As if something cracked beneath the palm of my left hand, a ripple of electricity passed through me.

I stood up quickly and grabbed Lucía.

“We have to run,” I said and started running in panic. I could not hear what she said, but she started following me.
“— hear me – where are….” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

It did not matter. Even if I did not know what I was running from, I knew we had to reach the stairs. Leave Paseo.

Why—

The walls shook as if the earth and wind decided to revolt against gravity. We both fell on the floor. Suddenly, my hearing came back: I could hear children screaming and crying. They weren’t being playful or complaining. I had never heard children cry like that – it was something deeper, a cry that evoked a true primal appetite to run and save them.

As I pushed to rise up, I noticed people were looking in shock and wonder. They were looking at something past me, and by the way they tilted their head, it was something high up. A shadow was cast above them, above all of us.

I turned and looked back.

White mist had breached the Paseo, starting from the northernmost part. The Conservatorio. The mist was quickly expanding upwards and sideways, diffusing in the air. From afar, it looked like milk poured into water and dissipated slowly in all directions. We were far enough, but it was impossible to estimate how quickly it would expand. Or what it was.

“Lucía, we need to run,” I said, and I was not the first. The realization rippled through everyone standing on the Paseo, and started running. Lucía and I started sprinting, heading towards the closest stairs.

I wished really really hard that we would be faster than the wave of white. It was ice. It must have been.

My mind was having difficulty processing what it was sensing: an unnatural scenery, breaking the rules of physics, in a way only something Cursed could. The impossible was happening. The domain was collapsing before our very eyes. Right next to us. I did not dare look back, who knows how far until that cloud had to reach us?

What if I delayed too much if I looked?

“Ángel!” Lucía screamed. She was a good runner, but her panic did not help. I dared to look behind us and saw the white clouds of ice menacingly enlarging and closing the distance on us. I noticed some people, running like us, being engulfed by it, rendering their screams audible only until the cloud reached them, and then, nothing.

These clouds of air were so much lower in temperature than our surroundings, I did not dare fathom what would happen if we were to be engulfed alongside the others.

“Run!” I yelled. We were almost there, at the stairs. Children screaming and a man yelling some names behind us suggested to me that the cloud probably claimed the family that was just beside us, moments before chaos was let loose.

We grabbed each other’s hands and jumped towards the stone stairs. We glided on the floor and quickly tumbled down the stairs. I hugged her to protect her as she cried, and I bruised myself all over during the fall. The light of the Antarctic sun dimmed as the white cloud expanded above our heads, turning everything gray.

I closed my eyes, wondering if the icy embrace of the Antarctic would reach us now that we had fallen so far down. Maybe the damage would be limited only on the Paseo, and the cloud would not crawl further into the city. Maybe we were still safe. And as I kept thinking that, and moments passed without feeling anything, I thought we had survived whatever was coming. I mustered the courage and opened my eyes, holding my breath.

Silence, white ice. The cloud was over us. But no cold.

“Lucía, I think we are fine,” I said, untucking her from my hug.

Her frozen body tumbled over next to me, and then I heard a haunting sound as if the finest crystal was breaking. Her left side shattered in bloody red pieces under the fragility of her frozen weight.

I jumped back, crying her name, not daring to even breathe inside what I assumed was that white mist that had chased us before.

She was dead. A block of ice shattered into pieces. Then the realization hit: I was not. I was not even cold.

I let myself breathe. You could see particles of water freezing in the air as I breathed out, but it did not hurt when I inhaled.

CITIZENS – THIS IS A PSYCHIC PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT. EVACUATE NORTH CHINESE DISTRICT. THE DOMAIN HAS BEEN BREACHED, WITH NO SURVIVORS. RETREAT TO THE SOUTH CHINESE DISTRICT

My head hurt from the psychic intrusion.

“No survivors?” I said out loud, engulfed by white, anywhere my eyes could see. “Then what am I?”

Previously, Ángel and Lucía began their date in the Paseo, the promenade on the walls of Nuevo Trujillo, the city at the frontier of the Spanish Antarctic Colonies. They were visiting the Conservatorio, a monument of the Royal Church, when Ángel noticed something peculiar written on the decorated walls.

76°00’08.2”S 53°43’31.2”E
Nuevo Trujillo, Spanish Antarctic Colonies
18.05.2024 23:15, UTC+03:00

“You belong…” I tried to read the letters in front of me. Letters that I was not supposed to be able to read, but then somehow could, shifted shape on the wall paintings of the Conservatorio.

“You owe…” I read the next word.

Lucía shrieked excitedly, breaking my focus. The letters on the wall lost meaning again.

“Look! Look!” Lucía ran next to me. I turned to her, only to be met by a digital light near my nose. I stepped back a bit, unable to process what she held so amazed in front of my face.

It was her phone; while I was captivated by the décor, she was taking pictures of me. In her picture, I was leaning forward, trying to read the wall’s inscriptions. I felt embarrassed, almost like I was caught doing something I was not supposed to.

She scrolled through the pictures. Admittedly, they were good, right lighting, angles, and all that stuff she liked to talk about. I could only think of one question, looking at my slightly hunched back in the picture:

“Does everyone look so weird in photos? Or is it only me?”

“Don’t be silly!”

She turned her phone and grabbed me, forcing an awkward selfie. She of course looked effortlessly gorgeous, while my eyes were closed. “Cute!” I felt her hand tighten around my arm before releasing me again.

I scratched my head and backed away.

“Maybe take pictures of the statues instead. I don’t have the looks for pictures today,” I said. I hadn’t even finished my sentence, and she was already on it, running around from statue to statue and taking photos.

I sighed. I was no longer sure if I would have a chance to talk to her about us today. The temple was empty enough, so it felt private here, with five or so other people around, but she was in way too good spirits to ruin it for her.

And there was another priority. These markings on the walls that I had never noticed on previous visits. As I looked at Lucía taking pictures, I could feel them merely existing on that wall.

It was the feeling of being watched while asleep.

I turned back to the painted wall – of course, it was exactly as before. I tried to retrace the text I had read before, among all the theological and mystical imagery. Right when I thought I would not find it again, it was right there. Painted strokes of an elaborate alphabet, they almost looked carved, the way the sun’s rays cast shadows on the rough wall. The sunlight poured into the Conservatorio, and for a moment, its rays highlighted the right letters.

“You belong… you owe…?” I read, questioning my own eyes. As I uttered the words, I saw the letters move away from me, crawling onto the painted wall.

I blinked, surprised, and then scrubbed my eyes. I could swear I had seen these words move. Shift away, amidst the light and the paint, but not disappearing, just scurrying away.

I ran, following their path. It was no illusion, I was sure. The words had crawled on the wall. I tried to taste the words in my mouth. Who belonged? Who owed?

A few hurried steps among the statues, and I managed to glimpse another word, slithering around the century-old paint.

“Submit…” I read aloud.

You belong, you owe, submit.

A cold black finger, its texture rough and cold like freshly cut marble, touched the back of my head. It passed through my skull and crossed into my mind. I could feel it slithering inside through its cracks fast, and as it did, electricity crackled down my spine and limbs, turning me numb. I was alone in this temple, with the sun’s light gone, far away from everyone. No one could save me from the cold, black finger crawling inside my brain, carving words in it.

You belong, you owe, submit.

Why had I come here, so far away from my parents and friends? Well, I did not have any friends. I only had Lucía, but I was going to abandon her, too, to run away. I was only-

“Ángel, are you okay?”

Lucía’s voice cast the darkness away. I was back in the Conservatorio, and she was holding my hand.

“Yes, are you?” I asked and turned. It felt like I was jolted back into my body, but that would imply I was not in it before. That made no sense, nor how quickly I was forgetting the sensation I had felt just seconds before. I remembered there were words, and I was alone…

“Yes, I have taken a lot of pictures.” She leaned back and forth in excitement. “Do you like the statue of Sagrado ante Todos? I can take a picture if you want.”

Who was she talking about? She was pointing right behind me. I turned to look.

A large marble statue, perhaps the tallest of all the statues in the Conservatorio, stood on a podium on my right. Its scale must have been at least twice as large as the man’s real size. The man, Sagrado ante Todos, was old, as implied by his long beard. The attention to detail in its clothing revealed the true artistry of the sculptor.

His left hand was slightly raised, forming a religious gesture, like waving at the sun. His right hand hung next to his body, twice the normal size of a hand, not too far away from where I was looking before Lucía woke me up. I must have been staring right at its fingers. My skin crawled.

“No, I am good. Maybe. Let’s go back to the Paseo. I need some air,” I said. She nodded, perhaps somewhat disappointed with my lack of enthusiasm for pictures.

We walked out of the Conservatorio, and as we passed through the exit arch, I looked back. I had that exact same feeling earlier. Somebody was watching me while I slept, somebody counting my breaths and weighing my eyelids. To decide what they would do.

“When I woke up,” I whispered. Again, my skin crawled. What was the meaning of this?

“Hey!” Lucía shouted, earning back my attention.

She had walked faster, her excitement dispelling my mental confusion as she pointed at the sun in the sky, leaning closer to the horizon. “The midnight sun!” She cheered.

The lighting was perfect. Her tanned skin and flowery skirt contrasted against the white hue of the Antarctic field outside the walls, as well as the grey cobblestone of the Paseo. I was ready to forget about my paranoid thoughts. I ran down the stairs and, for the first time that day, I pulled out my phone.

“Let me take a picture. It’s the right angle!”

Lucía blushed and cheered as I took multiple pictures. They were not half-bad. She ran ahead in the promenade, and I followed, taking pictures of her. Until I caught up, laughing at her antics.

“These look great!” I said, scrolling through the pictures.

“Hm. Not that bad! Maybe you should share some of those with me.”

She giggled – and as she touched the phone, she also touched my hand. I felt a rush of heat in my cheeks and a numbness climbing up from my hand.

“They are perfect. I can keep them to remember you by.”

The words came out of my mouth, nothing like what I had rehearsed. What had I just said? How was I supposed to start explaining now?

“To remember me?” Lucía chuckled awkwardly. “I am not going anywhere.”

Suddenly, the heat of the sun turned from pleasant to a nuisance. I could feel the sweat on my forehead. I had to quickly steer things back to my rehearsed plan, the way it was supposed to go. Taking it one step at a time.

“So, what is your plan for next year?” I asked, swiftly hiding my phone back into my pocket.

She squinted her eyes. I had messed it up already.

“Mmhm. I was thinking about an art major at Pizzaro Residence. Why?”

That answer caught me off guard.

“Since when are you interested in art?” I asked. Was I genuinely interested in the answer – or simply delaying the follow-up discussion? She responded regardless.

“I was not really sure, but I have been looking through my grandma’s art over the past weeks and trying to replicate things. It seems like it is in my blood.”

“Nice!”

“Plus, I get to stay here in N.T. and get to walk the Paseo with you. What about you?”

She held onto my left hand. With my right hand, I slid my phone into my pocket.

I looked around us awkwardly. We had walked far from the Conservatorio, and we were almost alone, except for a family of five sitting at a nearby bench. A cold breeze blew onto my flustered face.

“Eh, you know. I think maybe. I could actually go to Europe. Spain or even France. Somewhere different.”

She squeezed my hand.

“But Ángel,” she said, and her face turned stone cold, “You belong.”

Her voice was distorted, and even though she stood next to me, I felt her drifting away. I looked around once again. Was the sun dimmer? And where did that family go?

I was all alone.

“You owe.” Lucía’s voice continued. She squeezed my hand tighter. I pulled it away.

“No, Lucía, what are you talking about?”

The sun became stronger again. I could now hear a kid crying in the background, and a mother consoling it. Lucía’s cold expression was replaced by wet eyes, feigning excitement. Her hand was still holding mine.

“…this is major news. I did not expect it! But, how come?”

“I… Lucía, did you see this? What do you mean I owe?”

Had I only just seen this? Was it the same as in the Conservatorio?

She looked at me, confused, perhaps even more than I was. She pulled away her hand.

“You are not making sense, Ángel. I hope this is not a sick joke. You are not that kind of guy, are you?”

Chapter 7

Stay on Ángel's Story in Chapter 19

76°00’08.2”S 53°43’31.2”E
Nuevo Trujillo
Spanish Antarctic Colonies

18.05.2024 23:00, UTC+03:00

A speck of cloud was escaping.

Escaping? “Is that what I want to do?”

The tiny cloud parted from its parent cloud, scattered around by the shining everlasting Trastamaran Sun. The parent cloud was dissolving, respecting the law of these tamed skies. In school, we were taught that only the Colonies had such a blessing: endless warmth, eternal energy, a perfect climate. A sun that always burned bright, twenty-four hours a day, every day, every month.

It was not boring; there was variation. Summer during Christmas. Incredibly warm. But the rest of the year, there were all the little variations of spring. And May tended to be cooler. In the March and April evenings, when the sun hung low but never set, there was an evening breeze that carried a bit of the outside. A bit of Antarctica.

My eyes wandered back from the tiny cloud in the blue, clear sky, to the white snow that extended until the end of the horizon. Uneven mountains of cold, all out of touch, out of our Cursed bubble.

I rocked my body back and forth in anticipation of Lucía’s arrival, my gaze still lost in the endless white. I did not dare walk closer to the edge of the wall of the Paseo, but the view was still majestic.

“Damn it.”

My eyes could not get used to the brightness, and as usual, I had forgotten my sunglasses at home. Everyone else adored the Trastamaran Sun; for me, it was fine because it kept us alive from the hostile Antarctica, but honestly? It blinded me, and its warmth could irritate my skin. Just off the edge of the Paseo, an endless snowy white met the endless blue of the sky on the horizon. It was a lovely view, a sight only accessible from the Paseo, the promenade on top of the walls of Nuevo Trujillo, and a common place for young couples to meet.

I sighed.

“She thinks that’s what we are, a couple. Damn it, why did I agree to come here!” I kicked an invisible rock off the grey cobblestone floor and imagined it shooting past the Paseo’s boundary and into Antarctica’s vastness.

I anticipated her arrival with nervousness, dread even. A slight Antarctic chill breeze hit my exposed face, but I was not sure what was more painful: a hint of subzero-degree wind or the conversation that would follow.

Another breeze. I let myself look at the icy expanse beyond the Paseo and tried to guess how manic the winds must have been to have passed through the impenetrable Domain of Trastamara. I was regrettably dressed in just a flower short-sleeved shirt, trusting the weather report.

My hair had curled up more than usual, shuddered by the dry cold breeze. I hadn’t even tried to properly tame them before leaving home, worrying way more about my scrawny look fitting in oversized spring-time T-shirts. I was not the kind of guy girls used to pay attention to, and I never cared before meeting Lucía. But looking in the mirror earlier, all I had seen was a teen boy with no confidence.

With my scrawny reflection from earlier still persisting in my mind’s eye, I locked my arms in front of my chest.

“Lucía, I want to apply and leave. Go to Europe,” I tried to rehearse pulling the most serious stance I could. “Nah.”

I reshuffled my hands and posed facing the edge of the Paseo. No one could hear me besides the wind.

“Hi Lucía, maybe I’ll go to Europe for a few months? Years? I don’t know, just thinking about it. What do you… Ugh.” I still hadn’t decided how to break the news.

My parents had found my idea “insane”, but they had not opposed it. I just had to apply for a student visa and pass the OutBound tests. And then leave the Colonies. Just for a semester or so, I had told them, hoping I would find a way to extend my leave once I was there. I never felt like I belonged in Nuevo Trujillo.

That decision had given me a very concrete reason to break whatever this relationship was.

“Lucía, I…” My voice trailed as I spotted her with my peripheral vision, walking up the nearby stairs.

Her beautiful smile shone ridiculously white and happy the moment she saw me, and I avoided matching her enthusiasm. I waved at her with reserved confidence, hoping she would notice and perhaps get a first warning that I did not match her excitement today.

She was also dressed lightly, probably as deceived by the weather report as I had been, and shivering as she approached me. Her dark brown hair was let loose and draping over her shoulders, while the rest of her crop top revealed her fit body. I blushed looking at her, as her indisputable looks only made this worse.

This was part of the reason I never felt comfortable with myself around her. Everyone I knew – in school or in the neighborhood – was amazed by her looks. I had friends changing their behavior around her, and then, after they learned we dated, around me as well. It made it impossible for me to form my own opinion.

She was a great girl. I liked her, I thought, but maybe not that much? At least not the way I was supposed to.

“Hi-i Ánge-el,” she jumped at me and hugged me tight. “Oh, I missed you so much!”

“Really?” I asked a bit puzzled – we had already been to a restaurant last night. “Was it a day already? I remember our awesome date like it was yesterday!”

Was I supposed to have missed her? I was terrible at this. Maybe she would be better off with someone who understood how the whole dating thing worked. In that sense, I would do her a favor by leaving.

Another hint of Antarctic breeze reached us, shuffling our hair as she leaned forward. She laughed, perhaps teasing a kiss. I stepped back. We had not exactly kissed before, only once actually, and I did not want the next time to be the day I broke up with her.

“You bug,” she said and pinched my arm. She then rubbed her arms. “Was it supposed to be cold today?”

“No, it should have been fine. This is the Antarctic breeze; it is passing through the domain’s barrier somehow.”

Her eyes widened, and she let out a small shriek. She gently pushed me aside and ran near the edge of the Paseo. I could hear her shouting:

“That’s super cool! Ángel, come here! Breathe in Antarctica! I followed her unwillingly. The walls of the city were enormous, and, on both sides, tall marble fences made sure approaching the edge would not be dangerous for anyone.

When I reached Lucía, I felt dizzy and grabbed her arm. I immediately regretted it, as she started caressing my arms. But I was afraid of heights, and there was something uncomfortable about approaching the domain’s border that I could not quite express. Sure, watching the fields and mountains of eternal ice outside the walls while wearing spring clothes in a city with Spanish weather would be enough to boggle someone’s senses. Even if you were born in the Domain, a lot of people felt uneasy living in an edge neighborhood like the Northern Chinese District – or in Nuevo Trujillo in general.

But there was something more. It was more than a feeling, perhaps a chill creeping up my spine when approaching the edge, a sense of curious danger, similar to a child approaching an expensive piece of antique china.

“Come on! It is so fresh!” she said and breathed in the breeze.

“That could be dangerous,” I said, trying to carefully control my breathing. Lucía giggled.

“Sometimes I feel that the wind we are breathing in here is recycled. But the breeze from outside, can you even guess where it originated from? No idea how far it traveled to get to us. I absolutely love this.”

“Okay, but just,” I said, and, hesitating, I got closer to warm her up, “just don’t get too cold.”

“Aw, cutie,” she answered, accepting my embrace. She looked deep into my eyes.

What the hell was I doing? I really just did not want her to get cold. But the intensity of her gaze made it impossible to string a thought together. My leg trembled as I tried to take a step back, and instead of retreating, I leaned a bit closer to her before I pulled back again.

Her cheeks were flushed red, and she grabbed my hand. “Want to go to the Conservatorio? They say the midnight sun looks great from there.”

She pointed at the north end of the Paseo. A brown and gold dome reflected the sun’s light, its gold finish discernible even over distance. It would be a good twenty-minute walk there. “I guess. I had never been there,” I lied, but followed along.

The walls we were on surrounded Nuevo Trujillo, but only the northernmost promenade we were on, the Paseo, was accessible to the public. The end of the promenade was a tower wider than taller, ending in a dome embossed in designs of copper and finished with gold. It was one of the most well-regarded city landmarks.

“I am surprised you have never been there before.”

Lucía stared in the distance, her hand on top of her eyes to block the blinding sun.

“Well, it is one of those places I had been there super young. With parents, you know? I did not understand it to be honest, never been there since.”

It was a temple dedicated to the Sagrados. The high priests serving the Queen and the governors of the Colonies. The temple’s walls were covered in legends of the centuries past. The statues and the overall religious ambiance made me uneasy. Or at least that’s what I remembered.

“Maybe you will see the art with different eyes. With me you know?” Lucía chuckled.

✦ ✦ ✦

The midnight sunshine refracted from glass windows encircling the dome, bathing the interior with golden and iridescent light. The rays colored the marble floor, which in turn reflected and scattered them across the walls. Each batch of sunshine chose to highlight a different portion of the wall and its markings. A variant Chinese Hanzi, commonly used in religious scripts of the time of the First Queen, lined the walls with stories that you could only find in dusty history books. Stories you needed special studies to even be allowed to read.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Lucía said, dragging me towards the center of the tower.

Six oversized marble statues were the centerpiece of the temple. Each one was sculpted in a type of black rock, double the size of a person, but overall in scale, representing one statue per Sagrado.

“Hard to believe, really,” I responded. I was impressed. However, there was something else beyond awe, a feeling gnawing at the back of my mind. Something akin to fear. But fear of what?

Lucía pointed me to follow her near the center. She wanted to get a good view of the entire Conservatorio.

“This temple was already built by the first Queen. Unbelievable what she could do at the time, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” I said and untangled myself from her hold. I wanted to get closer to the Conservatorio’s walls and look at the wall frescoes. Despite Mandarin being my second language in school – and being quite good at it – the Hanzi on the walls appeared inscrutable.

Still, the theme of the Trastamara legend and the Curse of the Suns were the main themes in all the drawings. I wanted to see if I could interpret the frescoes. Queen to daughter, daughter to mother, and Queen again, the Domain was inherited through generations, and their stories were the mythic battle of light against dark.

“I will get some pictures, okay?” Lucía asked, her voice a bit disappointed. Was that disappointment at me?

“Sure, I will be there in a second! I…”

I was drawn to the walls. It was a peculiar curiosity. I tried to follow the thread of the story in the wall paintings, but it was impossible.

And then. The letters shifted shape. Quickly reshaping to modern Hanzi. The letters shifted shape again, suddenly carrying meaning.

Wait – was I supposed to be able to read these?

Chapter 4

Stay on Angel's story in Chapter 6