Upon reaching the door to her room, she found it was not empty. A small boy was waiting for her, leaning against the stone wall like a perched bird. He was thin, his fine bones visible beneath pale skin, with unruly black hair falling over his eyes. His clothes were a collection of patches upon patches, yet clean. In his hands, carefully wrapped in a piece of faded but clean cloth, he held something oval-shaped.

  When he saw her, the boy’s face lit up with a smile so wide and carefree that, for an instant, Selena forgot her own unease. He showed her a gap-toothed grin, a missing tooth in his upper gum.

  —Miss Selena! — he said in a shrill but cheerful voice. —I’m delivering your lunch another day— He held out the small cloth bundle with childish solemnity. —Thank you very much for hiring me that day— His smile widened, and his dark eyes shone with genuine gratitude. —For not judging me as a thief or hitting me.

  The boy’s words provided a new piece of small, but significant information. The previous Selena had hired this little one for something, perhaps as a messenger or for small errands, and she had treated him with a decency that, apparently, was not common. She took the package. Through the fabric, she felt the firm, warm shape of a boiled egg.

  She crouched down slowly, bending her still-aching knees until she was at eye level with the boy. The world from below was different, closer to the dust and the smell of earth. She tried to sketch a smile, a gesture that felt forced and strange on her new face.

  —What was your name, little one? — she asked, softening her still-hoarse voice.

  —My name is Rolus!— he said, puffing out his chest with pride. —Papa says they gave it to me because it was Grandpa’s— He scratched an arm absentmindedly, his curious gaze roaming over Selena’s face.

  —Little Rolus— Selena began, measuring every word, choosing them with the care of someone walking on thin ice. —Since you speak of your father, perhaps you could help me by introducing us. I need answers about a few things, but I think you can answer one of them— She forced a better, warmer smile, feeling the muscles in her cheeks pull. —Could you guide me to your father?"

  Rolus nodded enthusiastically, his black hair bouncing. —No problem, Miss! Papa told me to thank you for hiring me. I'm sure he'll be happy to meet you— He suddenly fell silent, his gaze turning toward the dusty path leading away from the housing area. Then, looking at her again, he added: —I can lead you, follow me.

  Without waiting a moment longer, the boy set off with the elastic energy of childhood. Selena followed him, stowing the egg and adjusting the bag on her shoulder. The adobe huts and protective trees passed by, decreasing in number and quality. Soon they reached a low wall—more symbolic than effective—made of unevenly piled stones, which separated the relative seclusion of the rented lodgings from the rest of the settlement. Passing through a gate of worn planks, Selena saw a crooked sign nailed to a post: "The Traveler’s Rest Inn." Beneath it, someone had crudely carved the shape of a bed.

  The path then opened up, turning into a main street of packed earth. Here, the dust was kicked up not just by the wind, but by a multitude of feet. People of all kinds populated it: men and women in simple but intact tunics; others in frayed dresses and clothes, with downcast gazes and hunched shoulders; some with weathered faces and watchful eyes. The air filled with a constant murmur, a tapestry of overlapping conversations, an occasional out-of-tune song drifting from an open window, and, every so often, the distant eruption of a fight—sharp shouts, the sound of something breaking—which made Selena instinctively draw closer to little Rolus, seeking a point of stability in the human current.

  The boy, familiar with the labyrinth, led her through side alleys where the urban landscape became more desolate. The houses here were not of solid adobe, but of crumbling mud-brick, with cracks and roofs of rotting straw. Others were mere shelters of recycled wooden planks with straw for roofs. The birds had been replaced by the noise of poverty: children crying, arguments behind thin walls, the rhythmic thudding of someone at work. The smell of dry earth mingled with that of garbage, excrement, and woodsmoke.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Eventually, they emerged onto a wider street, a main artery of the settlement. Here, the murmur turned into a roar. It was a sea of people, a whirlwind of movement, smells, and sounds that overwhelmed Selena’s senses. Rolus, experienced, took her by the hem of her dress, his small fingers clutching tightly.

  —This way, Miss, don't get separated— he said, his voice barely audible over the bustle.

  It was then that she saw it. In the middle of the street, advancing with heavy slowness, was a creature that shattered all her preconceptions. It was not a horse, nor an ox. It was a turtle. But a colossal turtle, the size of a small carriage, with a shell segmented into geometric patterns of mossy greens and earthy yellows. It had not four, but six thick, scaly legs that moved with a slow, powerful rhythm. Its breath was a deep bellows that kicked up small clouds of dust in its wake. Strapped to its robust shell, a wooden cart loaded with sacks followed its slow progress. Selena stood staring, mesmerized by the fantastic yet mundane reality of the beast of burden.

  Her wonder was interrupted by a harsh shout at her side. —Hurry up, or we’ll double your debt! Move it, dammit!

  A man dressed in better quality clothes, though not luxurious, brandished a short, thick rod. Before him, a group of barefoot men—torsos bare and muscles taut under a layer of dust and sweat—carried heavy sacks that leaked yellowish grain through broken seams. Their faces were masks of exhaustion and resignation, their eyes empty. They wore nothing but tattered trousers. They moved like automatons, hunched under the weight and the threat.

  —Don't look at them, Miss— Rolus whispered, pulling her dress harder. He had lowered his voice until it was almost inaudible, and his face showed genuine fear. —They don't like it when you look. The man shouting at them... he might hit you with his rod— The boy showed her his own thin arm, pointing to a fine white line, an old scar. —It hurts a lot.

  A chill that had nothing to do with the weather ran through Selena. She looked away from the slaves and the foreman, feeling a mixture of revulsion and a new, more concrete fear: the fear of systematic cruelty, of violence that was not a supernatural mystery, but earthly and brutal.

  Rolus, impatient, led her back into the relative gloom of the alleys. The landscape of misery continued. At one point, a deep, guttural croak emerged from a half-open door. An animal stumbled out. It had a thick, low body with a short tail, muscular hind legs, and rough green skin that shimmered with moisture. Its bulging eyes had horizontal pupils like those of a goat.

  —Bad Anurhy! — Rolus shouted at the animal, raising a small fist.

  The creature—the anurhy—emitted another croak and backed away a few steps, but remained lurking, its strange eyes fixed on them with a slow, hostile intelligence. Selena quickened her pace, feeling the primal instinct to get away from something that was clearly not a traditional domestic animal.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity of weaving through poverty and neglect, the surroundings began to change again. The houses of adobe and planks gave way to even humbler structures: huts built with intertwined branches, roofed with large leaves and mats of dried fibers. The air grew heavy with a new scent: an intense, earthy, and slightly bitter aroma, almost stinging. Following the scent, Selena saw the path lead to the bank of a small stream of slow, brown water. On its shores, weeping willows hung their branches, stirred by a gentle breeze that kicked up a fine golden dust, making it dance like a ghost over the water.

  In front of one of the twig huts—larger than the others but just as precarious—Rolus stopped. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. —Here it is, Papa, Miss— he announced, and with a familiar gesture, he pulled aside the frayed cloth curtain that served as a door. —Come in.

  Selena hesitated for a moment, breathing in the air heavy with the strong aroma of the environment and the smell of the stream’s damp earth. Then, she leaned down to pass through the low entrance.

  The interior was a dagger of reality driven into her already battered hopes. The floor was packed dirt, damp in the corners. The walls, poorly framed, allowed glimpses of the sky through the cracks between the branches. Belongings were scarce: a couple of clay containers, a cold stone hearth, some frayed blankets piled in a corner. And in that corner, lying on the blankets, was a boy.

  He was barely a few years older than Rolus, perhaps in his mid-teens, but illness or hunger had reduced him to a shadow. His skin was a waxy paleness, almost translucent, marked with a sickly, sweaty sheen. He breathed with difficulty, a faint wheeze that was the loudest sound in the hut. He was awake, but his dark eyes seemed to look at a point far away, beyond the branches of the roof.

  It was then that Rolus, entering behind her and letting the curtain fall, announced in a clear voice full of a heartbreaking, childish hope: —Papa! I’ve brought the lady I told you about!