ã€ŠThe stars above usã€‹


 Prologue

    The music drifted through the bustling streets of the capital, stirring a sense of curiosity in those who heard it. People went about their daily routines, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A large crowd had gathered around the fountain in Charing Cross Square. Though this spot was a popular tourist attraction, admired for its stunning neo-Gothic architecture, today, for once, the crowd was not gathered to marvel at the beauty of the place.

    Beside the fountain in the heart of the square stood a striking young woman. Yet her presence... simply didn¡¯t belong in the scene of everyday life. The wind caught her almost-white, pearl blonde hair as she adjusted the top hat perched on her head, her hands encased in black silk gloves. After brushing the stray strands from her face, the artwork across her skin became impossible to ignore. From her cheekbones to her eyebrows, silver glitter, speckled with tiny stars, adorned her features. Her knee-length black trousers diverted attention from the otherwise refined elegance of her blazer.

    No matter how you looked at it, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason for her appearance. And yet, the crowd couldn¡¯t tear their eyes away from her. It was as if they stood in the deepest darkness, entranced by the sole beautiful and mysterious source of light.

    The music box on the small wooden cart beside her spun in a circle, its inviting melody drifting across the square.

    "Lundenbuhr wakes up to the sound of the bells from St Elisabeth¡¯s Tower. The fisherman fishes, the baker bakes, and some believe that the opening of the shops and the market square is magical. As mysterious as the night and as loud as thunder. But nothing... nothing is more powerful than the starlight of the night. The stars shining brightly in the sky above us¡°.

    Or perhaps it was her soft, melodious voice, laced with a gentle singing quality, that held the crowd spellbound. No one questioned what was happening. For some, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. A broad smile played at the corners of her rosy lips as she beckoned the people closer.

    "Come closer! Don¡¯t be shy! Have courage! Dare!"

    At first, the crowd hesitated, but as the first brave souls edged nearer, the others followed suit. No one knew whether they had fallen under the woman¡¯s charm or simply yielded to their own curiosity. There was no answer, and yet no one seemed to be looking for one.

    "My friends, have you ever wondered what lies behind the mystery of the stars?"

    Eyes drifted around, and a hush fell over the crowd. Her smile grew ever so slightly.

    "I can¡¯t tell you. But perhaps I can help you understand. So let me tell you a story. And, as is so often the case, it begins with a hero

    Where do they come from?

    What do they look like?

    What can they do?

    What is their name?

    Who are they?

    Justified questions! I agree with all of you! But, my friends, you must understand that true heroes have neither a face nor a name.

    In fact, no one remembers the hero himself, only his deeds. They are like the small piece of chocolate your neighbour gave you when you were a child. You remember the taste and the warmth it brought, but you don¡¯t recall what it looked like or what it was called.

    The night was bright as our hero made his entrance. Loud, almost inaudible screams echoed from every corner, leaving a dazzling sound in the ear. It was like a catchy tune that lingers in your mind, even in the quietest moments. A tune that sends a chill down your spine and leaves you with goosebumps.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    The hero clutched the most important object in his life to his chest. Its presence seemed out of place, stark against the harsh surroundings. How could something so peaceful, so calm, and so gentle exist in a place like this? Another scream pierced the air. Gunshots rang out, and an uncomfortable silence descended upon the room. The hero held his breath, the stillness so dense it felt as though it might suffocate him. But it was nothing compared to the rancid stench of iron, so overpowering it brought tears to his eyes and made him feel as though he might vomit at any moment.

    All the streets seemed the same that night. The colour red had never been so bitterly repulsive beneath the moonlight. From that moment on, it would remain the colour he despised most. For it would forever remind him of that night. The hero closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Just before doubt could overwhelm him, he felt something warm. His eyes opened, and as he looked down, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was remarkable how something so small and innocent could bring a smile to his face in such a dark place.

    His mind was made up. He ran as fast and as silently as he could. It was difficult to climb with the object in his arms, but somehow he managed. Unlocking the window in front of him was the easy part. He carefully slipped into the second-floor apartment, placing the object gently on the sofa in the middle of the room. The hero fixed his gaze on the object before him, as if he knew he would never see it again. From his pocket, he drew a letter and placed it beside the object. He lingered for a final moment before climbing out of the window and vanishing into the red night

    Screams echoed from all sides, followed by gunshots that silenced everything. There was no turning back. His legs ached with exhaustion, but he knew he had no choice but to keep running. No matter how drained he felt, he couldn¡¯t stop. The entire scene felt like the backdrop to a never-ending nightmare.

    ¡°There! One of them!¡± a man shouted. His breath hitched for a moment, and the hero knew this was the moment to give everything he had. He ran¡ªfaster and faster¡ªthrough the streets, littered with bodies. The twisted, contorted faces of the dead made him question whether they had ever truly been alive. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and his own breathing became a distant echo. His heart pounded faster, a relentless drumbeat in his chest.

    Exhaustion and stress gnawed at him, but he couldn¡¯t afford to stop. He kept running.

    Before him appeared a river. Never had something seemed so close and yet so impossibly far. With one final burst of energy, he pushed himself harder, faster. A loud shot rang out, and he fell forward. At first, the hero couldn¡¯t understand what had hit him. But as the searing pain spread through his leg, he began to realise. Through gritted teeth, he looked ahead and saw his bracelet had fallen from his pocket. Slowly, he stretched out his arm, reaching desperately for it. Footsteps approached, and a sudden chill ran down his spine.

    When he looked up, the reason for the cold became clear. Eyes, void of any warmth or compassion, were fixed on him. They flared with a cold intensity when they spotted the bracelet.

    But the flame in the man¡¯s eyes was not warmth; it was pure hatred.

    ¡°I know what it is,¡± the man said in a cold, serious tone. ¡°So tell me. Where is it?¡±

    The hero¡¯s breath trembled, but his lips remained firmly shut. He gripped the bracelet tightly in his hand. The man¡¯s patience was wearing thin. Pain shot through his stomach, and it wasn¡¯t long before another kick followed.

    ¡°Answer me!¡± the man shouted. ¡°Where is it?! Where is the baby?¡± Another kick landed when he stayed silent.

    Eventually, his body grew so numb that it seemed he could no longer feel anything. But he didn¡¯t care. No matter how many times the question was asked, he would never give the answer.

    The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and he spat it out. Fatigue and exhaustion flooded over him. With the last of his strength, he forced himself to look up at the man¡¯s furious face. The words that followed were a blur. His vision distorted, and he struggled to stay conscious. The final thing he remembered before everything went dark was her face.

    And so, our hero was silenced forever. For you must understand that true heroes do not survive their heroic deeds. The world was changed forever after that night".

    The crank turned, and the music gently brought the crowd back to earth. ¡°Ahh, ahh! What are those long faces for? Our story is far from over! But before it continues, I have a riddle for you, my friends. Guess if you can. For the stars are shining brightly in the sky above us¡­¡±

    ¡°What is good and what is bad?

    Who is a hero and who is a villain?

    What is faith?

    What is enmity and what is friendship?

    What is love and what is hatred?

    For the stars, they shine and shine, shine, shine. Shine brightly in the sky above us".

 Chapter 1

    With a forlorn expression, Estelle stared at the maths formula on the blackboard. The classroom felt grey and lifeless, much like so many other days. The oppressive, stale air clung to her like a heavy winter coat. She tapped her foot nervously against the floor, the rhythm betraying her unease. Her gaze shifted to her teacher, who was bustling from one desk to the next with hurried efficiency. Estelle¡¯s fingernails dug into the palm of her hand as she took a deep, steadying breath. Without a word, her teacher placed a sheet of paper in her hand, entirely unfazed. Her name was scrawled neatly in the top-right corner.

    Estelle Th¨¢lassa

    But as her eyes fell on the score, her throat tightened, and a flush of heat crept up her cheeks. She could scarcely keep track of the test corrections. Her teacher''s voice droned on like the soundtrack to a dreadful film, barely registering in her mind. Estelle flipped the sheet of paper over, staring blankly at the empty side. She tried in vain to block out the murmurs and stifled laughter of her classmates, who were comparing their good grades or marvelling at how simple the questions had been. Words could hardly express her relief when the lesson¡ªand with it the entire school day¡ªfinally came to an end.

    "Would you like to go out for a meal today?"

    "Oh yes! I hear this new restaurant has opened in the centre. Why don''t we try it?"

    "Good! Then everyone follow me!"

    Before she realised it, Estelle was the only one left in the classroom. She pressed a hand to her chest, her fingers brushing over the item hidden beneath her black turtleneck jumper. The girls'' uniform at Britannica was usually composed of knee-high socks, a skirt, a blouse with a tie, and a neatly fitted blazer. But she wasn¡¯t like the others. She had never stepped outside without a turtleneck jumper, not since she was a child. It was her constant armour against the world, born out of an illness she had lived with since birth¡ªa condition that would likely shadow her for the rest of her life.

    Estelle glanced bitterly at her battered rucksack. Perhaps it was time to accept that, after all these years, invitations would never come her way. Who would want to spend time with someone who was ill, after all? She left the school building and walked to the bus stop. Though she waited here every day like everyone else, the place still felt foreign, even after all this time. Or perhaps she was the stranger. Everyone else seemed to fit, their lives harmonising like a well-rehearsed melody. She was the dissonant note, the harsh undertone that disrupted the tune.

    The dark blue double-decker bus pulled up, its doors hissing open. She briefly glanced up from her phone and stepped inside. Her hand instinctively found a support rail as the driver set off, the bus lurching into motion.

    She didn¡¯t spare a glance at her surroundings; her eyes were fixed firmly on her phone screen. As the bus grew more crowded, Estelle¡¯s stomach churned. It was always the same whenever she found herself surrounded by too many people. Sweat prickled on her forehead, and she felt as though every pair of eyes in the bus was staring at her. The hum of voices and the occasional bursts of laughter seemed to twist into mocking tones in her ears, as if they were ridiculing her.

    Thankfully, she could retreat into the vast, comforting world of the internet. She read posts or watched vlogs to distract herself, letting the noise around her fade into the background. At times, she simply scrolled aimlessly, pretending to be engrossed in something important on her phone¡ªanything to shield herself from the world around her.

    After scrolling through and liking what felt like a thousand videos of kittens and dogs, the bus suddenly lurched to a stop. Startled, Estelle glanced up. She knew the route to Killigan Street Station by heart, and they weren¡¯t anywhere near her usual stop. For the first time, she realised that she was completely alone on the bus, apart from the driver.

    Her gaze shifted to the small screen above, displaying grainy footage of the bus seats captured by its surveillance cameras. During rush hour, the bus was always packed¡ªso crowded that she sometimes feared she wouldn¡¯t manage to squeeze in. If the downstairs seats were full, the upstairs ones always had people crammed together. But now, the monitors showed rows of empty seats, upstairs and down.

    The cameras were meant to remind passengers that they were always being watched. But at this moment, the empty bus and its silent monitors only added to the eerie stillness pressing down on her.

    So no one could get any ideas.

    Estelle¡¯s image stared back at her from the monitor: a pale figure with blonde hair that shimmered faintly silver and deep, ocean-blue eyes. Her confusion deepened as the bus driver suddenly said, ¡°This is your stop, ma¡¯am. You need to get off here.¡± Cautiously, she stepped closer and peered out of the window. Estelle had no idea where they were. Lundenbuhr was the capital of Britannica, a sprawling metropolis she¡¯d called home her entire life. She had seen much of it over the years, but even so, she didn¡¯t know every corner of the city¡ªit was simply too vast.

    Outside, towering chimneys belched smoke into the air. On either side of the road were heavily loaded trucks and rusty pylons. The industrial landscape stretched out like a grim, unfamiliar painting.

    Estelle moved to stand beside the bus driver, looking through the windscreen at the desolate industrial area ahead. Shaking her head, she said firmly, ¡°Sir, there must be some mistake. This definitely isn¡¯t my stop.¡±

    She glanced around the bus again, unease creeping in. The vehicle had veered off its usual route entirely, and nothing about this felt right.

    Her mobile phone rang. As she pulled it from her bag, she saw a message flashing on the screen.

    Foolish actions lead to nothing. Invisible whispers guide the way. Night falls quickly. In caves, shadows linger. Carefully, we wait.Nine laps we must take! I¡¯ve always loved hiding in the cave next to the yellow car.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    For anyone else, those words would have been utter nonsense. But Estelle felt a chill run down her spine. Her hand fell limply to her side as she realised she understood exactly what they meant. The doors in front of her swung open, and the driver¡¯s voice broke the silence. ¡°Don¡¯t forget your rucksack, ma¡¯am.¡± She turned slowly to face him, reaching for the black rucksack. ¡°Thank you, Mr Bus Driver,¡± she heard herself say, the words feeling strangely detached. ¡°It seems you¡¯re right¡ªthis is my stop.¡± . Once she had stepped off the bus, the doors slid shut behind her, and the vehicle pulled away, disappearing down the street.

    Estelle hurried across the Finchley Company ground, her heart racing. Just before panic could take hold, she spotted it¡ªthe yellow car. Beside it, tucked behind a bush, was a narrow gap that Estelle could just about squeeze through. But something felt off, and it wasn¡¯t just the strange light filtering through the larger opening. As she drew closer, the source of her unease became clear. The pipes and rods were glowing with heat, casting an eerie, unnatural glow. Her fingers brushed her face, from forehead to chin, as though she could wipe away the discomfort. She had no choice now. With a deep breath, she gripped her rucksack tightly and forced her way through the gap.

    Sweat trickled down her forehead. Estelle had always despised summer, but this heat was nothing compared to even the hottest summer nights. As if that wasn¡¯t bad enough, squeezing through the narrow path was a challenge in itself. She pressed her lips together in concentration, breathing in and out through her nose, each breath a struggle.

    She let out a quiet sigh of relief when she finally stepped into a small, dimly lit room. Her gaze swept quickly from left to right, then right to left. With steady hands, she reached into her rucksack and pulled out the black mask¡ªfeatureless, save for its grey eyes. The smooth surface was cold to the touch. Estelle closed her eyes for a brief moment, tying her hair back into a ponytail before slipping the mask into place. There was no time for hesitation; she only had nine minutes before the monitoring systems would be back online. She was ready as soon as she slipped into her black suit.

    Estelle had to admit she had no idea what the Finchley Company actually was. When she thought of a typical company, she imagined sterile white walls and rows of computers in office spaces. But this place... it was more like a factory.

    It was nearly impossible to walk quietly with her footsteps echoing loudly on the silver-coated metal floor. The constant steam rising from the walls and floor, the distant hissing, and the clattering hum of machinery only deepened her suspicions. What were they producing here?

    But she wasn¡¯t here to ask questions¡ªand certainly not to get caught. The voices of two employees rang in her ears, setting alarm bells off in her head. Her hiding spot couldn¡¯t have been better. The old trick of ducking around corners might work in books and films, but it never did in real life. She carefully pulled out her mobile phone. Six minutes. She only had six minutes left to get everything done. Her hand instinctively moved to her chest, fingers brushing over the object hidden beneath her clothes. Estelle knew there was only one way to get everything done in time.

    The footsteps grew louder and louder, and just as Estelle thought she was about to be caught, she sprang to her feet, dashed forward between the two men, and threw both hands into the air. A fierce gust of wind sent them tumbling to the ground. Though Estelle was already running, it wasn¡¯t long before the two men were back on their feet, hot on her heels. As the pressure mounted, she had to think quickly. The rising steam ahead of her cast a faint glow, and an idea sparked in her mind. Estelle quickened her pace, holding her right hand out as though clutching a tennis ball. But instead of a tennis ball, a ball of water formed in her hand. She dropped it to the floor, and a large puddle spread behind her.

    Just as she passed through the swirling steam, she stopped dead in her tracks. A few more steps, and the men would have her. But Estelle had a better plan. She let her hand fall, and a blast of steam shot straight into the two workers¡¯ faces. Blinded, they staggered back. Unfortunately for them, they realised far too late that the floor beneath them had become slick and treacherously slippery.

    That wouldn¡¯t hold them off forever, but it would buy her enough time to complete her task.

    Fortunately for Estelle, she had finally found it¡ªthe control room. It looked much more like her idea of a company than the previous space had. The sterile white walls, the rows of computers¡ªit was exactly what she had expected.

    Her attention was immediately drawn to a large screen in the centre of the room, displaying live footage from the security cameras. Her suspicion that this place resembled a factory rather than a typical office was confirmed when she saw machines assembling something. However, it was hard to make out exactly what from this angle. It did look strangely familiar, though. Frustratingly, there was no clear clue as to what it was, so she quickly dismissed the thought and focused on the task at hand.

    She crouched down at one of the computers and entered the login details she had been given. Her leg bounced slowly up and down. Situations like this always made her nervous, filling her with the fear that she might have entered the password wrong, or worse, that it might not work at all. A wave of relief washed over her when she finally gained access. Estelle¡¯s task was simple: delete all the documents in two folders. However, it proved to be more challenging than she had anticipated. The computer had already prompted her three times, asking if she was absolutely certain.

    With dwindling patience, she glanced at the time displayed at the bottom of the screen. Only four minutes left.

    When the computer prompted her for a fourth time, Estelle could no longer bear it. She clicked into the folder. It was hard to discern much from a mere glance. The only thing she recognised instantly was that it contained information from the ruling party in power. Finally, she was able to delete the files. Once that was done, Estelle pushed her chair back and retrieved a 0.5-litre bottle filled with a yellowish liquid. Her face twisted in distaste as she stared at it for a long moment. But she had no choice. Whether she wanted to or not, it was part of the job. She opened the bottle and began to pour the liquid around the room. A red flame appeared in her hand, casting a flickering light across her anxious face.

    Closing her eyes, she steeled herself, her mind made up. With a swift motion, she threw the flame forward. It spread quickly, igniting and giving her the signal she¡¯d been waiting for.

    Estelle had to get out¡ªimmediately. With every step, she left a trail of flames behind her. It wasn¡¯t long before the whole place was engulfed in heat far beyond her comfort zone.

    The situation didn¡¯t seem to be improving. The uneasy feeling of being trapped, with no way out, grew stronger by the second. The flames were spreading faster than she¡¯d anticipated, soon closing in around her. Desperately, she scanned her surroundings. Hope flickered when she spotted a small window high up on the wall. Without wasting a moment, she raced up the iron stairs. Of course, the window wasn¡¯t the type she could simply open. Her only option was to break the pane. It was quick, but getting through the shattered glass without cutting herself proved tricky. Fortunately, scaffolding was positioned directly outside the window.

    Her luck didn¡¯t hold for long, however. She miscalculated a step, stumbling backwards and tumbling onto the scaffolding below, before finally hitting the ground with a sharp thud. She hissed in pain, trying to push the discomfort from her mind.

    But the pain was soon forgotten when she heard voices in the distance. Estelle leapt to her feet and ran. The bushes ahead seemed to offer the only escape. As she tumbled down a steep hill, her knee slammed into a thick branch. She collapsed into the soft earth, pressing her head into the ground to steady herself.

    Today was definitely not her day.

 Chapter 2

    "David Matthews was arrested along with eleven other members of his party, the New Justice Party, and convicted of arson. Newly discovered documents reveal that the party had been investing in the Finchley Company for years, a company that many experts had categorised as suspicious. Investigators concluded that the party may have been attempting to cover its tracks". David Matthews¡¯ angry face, desperately trying to proclaim his innocence, was displayed on the small monitor.

    "Looks like your mission was successful" said Simon, holding a test tube in front of his eyes. Estelle should probably be happy about her successful work. But why did everything still feel so bitter? She leaned her head back into the soft cushion of the treatment chair. The bright white light shone down on her from above like a spotlight, reflected in the transparent infusion tube. The bare white walls, the many colourful test tubes, the medical instruments ¨C it would give anyone goosebumps. The only thing missing were flickering lights and Simon, who looked at her with a warm-hearted expression and said, "Everything will be fine, love. It''s just a little twinge at the beginning."

    For anyone else, this would be the setting for a horror film, but for Estelle, it had become her second home. She came here regularly and hadn¡¯t been afraid for a long time. Simon''s all-too-typical concentrated ¨C uninterested ¨C expression was still focused on the test tube in front of him. He ran a hand through his golden-blonde hair while his green eyes briefly flicked towards the screen. "I didn¡¯t realise you were interested in the news. Usually, it¡¯s that tasteless comedy series you like so much."

    The corners of Estelle''s mouth curled up slightly. She had first met him when she was five years old, and in her opinion, he had hardly changed in all those years. In her eyes, he hadn¡¯t even aged, even though he had been in his early twenties when they first met. "I want to see the election results and find out who will be the new Prime Minister." Unimpressed, the doctor glanced at her for a moment before turning back to his test tube. He gave her no response. But she wasn¡¯t surprised. Simon had never been interested in politics and its machinations.

    Images of a cheering crowd flashed past them. The winner, and therefore their new Prime Minister, took to the podium. Gunner Fox, the new leading candidate of the Loyalist Party, had won the race. A middle-aged man who was able to win over many with his charming manner. When the cameras panned back to his smiling face, Simon was already switching off the monitor. He didn¡¯t have much sympathy for his new employer. "The only thing that¡¯s changing is the person at the top. The company itself remains the same," he always said.

    Simon pulled the needle from the infusion tube out of her arm and carefully pressed a small plaster onto the puncture site. She stared up at the ceiling, her gaze fixed. She would probably never get used to this. He sat down in front of her with a diagnostic lamp and said, "You know the procedure"Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    After a brief eye test, he ran the cold stethoscope along her chest. Finally, he took her pulse. "Jenkins came to see me the other day and complained that you only do the compulsory lessons and don¡¯t train enough in your free time"

    Her head tilted slightly to one side. "I¡¯m just not really the sporty type, not someone who can run well..."

    Simon looked her in the eye. "I totally agree with you. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever had to treat anyone here after a mission as often as I¡¯ve had to treat you. He¡¯s a bit right, though. I won¡¯t always have the chance to treat you"

    He then turned around on his little round stool, wheeled himself over to the computer, and typed something into the document. Simon turned his head towards her. "You know what comes next?"

    Estelle carefully gripped his wrist and nodded slightly.

    They were both standing in front of what was probably the most expensive appliance in the room. And although it was pricier than anything else here, it didn¡¯t really look that special. It was nothing more than a slightly larger transparent box with a round hole and a leather strap around it. She slid her hand through the hole, and Simon wrapped the leather strap tightly around her wrist. When he pulled it even tighter, she winced slightly. Then the EEG cap was placed on her, the one in which she always felt like a cyborg. The doctor typed something into the computer and turned to her.

    Estelle knew exactly what that meant and closed her eyes. A familiar warmth spread through her hand. The flame flickered softly in Simon¡¯s green eyes as he asked, ¡°Can you make it a little bigger?¡± Her gaze narrowed slightly as she concentrated. The heat spread further, but it wasn¡¯t uncomfortable; her hand didn¡¯t feel as though it were burning. By the time she heard the first keystrokes, the flame had already faded from her hand. Simon opened a small slit at the top of the box and dropped in a few scraps of paper.

    ¡°All right, let¡¯s get on with...¡± Before he could finish, the scraps of paper were already swirling around wildly in the box, and the sound of Simon¡¯s fingers typing rapidly filled the room. If her hand had felt like a hot summer¡¯s day earlier, it now felt as though a fresh breeze were blowing past her. When the room fell silent again, she knew it was time to move on.

    Drops trickled down her hand, and it wasn¡¯t long before the box began to fill more and more with water. ¡°Very good... Only one element is missing now.¡± A sense of restlessness spread through her body. Her hand started to tremble more and more. You still don¡¯t accept yourself, a voice whispered in her mind, and she drew in a sharp breath. The light bulbs all over the room shattered, and her eyes widened. Anyone else might have taken a few steps back in fear, but Simon merely gazed up at the ceiling, unfazed. ¡°We needed new ones anyway.¡±

    With her body still trembling, Estelle whispered an apology, ¡°I... I still can¡¯t control it that well¡±

    When Simon had completed the final entries, he finally detached her from all the devices. She ran her fingers gently over the red mark on her wrist. It wasn¡¯t the first time, and it certainly wouldn¡¯t be the last. Estelle made her way towards the door, but Simon called her back. She turned to find him holding out a white paper bag.

    ¡°Happy birthday¡±

 Chapter 3

    The sharp edges of the key pressed into her palm, and she bit her lip, letting out a heavy sigh. Estelle gazed at the house before her, her heart a tangle of conflicting emotions. For most, home was a place of warmth and comfort, but for her, the thought of it churned her stomach. It was the end of July, and the sun was dipping below the horizon. The fading light only reminded her how late it had become, and she couldn¡¯t bring herself to delay her return any longer.

    She climbed the stairs quietly, the familiar routine from her childhood still lingering in her movements. Standing before the front door, she hesitated once again. Of all the days in the year, the seventeenth of July was the worst for her. Maybe she was just being foolish, but never did she find it so difficult to go home as she did on this day.

    Voices filtered through the closed door, and Estelle could have sworn she heard the words birthday, party, and cake. Her eyes widened slightly. Could it be...? Could it really be...? A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and with a renewed sense of courage, she pushed open the door and stepped into the flat. She followed the sounds until she found herself in the kitchen.

    The room fell quiet, and Greg shot her a look of disgust. "Anka. It''s back". He bumped her shoulder roughly as he passed, leaving the kitchen without another word. Estelle winced, rubbing the spot where he''d struck her, and took a few steps toward the kitchen table. There, to her surprise, was a cake. A strawberry cream cake, its top adorned with delicate white chocolate shavings. But what struck her most was the near emptiness of the cake, there was hardly any of it left.

    Just over a quarter of the cake remained, and the frozen strawberry in the centre had long since vanished. Footsteps echoed, and Estelle turned to face them. Blue-grey eyes, cold and distant, were obscured by strands of dark hair.

    "Finn brought you your favourite cake for your birthday. You know, not everyone has a brother as thoughtful as you. Perhaps you should show him a little more gratitude in the future" Anka said, her voice sharp.

    "But this isn''t my favourite cake. It''s Finn''s..." Estelle''s words faltered under the weight of the reproachful, stern look from the woman in front of her. She fell silent. Her smile was like that of a seasoned actress, perfected over the years. On the surface, it looked incredibly beautiful¡ªa pose she had rehearsed since childhood. But when you looked into her deep, ocean-blue eyes, the light that once shone there had long since faded. Nowadays, people rarely looked each other in the eye. And when they did, it sent a shiver down your spine.

    "Yes, I''ll do that in future..." Estelle replied, her voice quiet. Anka gave her one last glance before casually leaving the kitchen with a dismissive, "All the best"

    "Thanks, Mum..." Estelle whispered as her mother disappeared from view. She slowly retreated to her room, which resembled more of a parlour than a sanctuary. Collapsing onto the bed, she found no comfort in its softness. The rest she so desperately needed remained elusive. When the screen of her mobile phone lit up with Dedo''s name flashing across it, she immediately picked up the call, eager for the distraction.

    "Hello?" Estelle answered, her voice soft. On the other end of the line, her grandfather and some distant relatives sang a birthday song in her mother''s native language. The familiar melody filled the air, and once the little performance ended, everyone wished her a happy birthday in Golubacki.

    After a brief pause, her grandfather, Du?an Filipovi?, finally took the phone. "Sretan Rodjendan, Mila moja"* he said warmly, his voice full of love. Estelle smiled faintly. It was the same birthday wish every year, yet it carried a sense of uniqueness and comfort, like a cherished ritual that made her feel at home, no matter the distance.

    "Have you had a nice party so far?" That was one question Estelle had hoped to avoid. But now it was too late. She hesitated before replying, "I... I¡¯ve been to the doctor. I had my check-up today".

    An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Right. Are you coming to visit us in the summer?" another question followed, one she would have preferred not to answer.

    "I¡ª... I!" She stammered, struggling for words.

    "You''ve got a lot to learn this summer, then?"

    Her hand instinctively moved to her chest, clutching the object hidden there. On the verge of tears, she managed to whisper, "Yes"

    "I see" came the soft reply. "I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll all work out next year. I won¡¯t keep you any longer. Have a nice evening"

    She set her mobile phone aside, stood up, and pulled the thin turtleneck jumper over her head, tossing it carelessly aside. Then, she reached for a worn-out shirt and slipped it on. A wave of relief washed over her, like a breath of fresh air. Summer was most certainly not her favourite season. Estelle stood in front of the mirror, her glassy eyes fixed on the left side of her neck. It was the reason she always wore a scarf or a turtleneck, no matter the time of year. That mark defined her¡ªmore than anything else. The zodiac sign of Cancer sprawled across half her neck, an indelible reminder of what and who she truly was.

    Estelle was not human.

    She had never been human.

    If the use of the elements and the mark on her neck weren¡¯t proof enough, this was. She reached for the object that hung around her neck like a necklace. It was a crystal, pointed at both ends and about the size of her little finger. One side shimmered with a deep, sea-blue hue that reminded her of the ocean¡¯s depths. On the other side, the colour darkened slightly, fading to white at the tip, almost like the moon glowing in the night sky. The recurring purple accents in the blue made her think of one of her elemental powers¡ªan unspoken connection she could never escape.

    Estelle wasn''t staring at just any crystal. No, this was her soul stone.

    At birth, the soul stone is still bonded to you. When it¡¯s removed, the wound heals instantly, leaving behind only a mark that reveals the zodiac sign you belong to. Beings like her were known as Monto. She had once been told that there was no room for her own soul within her body, not with all the elemental power flowing through her. Still, the thought of holding her own soul in her hands¡ªof seeing it, so tangible and real¡ªfelt strangely foreign.

    Monto. There were only a handful of them, and their existence was a secret that few knew, and fewer still were meant to know. They were remnants of the star gods, beings who were better off hidden away, locked in the shadows of forgotten history. After all these years, Estelle still didn¡¯t understand the true nature of her connection to the twelve star gods. Some whispered that they were cursed, while others claimed the gods had forsaken them. The truth, however, remained elusive. What she did know, with a certainty that weighed heavily on her heart, was that each Monto belonged to a star sign and could wield the power of their assigned element. But then there were Monto like her, who possessed the ability to command more than one element. A gift, or perhaps a burden, that no one truly understood.

    Humans didn¡¯t react well to her presence. Her family, more than anything, proved that truth. Her mother was human, but Estelle was not. No one dared speak her full name, and instead, they referred to her as it. Despite their insistence that it was just a nickname, Estelle couldn''t shake the feeling that she was nothing more than an object, a thing, rather than a living being with a name and a soul. When she returned to the kitchen for a glass of water, her eyes fell on the last piece of cake. Without thinking, she grabbed it and placed it on her desk with a plate. She opened the window, climbed out, and settled herself on the old fire escape.

    The night was still now, with only the stars above bearing witness. The night sky glittered with the soft light of countless stars. Monto¡¯s nineteenth birthday was a momentous occasion. From this day on, her body would cease to age for the next 150 years. And, in just a few minutes, her nineteenth birthday would come to a quiet end.

    Estelle pulled Simon''s white paper bag from her bag and unwrapped the dried-out chocolate muffin he gave her every year. She popped a piece into her mouth, and hot tears began to spill down her cheeks. Maybe, after all these years, she should have grown accustomed to this. When was the last time anyone had celebrated her birthday? Not even her biological father had bothered to show up. But what had she truly expected?

    She shoved another piece of muffin into her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs. Her deep blue eyes turned to the sky, seeking some comfort. The moon hung above her in all its radiant beauty, as if reaching out, yearning to embrace her. The wind brushed past, and she could have sworn she heard a whisper: Don¡¯t be sad.

    And after all these years, she still wondered:

    Who am I?

    What is my destiny?

    Why am I alive?

 Chapter 4

    "Simon! Why did Estelle need to have her annual check-up on her birthday?" Propin demanded angrily.

    Estelle''s lips parted slightly. Everyone here was required to undergo a thorough examination at least once a year. When she was younger, they had told her it was simply to ensure they were developing properly, that it was just routine. But as time passed, she had realised it was more than that. Her mother had once been the one to decide when these check-ups took place, but now, it was one of the few decisions Estelle still had the power to make for herself.

    But before she could explain, Simon was already offering a quick apology, "Next time, I¡¯ll make sure to check the calendar properly"

    Their eyes met for a brief moment. It was a silent thank you, yet he understood the message clearly. Propin ran a hand through his hazel hair and continued the conversation. Estelle closed her eyes, turning her gaze away as a heavy sigh escaped her. Cold, hateful stares pierced through her, and as she lifted her head, she saw two Monto officers walking past. Once again, that overwhelming sense of uncertainty washed over her.

    But when their conversation shifted to talk of their last mission, her thoughts drifted. "What was actually produced at Finchley Company?"

    "Drindalin" Simon replied.

    "Drindalin?" Estelle repeated in shock, her fingers instinctively gripping her wrist. Even Propin, who had just shot Simon a spiteful face, wore a surprised expression. Apart from the fact that Monto could wield elemental powers, they were different from humans in many other ways. Their wounds healed at an astonishing rate, meaning knives and bullets weren¡¯t enough to kill them. And even when they were injured, it didn¡¯t diminish their elemental strength. But that didn¡¯t mean someone hadn''t found a way to kill them.

    Drindalin was worse than death for anyone who came into contact with it. Though it could just as easily end your life, its true horror lay in the suffering it caused. It was an object shrouded in mystery. No one knew exactly what it was made of, and there was a reason for that. All anyone knew was what it looked like. No one could say whether it was stone or crystal, though to Estelle, it seemed like a strange blend of both, its dark grey tones glimmering with blue tips that sparkled faintly.

    The effect it had on Monto was terrifying. Once it pierced the skin, a searing pain would spread through the body like wildfire. It was like bumping your knee, only a thousand times worse, a sharp sting that never truly faded. Even if the body grew accustomed to the agony, every movement sent a jolt of pain through the nerves. But that wasn¡¯t the worst of it. The true horror of Drindalin was that once you came into contact with it, you could no longer access your elemental powers.

    Humans could never understand. For a Monto, wielding and mastering the elements wasn¡¯t just a skill, it was their very essence, the core of their existence.

    ¡°Do they know about¡­?¡± Estelle¡¯s voice trailed off, her question heavy with fear.

    Before she could finish, Simon shook his head firmly. ¡°That¡¯s impossible. Besides, the higher-ups ensure that no one outside a select few even knows Monto exist. It¡¯s a tightly controlled process¡±.

    Her shoulders relaxed a little, but the weight of her lifelong fear lingered. From the time she was a child, Estelle had been haunted by the terrifying thought of her true nature being exposed. She had grown up listening to chilling stories of what might happen if humanity ever learned the truth about Monto. That fear had burrowed deep into her, dictating her every move. It was the very reason she always wore a turtleneck or a scarf, no matter how high the summer sun climbed. It was her shield, a fragile barrier between her and a world that might never understand.

    One of the men who had been glaring at her moments before now stood directly in front of her. Estelle¡¯s eyes widened at the news he delivered. She blinked, startled. ¡°Me?¡± she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

    The man¡¯s expression darkened, his brows furrowing deeply. ¡°Do you have a problem with that?¡± he demanded, his tone sharp and accusatory.

    Propin¡¯s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes narrowing. To him, there was absolutely no justification for speaking to his friend that way. He parted his lips to retort, but Simon was quicker. The doctor¡¯s voice cut through the tension, calm yet commanding. ¡°I¡¯m certain our Estelle has no problem with this¡± he said firmly, his green eyes meeting the officer¡¯s unflinchingly. ¡°She¡¯s simply surprised. After all, it¡¯s quite the honour, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    The officer¡¯s jaw worked for a moment, clearly taken aback by Simon¡¯s intervention. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, his steps brisk and rigid.

    ¡°We should take our seats¡± Simon said, his tone returning to its usual measured calm. ¡°The welcoming ceremony is about to begin". Propin gave a curt nod, his frown easing slightly. The ceremony for the new Prime Minister¡¯s induction was the reason they were all gathered there in their military uniforms. Even Simon, whom Estelle had only ever seen in his signature white doctor coat, was dressed in a sharp black suit.

    ¡°Go on ahead¡± Estelle said, her voice quieter now. ¡°I¡¯ll be right behind you¡±

    At first, they hesitated, but then both nodded and walked away. Estelle lingered, her footsteps heavy as she made her way to the ladies'' toilet. She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection.

    The deep navy blue of her uniform only accentuated the pallor of her skin, making her look even more washed out than usual. Her hair, almost luminous against the dark fabric, seemed to glow like moonlight. Lately, she¡¯d had the feeling it was growing lighter with each passing year. But perhaps that was just her imagination. After all, she couldn¡¯t ask anyone. People kept their distance deliberately, and when they did look at her, it was rarely with kindness.

    Her ocean-blue eyes gazed back at her. Nineteen. Legally an adult. And yet, those eyes felt hollow, empty like windows to a soul that had been drained of hope. They weren¡¯t filled with the dreams or excitement that life was supposed to offer someone her age. Instead, they seemed resigned, existing only to watch the monotonous grey of each day drift past, untouched by life¡¯s wonders.

    Girls her age cared about their appearance, carefully curating their hair, their makeup, their smiles, earning compliments for looking sweet or charming. But Estelle found nothing to admire in the girl staring back at her. Her eyes were dull, her hair uninspired, her pale complexion unremarkable. At 1.70m tall, she was far from petite, far from delicate, far from the idea of beauty that others seemed to embody so effortlessly. Her reflection felt like a stranger. She didn¡¯t like her eyes, her hair colour, her height¡ªany of it. But then again, she was used to feeling this way. She was not alone in this.

    After tidying her high ponytail, Estelle let her hands fall to her sides. Her gaze dropped, and instinctively, her fingers reached for the soul stone hidden beneath her clothes. It rested against her chest like a quiet reminder of who she was , or what she wasn¡¯t.

    The future stretched out before her, unyielding and unchangeable, so much so that she no longer even dared to look up at the moon as she once had. Night after night, she¡¯d sought solace in its glow, silently pleading for it to make life a little easier, a little more bearable. But those prayers had long since faded into silence. Outside, everyone was already lined up in neat, obedient rows. Keeping her eyes fixed on the ground, Estelle slipped into her place beside Propin in the fourth row. She stood motionless, her presence quiet and unassuming, as if she might disappear into the uniformity of the crowd. The stillness was broken by the booming voice of Gunner Fox. Standing tall before the podium, his practised smile was wide and friendly as he began to speak.

    "It is a great pleasure" he said, his words dripping with sincerity "And an even greater honour to finally stand before the members of the EFJ"

    A ripple of polite applause swept through the crowd, but no warmth came with it. No smiles lit up the faces of those gathered. Every Monto knew the Element For Justice organisation. It wasn¡¯t just a name¡ªit was their reality, their inevitability. Membership wasn¡¯t a choice; it was a destiny. From the moment you were old enough to understand, the EFJ claimed you, shaping every part of your life from that day forward. For Estelle, it wasn¡¯t an honour, as Fox so passionately declared. It was a sentence.

    Career opportunities within the organisation were scarce and uninspiring. Its primary function was to maintain political balance, or so they claimed. In truth, it meant this: those with a firm command of their elements were handed the more challenging and often dangerous¡ªassignments. Those who struggled were relegated to the dirty work, the thankless tasks no one else wanted.

    Estelle stood in silence as her new boss¡¯s long-winded speech droned on, each word more hollow than the last. The wind swirled around her, brushing against her ears like a whisper, as if nature itself mocked the futility of it all. Nothing had changed. They remained there, motionless, like meticulously arranged chess pieces on a board. Her thoughts drifted, and for the first time, Simon¡¯s words began to make sense.

    For decades, the same three political parties had governed Britannica in an endless, predictable cycle. The Advanced Identity Party, the Free Working Class Coalition, and the Loyalist Party, who currently held power. Each time, they came with the same empty promises: ¡°We will fight for Monto rights.¡± ¡°No more childhood training lessons¡± ¡°A free choice of career paths for every citizen.¡±

    They all said the right things, crafting hope out of thin air. But the big change, the one they were all waiting for, never came. Not yesterday. Not today. And deep down, Estelle wondered if it ever would.

    Estelle fixed her gaze ahead as Gunner Fox concluded his speech. For a fleeting moment, her breath hitched. She could have sworn he glanced in her direction, a faint smile curling his lips as if it were meant solely for her.

 Chapter 5

    She raised her hand in a crisp military salute. "Estelle Th¨¢lassa. Astrological sign: Cancer. Born in 2098¡±

    The office of her faction''s superior was modestly furnished, almost sterile. The walls were a muted cream, offering no warmth, and a desk stood in the centre, weighed down by files and framed by towering bookshelves. Bintley¡¯s gloved right hand clenched tightly at his side, the black leather stretching taut over his knuckles. Estelle knew exactly what lay beneath it, his zodiac mark. Even he concealed his existence. His stern gaze bore into her, unyielding and cold.

    Monto were meant to stand together, to support one another against the isolation of their existence. But when it came to her, that unspoken bond frayed and faltered. Somehow, she had always been an outsider, someone no one wanted to associate with. And when you came to the stark realisation that no one else shared your zodiac sign, Cancer, the world seemed even grimmer and lonelier than it already was.

    Why?

    At some point, she had stopped asking herself that question. What was the point? No one would give her a real answer, and the truth, if it existed, was bound to be anything but comforting. The other Monto looked at her as if willing her to vanish into thin air. Disgust. Betrayal. Contempt. Those stares were as familiar to her now as the multiplication tables she¡¯d learned as a child.

    After her elementary training, she had been shunned by the other children. Mealtimes in the canteen always played out the same way. Her alone at a large, empty table while laughter and conversation filled the room around her. But Propin? He didn¡¯t care about that. He had grown used to eating his breakfast alone during breaks after training, much like her. She would sit there, her eyes fixed on the pale, yellowed surface of the table in front of her, willing herself to shrink into invisibility. If she didn¡¯t meet their eyes, if she didn¡¯t acknowledge their stares, maybe she could escape their judgment, if only for a moment.

    "Hey, you''re Estelle, right? You can use more than one element! That¡¯s so cool! We''re in the same training group! Oh, and my name is Propin!"

    For a moment, she just sat there, blinking twice to make sure it wasn¡¯t some cruel joke or a trick her mind was playing. But no, the young ram meant every word. His enthusiasm was genuine, and from that day on, he hadn¡¯t left her side.

    Most Monto would consider it a great honour to stand before Bintley. For Estelle, however, unease coiled tightly in her chest, refusing to let go. Bintley sat behind his desk, his gloved hands clasped together, his expression unreadable as his piercing gaze bore into her. "You have been given the honour of welcoming the new Prime Minister and expressing gratitude on behalf of everyone" he said. The formal welcome was a deeply ingrained tradition, the seal of a Monto, repeated with each inauguration to create an illusion of fairness. A different person was chosen each time to carry out the task.

    But to Estelle, it didn¡¯t feel like an honour. It felt like a test.

    "Me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

    Bintley clenched his fist, his gaze never meeting hers. He had never once looked her in the eye, but now, frustration and impatience seemed to take over. "Do you have a problem with that?"

    His narrowed eyes and the angry lines of his face fixed on her for only a few seconds before he quickly looked away again, a reaction Estelle knew all too well. It was a response she had come to expect, and without hesitation, she slowly shook her head. "I accept this honour¡±

    A sigh escaped her lips. How was it that she always ended up in situations like this?

    Propin and Simon had very different reactions. Propin was overjoyed, convinced that her work had finally been recognised. Simon, on the other hand, was silent, his eyes filled with suspicion, as though he were reading a thousand words in the tense stillness.

    With another heavy sigh, Estelle raised her hand and gently tapped the door in front of her with her index finger before stepping inside.

    Her deep blue eyes scanned the room. Estelle wasn¡¯t sure what she had expected a prime minister¡¯s office to look like, but this certainly wasn¡¯t it. It was so... simple. Nothing in this room seemed out of place or special. The walls were the same dull shade as the lab, and the desk and shelves surrounding her looked almost identical to Bintley¡¯s.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    She took a few tentative steps forward, her gaze dropping as she bowed her head. "On behalf of all Monto, I would like to welcome you to your position. It is our honour and duty to serve Britannica under your leadership". Two sentences. Estelle had to force the words out, and she barely managed those. Better two than three, she supposed.

    "Please, sit down¡±

    She looked up, and there was Gunner Fox, smiling kindly at her. He gestured towards the chair, and, though she had little choice, she found herself accepting his offer. It felt strange to see him so close, so human, not through a lens or in front of a camera.

    "I''ve heard a lot about you, Estelle¡±

    Her eyes widened, and she looked at him in surprise. Most people avoided addressing her by her first name. But the fact that he knew it at all took her off guard. It was rare for anyone to show any interest in her as a person. He seemed to notice her reaction, because he kept smiling at her, calm and unruffled.

    "You can use four elements. No one has ever managed that before. You must be incredibly proud of it".

    Was she? The question lingered in her mind, unanswered.

    "Especially when you consider that one of them isn''t even a primary element. Tell me, what''s your favourite element?"

    "Favourite element?" she echoed, unsure, and he nodded. It was another of those taboos no one had ever dared bring up.

    "I... I think my strength lies more in taming air and water" she said slowly. "I''m not so good with flames, and... I find it very difficult to use my other element."

    "That''s not really surprising" he mused. "After all, Cancer is not only the ruler of the moon, but also of the deep".

    Estelle''s fingers curled into the edge of her seat. People in Britannica rarely spoke of the gods. Especially not the moon goddess.

    Fox stood up and moved to one of his shelves, his back to her. "Tell me, Estelle, did you know that Gemini and Cancer are very good friends?"

    Estelle knew he wasn¡¯t talking about just any Monto, but about the star gods themselves.

    "That could be one of the reasons why you have such a strong connection to your airbending".

    "I¡¯m sorry" she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, "my knowledge of the gods is very limited". Talking about them felt like crossing an unforgivable line.

    "That¡¯s a pity" he said, a note of disappointment creeping into his voice. "As a Monto, you should know where you come from, and what your heritage truly is".

    There was probably no other being in the world who knew so little about their own existence as she did. In the past, curiosity had burned inside her, desperate to know more. But every time she asked, her questions were either met with a polite smile or dismissed altogether.

    "Your grades at school aren¡¯t that good, are they?" Fox added, his tone shifting slightly, as if probing.

    Once again, the question hit her like a sudden avalanche. Smiling, Fox turned towards her. "Don''t you enjoy studying?"

    "It¡¯s not much use to me, really, if there¡¯s only one career option in front of me, and I don¡¯t even need grades for that".

    It wasn¡¯t until the words left her mouth that Estelle fully realised what she had just said. But to her surprise, her new Prime Minister didn¡¯t seem the least bit annoyed.

    "And that¡¯s exactly what I want to change" he said, his voice calm but resolute. "You should have the freedom to choose your own future, and you should know something about the gods".

    Was this a test? Was he trying to gauge her thoughts, or perhaps measure her reaction to something so important?

    "Did I promise too much? Or too little?" he asked, his gaze fixed on her as she remained silent. "What do you want in life?"

    Estelle froze. No one had ever asked her that question before. Probably no Monto had ever been asked by a superior. They didn¡¯t even have the right to vote. She could feel the weight of the question pressing down on her chest, the ache of unspoken desires she¡¯d long buried.

    And yet, there was one thing she wanted more than anything else, but... "I can¡¯t be granted that wish".

    When he smiled warmly at her once more, she understood why many people found him so charming. He took a book from an old, weathered envelope and pressed it gently into her hand.

    "This book contains the most important information about the gods. Consider it my promise to you that I will change something¡±

    Estelle was about to leave when Gunner Fox called her back, his voice firm but gentle. "The book will remain our little secret, understood?"

    For the first time in a long while, Estelle¡¯s lips curled into an automatic smile, though it barely reached her eyes.

 Chapter 6

    "Don''t you think you''re becoming a bit too absorbed in that book?" Propin asked, his face etched with concern and uncertainty. He asked the question at least three times a day, each time with the same anxious expression. His worry was justified. The gods were a silent, forbidden topic throughout Britannica. Those who dared to speak of the stars or the deities were shunned, even despised. That was why so many people knew nothing about them, unable even to name the gods traits correctly. Estelle herself had never shown much interest in them, despite her own form supposedly being marked by the gods.

    Summer was drawing to a close. The nights were growing colder, and her old companion, the night sky, now arrived earlier each evening. At first, the book had been hidden away in a small crevice behind her wardrobe. Her family adored her, but anything related to elements, gods, or stars was not only a source of major conflict but would only make her life harder. She could already picture the spiteful smirk on her younger brother¡¯s face, knowing the trouble she would face in return for her curiosity.

    A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the time she had asked why she was the only Cancer among the Montos. Greg narrowed his eyes slightly. Her mother¡¯s tirades echoed in her mind, and she could still hear the thundering sound of her stepfather¡¯s fist striking the furniture in his anger. The shelves, which had never been of best quality, still bore the scars of that day. Estelle had never been the kind of child to have many toys. Questions like hers had only led to fewer. "Because the others asked just as stupid questions as you did" her mother had always snapped. And so, Estelle had learned to remain silent.

    On so many nights, she sat in quiet contemplation, staring up at the sky. Many people feared the darkness, and children were deliberately taught that only bad things happened after dark. That was why they went to bed early, and why no one ever stayed outside at night. But for Estelle, the darkness of night was a comforting friend, embracing her, soothing her in the endless grey of her life. It was one of the few moments when she wasn¡¯t being yelled at by her mother or stepfather, when Finnegan left her alone. In the stillness, in the peace of the night, she could finally be herself. Her thoughts could roam freely, and as she gazed into the silver casket of the moon, she no longer felt so utterly alone.

    But one evening, as she stood by the window, the wind gently tugging at her light-coloured hair, she heard it again¡ªthe voice. It won¡¯t hurt anyone if you just take a quick look.

    When the wind swept past her once more, she found herself holding the book in her hand, staring at it for a long moment. There was so much that argued against it, yet so much that beckoned her. The Prime Minister had given it to her. Even if she were caught, it no longer seemed like such a problem. After all, she had already concocted an excuse and opened a forbidden chapter. Estelle had never imagined the stories of the Twelve could captivate her in this way. So far, she had read the book twice¡ªand still, she found herself returning to her favourite passages over and over again.

    The stories of the various gods were told briefly, but it wasn¡¯t enough. She craved more. The need to know, to understand, grew within her, and she couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that there was so much more to discover. She was probably the only Monto in the EFJ with access to this knowledge, and the weight of it pressed on her. Propin, ever the positive and cheerful soul, still held back on the subject, unwilling to delve too deeply. The risk of what might come of it was simply too great. Her friend''s lips curved into a broad smile. ¡°There are my parents! Let¡¯s talk about it next time. All right?¡±

    Estelle glanced to the side. Propin was probably one of the few here who could greet his parents with a smile. She pressed her lips together, holding back the tightness in her chest. They always greeted him warmly, but she knew it was all a mask. Most Montos had no family, and she was one of the few who still had something resembling parents. She wasn¡¯t sure if that was fortunate or not.

    At first, it had been difficult not just to train a large group of people, but also to support them. That was when the government resorted to its usual tactic. The humans who took in and raised Montos received a monthly stipend from the state. Estelle had no right to judge, but every time she saw that brief, almost imperceptible twitch in his parents¡¯ expressions when they spoke of money or his next mission, it unsettled her.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Any good friend would have told him the truth long ago, but Estelle couldn¡¯t bring herself to do it when she saw the happiness in his eyes. Perhaps his parents were taking advantage of him, but Propin loved them with all his heart. Deep down, she could understand that devotion to the love of one''s parents. It was something, she realised, that each of them probably longed for, deep inside.

    "Ah, so you did read it" he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I was wondering when you''d come back here"

    This wasn¡¯t her first visit to the Prime Minister. A few days after he had given her the book, she had intended to return it, but he had politely refused. And when he saw how unsettled she was, he couldn¡¯t help but smile. If this was all some sort of test, then she had already failed it. Her eyes remained fixed on the pages she was absently flicking through. "It... it really is unbelievable" she said, her voice soft with disbelief. "I can''t believe how little we know about the gods"

    The corners of Gunner Fox¡¯s mouth curled upwards. "There¡¯s so much you still don¡¯t know"

    "I can¡¯t believe that Aquarius is said to have a pool where he can see the future, just because the stars are reflected in it" Estelle murmured, still taken aback by the knowledge.

    He turned towards the window, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "I¡¯m sure there were many things he didn¡¯t foresee correctly".

    Estelle didn¡¯t respond. Her eyes remained fixed on the book in front of her. Aries, Gemini, and Gemiano¡ªshe knew so little about the gods whose names she could now recite by heart. What no one knew, however, was that this book had opened a box that should have remained sealed. Lunea, Kark¨ªnos, the goddess of the moon¡ªshe had many names. The goddess said to have given Estelle her very existence. A goddess who was despised by everyone here.

    She ran her fingers gently over the painted image of the zodiac sign Cancer. The weight in her chest grew heavier with each passing second. The question she had asked herself as a little girl resurfaced, unbidden. Why... why is there no one with the zodiac sign Cancer except for my father and me? She couldn¡¯t summon the courage to ask anyone else this question, save for him.

    A thick silence settled around them, and Estelle felt a chill run through her. She feared she had made a grave mistake asking. Her deep blue eyes locked onto the Prime Minister, and the uncertainty within her grew, threatening to swallow her whole. She half-expected to be arrested on the spot. But, to her surprise, Gunner Fox spoke quietly, "They committed a betrayal that could never be forgiven. They fought a battle they had no hope of winning".

    Betrayal?

    A word so heavy, so final. Something that could not be pardoned so easily. Was that why the other Montos looked at her as though she were something to be feared? But if that were true... why am I still alive?

    "But that doesn''t mean everyone is responsible for this betrayal" he said softly. "A baby can''t possibly be at fault for something like that. And it wouldn''t be fair to blame everyone. Would it?"

    Estelle lowered her gaze, a wave of sadness washing over her. He spoke so simply, yet something in his words finally began to sink in. In the eyes of others, she was the one to blame. She regretted asking. Instead of receiving an answer she could find peace with, all it had done was raise more questions, ones she didn''t dare voice aloud.

    Then, she felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder. Looking up, she met the Prime Minister¡¯s kind smile. "But I want to change that. Everyone should have the right to believe what they want and do what they choose".

    Estelle knew those words were meant for Monto, meant for her. So many had promised the same before, yet for some inexplicable reason, this time, it felt different.

    Suddenly, the door swung open, and Bintley stepped into the room. Before panic could take hold, the Prime Minister swiftly seized the book from Estelle¡¯s hand, concealing it beneath a pile of documents.

    "Bintley, I wasn¡¯t aware we had a meeting scheduled" Gunner Fox said smoothly.

    "We don¡¯t" Bintley replied coolly. "I¡¯m here to give my usual report. But I didn¡¯t realise Miss Th¨¢lassa had an important appointment with you".

    As always, Bintley didn¡¯t spare her a glance, but the barely concealed disdain in his voice was unmistakable. Estelle¡¯s unease deepened. There was no rational reason for someone like her, a mere employee, to be in this room.

    Gunner Fox quickly donned his television smile. "Don¡¯t worry. You¡¯re not interrupting anything. I didn¡¯t have an appointment with her. I simply wanted to review a report she had written"

    He guided her toward the door, and just as Estelle was about to step out, the Prime Minister pressed the book back into her hand and quietly closed the door behind her.

 Chapter 7

    "I think this is the first time we¡¯ve been on a mission together" Propin said, brushing his hazel hair away from his face. He and Estelle stood atop a high platform, the city sprawling beneath them like a miniature world, its people reduced to tiny, scurrying dots. The masks of the two Monto concealed their faces, but even without seeing her expression, the young Aries could sense something different about his Cancer partner. There was a rare spark of enthusiasm in her demeanour. A departure from her usual restrained focus.

    Estelle always approached her missions with precision and efficiency. She was methodical, unflinching. Yet, that didn¡¯t mean she excelled by choice or got any satisfaction from her work. Duty was a heavy yoke they all bore. Their instructions had come through yet another encrypted code, delivered by sheer happenstance. They knew what needed to be done, but the unspoken weight of it hung between them as the wind howled softly at their backs.

    Their mission was clear: to quell the New Justice Party riots without leaving a trace of evidence behind.

    "Let¡¯s get started" Estelle said, her voice steady as she began to climb down the railing with deliberate care. Propin followed close behind, scratching the back of his head thoughtfully. "I¡¯ve got to say, you¡¯re unusually motivated for this job. This isn¡¯t like you at all"

    Anyone who knew her even a little would have noticed the difference, so his observation didn¡¯t surprise her. After every mission, she returned with the same expression¡ªemotionless, detached, as if each task weighed heavier than the last. The skyscraper they stood on wasn¡¯t the tallest in the city, but it loomed high enough that a single misstep could mean death. Though this was their first mission together, they moved like clockwork, perfectly synchronised. The routine was ingrained¡ªdestroying documents, erasing evidence, wiping away traces of rebellion. It was just another day in their lives as Montos.

    Yet one thing nagged at Estelle. Why were these crates left exposed, so precariously placed on such a high building? Her brow furrowed as she worked. "Maybe we¡¯re doing the right thing" she murmured, her gloved hands deftly sorting through another pile. Propin froze mid-task, his dark blue mask tilting slightly as he looked at her. His silence spoke volumes. An unspoken caution against trusting too easily. Perhaps it was naive to believe in the Prime Minister¡¯s promises. But in the months since she¡¯d been quietly testing his sincerity, he¡¯d never faltered. Despite her scepticism, Estelle couldn¡¯t help but hold on to a small, fragile hope that maybe this time was different.

    Patience. Perhaps that was all they needed, just a little more patience. Montos didn¡¯t live for eighty short years like humans; they had time. Maybe now, at long last, the winds of change were finally stirring. If protecting the government and its promises of a new future meant risking everything, then she would do it. Whatever the cost, she would see it through. "I don¡¯t know..." Propin muttered hesitantly. Like most Montos, he didn¡¯t hold strong opinions about politics. Why should he? They didn¡¯t even have the right to vote. What difference did it make to have opinions on a system that barely acknowledged them?

    "I haven¡¯t seen any real changes for us yet" he continued, his voice tinged with a mix of scepticism and quiet concern. "It¡¯s good to see you looking happier about it all, but... it worries me a little, the way your opinion shifted so suddenly"

    Estelle froze, her breath catching for a moment. She knew Propin was right. He wasn¡¯t the only one who had noticed the change in her. Simon had picked up on it weeks ago, and the other officers had started watching her with an even sharper eye than usual. She¡¯d tried to act as though everything was normal, to slip back into her usual routine, but no matter how hard she tried, it wasn¡¯t working.

    ¡°It¡¯s the book, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    The casual question hit her like a slap. People often dismissed Propin as an overly cheerful fool, but in this moment, he had cut straight to the truth. He had seen through her, through the fragile mask she had been clinging to.

    He was right. It was the book. She couldn¡¯t escape its pull, couldn¡¯t untangle herself from the myths, the sagas, the stories of the gods. Each word seemed to sink into her, taking root. It was intoxicating, a drug she couldn¡¯t put down, no matter how hard she tried.

    And now a question haunted her¡ªone that she couldn¡¯t push away. Was this why belief in the gods and their legacy was so despised? Was it because the truth was too powerful, too tempting to resist?

    Her lips parted slightly as footsteps echoed through the space. Both Monto froze, rendered speechless by the sight before them. Just a few metres away stood a tall, slightly muscular young man. His jet-black hair framed almond-shaped, onyx eyes that held an unreadable intensity. Silence descended once more. Judging by his features, he appeared to be from Long Chao.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    A ripple of unease coursed through Estelle. What were they supposed to do now? Every misstep, every wrong move could cost the others their lives. Her gaze darted to the door behind him. There wasn¡¯t much time to think, but an idea began to form. If she could push him through the door with her wind power, they might have a chance to escape without drawing further attention. Determined, Estelle raised her hands. But before she could act, her opponent seemed to anticipate her intentions. To her shock, he countered with a jet of water. Her breath caught, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Propin¡¯s astonishment mirrored her own.

    He was one of them. A Monto.

    Estelle¡¯s gaze sharpened as she studied him more closely. At first, she had thought his scrutiny was rooted in curiosity, even wariness. But now she could see it¡ªhis expression wasn¡¯t curious. It was cold, filled with contempt.

    Her stomach twisted in confusion. Why? Why was he looking at her like that? Before she could make sense of it, another stream of water surged toward her. Reacting instinctively, Estelle deflected it, using her own command over water. But her confusion only deepened. He was Monto, like her. So why was he attacking her?

    Another jet of water came hurtling toward her. Although Estelle managed to deflect it once again, she could feel the strain in her limbs. She knew she couldn''t keep this up forever. The young man pressed closer, relentless, sending wave after wave of water in her direction. Slowly, she began to retreat, each step a battle against the oncoming tide. As she launched another jet of water back at him, her foot slipped. Panic flared for a moment as she fought for balance, but before she could recover, she heard the rush of fire.

    Propin.

    He had seen enough. In a desperate move, he shot a blast of fire at their assailant. Neither of them had ever been in a real fight, one where their elemental powers could be used to hurt. Fire against water. Both knew how this would end.

    In an instant, the man was upon them. Estelle didn¡¯t quite understand what had happened. Everything happened so fast. She only heard it: Propin¡¯s breath catching sharply in his throat, followed by the sickening thud of his body hitting the ground.

    Her heart stopped.

    Estelle sprang to her feet, her heart racing as she rushed to Propin¡¯s side. She called his name over and over, but he barely reacted, his breath shallow and laboured, growing more ragged with every passing second. Panic seized her chest as she tore the mask from her face, and despair swept across her features like a storm.

    Fury ignited within her. She stood up straight, blocking the man¡¯s path, and with a fierce determination, she unleashed a stream of fire towards him. Again and again, she aimed with precision, her hands and feet working in perfect synchrony. But it was clear¡ªhe was skilled. Too skilled. It seemed almost effortless for him to deflect her every attack, as if he had seen it all before.

    But there was one thing he hadn''t anticipated.

    Estelle¡¯s hand glowed with a brilliant purple light, crackling with the raw power of lightning. It took a moment for the young man to fully comprehend the threat before him. The blinding light illuminated her face, her expression deadly serious, and when she thrust her hand forward, a crackle of electricity filled the air.

    The man recoiled, his eyes wide with surprise, before he leapt backwards onto the roof, watching her with a mixture of intrigue and caution.

    "Interesting. Very interesting indeed..." he murmured, before vanishing into the shadows.

    She gripped her wrist, fighting to concentrate. The power surged within her, chaotic and uncontrollable. When the flash of light finally dimmed, she exhaled shakily, relief mingling with dread. There was no time to pause. Without hesitation, she dashed to Propin¡¯s side and knelt beside him. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, met hers, his hand clutching his soul stone with a vice-like grip. A violent cough wracked his body, and as his eyes fluttered shut, the stone in his hand turned to dust. When the air cleared and the last remnants of his essence scattered, she knew.

    Estelle¡¯s breath caught in her throat, and she shook her head in disbelief, her hand rising to cover her mouth. Propin, her dear friend, was gone. Her hand fell away from her face, trembling, and she gently stroked his cheek. The wind whispered around her, like a tender companion, and began to sing his mournful song.

    The souls of the dead fall silent.

    Become the song of the wind that carries us on.

    Shining brightly like the moon into the sea,

    And leaving no more traces.

    Warm tears slid down her cheeks, and before long, she could no longer hold back the sobs that wracked her body. She closed her eyes, the weight of her grief pressing down on her like an unending, suffocating ache.

    Eyes as dark as night, as clear as water,

    Leading us through the cold, lonely forest.

    A flame burns, but it cannot light the way.

    I am not alone. The dead are not dead.

    The forgotten are not forgotten...