Trace of Arcane - Book 1

Chapter One

Not a single gun was fired, not a single knife was pulled. And yet, it left thousands dead - millions born without a soul. But how could you blame me for not being aware of the battle?

I was just as dead as everyone else.

* * *

The city rises in sharp peaks on the horizon, a composition of ugly metal buildings, half-rusted where the rain clings to their worn, uneven facades before evaporating. They are all standing there, tall and powerful but unwanted and cold. Most of the old cities look like that, completely silent, but ..... their existence says something. They are proof of something different, that once we all lived in small but connected cities.

My home is not silent or ugly even though it was built from ruins. My people have given it a touch of color. Everywhere I look there is life. Two girls chasing their friend with sticks while laughing hysterically. When one of them falls to the ground, the other two run as fast as they can to pick her up and brush off the dirt from her dress. Their faces shine with delight the second they understand their friend isn't hurt, they start playing again.

I only have a few minutes before it is time for me to head home. The steps I intend to take are slow and steady. Even though I am in a rush - all my mind wants is to stay out in nature and let the sun meet my skin. There is something peaceful in being alone but still aware. I see everyone around me however the lines between them and me are solid - like a bubble made of glass.

But that bubble would break in a matter of seconds the moment my parents see me. I know I have too many chores to do at home and I promised my mother that I would do them before dinner. Now I only have a few minutes left and after that she will call for me to help her prepare the food.

My backpack is laying in the grass. I pick it up, pull it over my shoulder and fasten it tightly. It was bought a few years back when my father visited Lux, the Divine City. He told me about how all the other girls my age wore them there. That it was a sign of maturity and beauty, every color representing something different. My father bought a steelblue one because of how it represented care and family. That is what he has always wanted for me. To always care for everyone and everything, especially my family. My parents now and in the future, my husband and children.

I turn on my radio and put on my ear phones while carefully putting the radio back in my pocket, feeling safe being alone in my bubble, disconnected from everyone else - but completely connected to my own mind.

I walk towards the track, which has multiple trees surrounding it, maple and linden. Like a path in the forest, like a carpet for royalty, it shows me the way. Our society is nothing less than beautiful. The men building our homes have a delicate taste in architecture. Bright, geometrical and abstract. Big windows and room for nature in every corner. A touch of vintage is what my mother always adds to the description; even though I never understand what that means.

Walking along the familiar street, my eyes are drawn to the expansive building across from me, its entrance adorned with beautiful blossoms. Traders from distant lands huddle together, engaged in earnest conversations. I can't help but reminisce about the origins of our community's name, "Viridis," for green, signifying our agricultural prominence. Our fields, as lush as ever, bear testament to the name's appropriateness.

I observe passersby stopping to chat with the traders, a common sight here, a reminder of the frequent visits from neighboring societies. They exchange not only goods but also knowledge, weaving the intricate tapestry of our society's interconnectedness.

The scent of sun-baked earth and incense hangs heavy as I step across the bustling market and into the cool shade of the Purus tower. Its red clay walls, worn smooth by countless hands, seem to whisper stories of the lives it's sheltered. Inside, the clamor fades, replaced by the soft murmur of prayers and the creak of aged timbers.