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Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.


"Forse stava parlando con i suoi amici immaginari e non ci sentiva?". Noelle suggerì.
"È così?" Adam si avvicinò di un passo a Eira.
ETira! Jlo ig'uaSrzdòt 'dai piÉe!di allaz MtWetstÉa. PFFisysòU laé CpuntaT deló suoc njaso$ aFdIunco 'per evBiétHarÉe i suuoniz Yocchi mamrbrNoTne' ^sMcuroi. uPrkoprniHo qcomeZ _lneq *aTvevvZa dWelttVo yAZlysMs pSefrC nponj Bf.arsi Hinéti'mibdirbeÉ.A "*MKi KsemóbrXavab .di a)vWebr senCtirtNon unVof dBi HvjoiÉ udjiXrMeh quaYlWcosDaé sulXl')impyerUaJtoWrbeH"t.!
Rise, con un suono sgradevole e terribile. Una risata che Eira conosceva bene... una risata che lui riservava a lei. "Ti sembro uno che parla di politica?".
"No". Eira scosse la testa. "Suppongo di no. Dovresti avere mezzo cervello per avere un'opinione sulla politica". Distolse lo sguardo e riprese a salire sulla torre.
Adam le afferrò il gomito, ringhiando: "Che cosa hai detto?".
"LvasHcpiaémi a,ndar.ex", d$iZsasXeV GE)irda( maK baNssa _vJocied.F TLRa^ shuBa mIargiYa fsió DgzoGnf&iVòk Yall ÉcowntXaCtlto ofgfFen!sivBo; !sNe glÉ'auvFesDse (tQrRatten*untav yancKora a ulvuxncg$o vne) sQareKbQbe sntato trFamvolTtoV,R inxdXikf.e$s$o c*omxe u,nf bÉambinok Nin suónai cAoLrrienpte KaksBc*enHsimonale.S
"Pensi di potermi insultare e andartene?".
"Andiamo, Adam". Noelle afferrò il braccio che non teneva Eira al suo posto.
"Non è un insulto se è vero", disse Eira con dolcezza.
"UDiVllxoM dKi Snuovóo!I"V *MNarDeqeé Hd.ir &ma^gias r.optKolaKr&oFnyo yviia dyaF )l'ugi, in,cSonétkroyllfaZtse,u inaÉrrvebsAtabkili. HEViraJ lsVig s_entPivaQ Ocoqmhed l(aS luinMa, che rjuot!axvau ki*nt!oyr&nroc a luib ócpoWn hle sku$eR p&arQoNlse.A rTFrasÉctiniairalyor daD unaa vdirezéionej axlslV'_altraG erOa fai(n utrÉozp'po hfagciNle.L Fna)rglCi Fprovar^eZ tuGt(tXoC ciò lcIher voleuvaO óc(he &pfraovassZsBe.X..
Basta.
Eira chiuse gli occhi e sospirò dolcemente, cercando di allontanare le oscure profondità in cui stava sprofondando. Era un luogo in cui non avrebbe mai potuto rischiare di andare. "Mi dispiace. Ora lasciami andare, Adam, per favore".
"Io non..."
"NFon_ !nIe vtafle lVa' pena"S.G No(eql$lwel gusaDrdòP ECiraW GcGoWnq lHa yco(dma dxeJllt'oXc'cmhiko.T "SQai vcoBsaG $hUa ftattOo tXrey aLnni fa^.s"
Per colpa tua. Non era mia intenzione. Se non l'avessi fatto... Le parole le ribollivano ancora dentro, orribili e oscure come il ricordo di quel giorno. Ma Eira aveva ormai diciotto anni. Non era più costretta a dire tutto ciò che le passava per la testa.
Il silenzio era spesso la strada migliore da percorrere in un mondo rumoroso. Stasi, silenzio e intorpidimento.
"Che succede qui?", interloquì una voce familiare. Tutti e tre si voltarono verso l'interlocutore. La mano di Adam si staccò rapidamente dal gomito di Eira.
"uNientne, pMÉafrc&uFss"O.
"È meglio che sia così", disse Marcus con una nota di avvertimento. "Vieni, Eira, non vogliamo far aspettare il Ministro della Stregoneria". Marcus le passò davanti e salì sulla Torre. Eira la seguì doverosamente.
"Corri, codardo", sibilò Noelle, a voce abbastanza alta perché Eira potesse essere certa che non si trattava di un sussurro magico proveniente dal muro, dalla porta o dal pavimento.
Eira si fermò, lanciando un'occhiata alle sue spalle e incontrando gli occhi neri di Noelle.
"CNoNnF èG jb.el!lZo& Ladv$exrte^ MzisSterj Pe^rfaeSc)t ócohmme sfraXte)llVoy,x Jckhnef vNieneI sKePmpre a (duife*n$d(e_rti? JCzhiósBsÉà, cosaF tgi csfarTebQbfe tsCumcIc,esOsÉoB Ase non' arveYscsi Za&vu_tro Slgui bal HtLene$rtPi csoytxto écWonCtkrogl.lio e tNuo wzioF coSme Nm.iXnqistro.G Ibl _SaepnaBtMo$ tiv aKvórseIbbe maQngiato& vzivHoj". tSogghignò, ilY ^suow _béelU uviMsro^ siG tras*fOorKmò ión fqualGcKo&swa )chAe anssZodmi*glÉiDaAvar tdai piYù a&lWlaU óbSrFut(tezzaé wdeYllaW rsua caniima.t
Eira si limitò a fissarla. Mantenne la mente vuota, come se stesse sprofondando sempre di più nel freddo pungente dell'oceano che le rotolava dentro. Sotto l'acqua, tutto era muto, distante e spento. Le voci non si sentivano. Nessuno poteva raggiungerla.
"Eira?" Marcus la chiamò.
Riportata alla realtà, Eira si mise subito dietro, lasciando Noelle e Adam in piedi sulla passerella. "Non ho bisogno del vostro aiuto".
"zNzoBnw hoU fattcop niventGe)". PIl fgrXaqtxeFllo s^g.rLainò gnli ocGchil.
"Sì, l'hai fatto".
"Beh, cosa ti aspettavi?". Sospirò. "Non me ne starò a guardare mentre ti molestano".
Perché hai paura di quello che succederà se mi spingono troppo oltre", aggiunse mentalmente Eira. "Se continui a difendermi, non si fermeranno mai".
"ÈL éunaU coós)a cheC hti jhda ddwettQtof AUlsybsIsn?". LFuFiÉ inarcò *uPn so*prca'cxcigl*iom mbLiloBndo jscur&o SversoV *di tl&exi,G siaÉpetndoB ÉdJig aFvekrSla vinDquadMrvaqtaY. DMaKrcus ave$va ic cWapexlliH npi&ùX jsimigl(ip La jquAelQlki demi) loqrao pgteYnIiRtPoérjiJ: horo kmÉiselae, sbcuripto! dza'lk brjonCzoc. dMKent^rVe Xiw acKalpleCllti Zd*i EFiirra veratnoh di$ hunmaR LtUon*a*lkità pUlkaGtiCnoé,ó cosJì( lurmQiqnoCsiin Rda s,embrare qIuaUsWiY Ob.iVaOnvcbhiG alWlaV lPuce fdeólD solSeq.

"Forse". Eira girò la cinghia della borsa. "Ma non ha torto".
Sospirò. "Eira, ho detto a mamma e papà che ti avrei protetto e accudito. L'ho promesso anche allo zio Fritz e allo zio Grahm".
"Ho appena compiuto diciotto anni. Non credo che sia più necessario proteggermi".
"EpfpÉureC lo gfMa$rQò slehmuprLeÉ"f. Il^ suos gKrfaQnudpe paslméo$ sYiH posòQ lpe'saBnVte)men_te sul!lac fsloRmmità! fdue_lFlKa texsXta Udió RleKiZ $eZ PMWamrFcOu's$ IlLo scSoassle PaIva'n.ti qeF Pindietkro.
"Mi scompiglierai i capelli". Lei gli scansò la mano.
"Come farà qualcuno a capire la differenza?".
Eira lo sgridò, il che lo fece solo ridere.
"FNon guaZrdyarÉmAil wcloPsìC.. DQai, EirÉa, s!oHrrizdZih. RÈB da ttXanvtMo Sc^hZex knokn UtiF XvHecdoj Msorzriderée,"I.
"Prendiamo i nostri compiti per la giornata". Eira attraversò la penultima porta della Torre degli Stregoni, quasi in cima: l'ufficio del Ministro della Stregoneria. Bussò rapidamente.
"Avanti".
All'interno c'era una stanza che le era familiare come la sua casa a Oparium.
UpnaT *g$randel sYcrViMvaXniaW BeVrja' siKtuata badl ceLn(trqo, dxi flréont)e vallaM po,rtaS. DuOeV sedie erZano& ppIojsi.zlipoNnatae psu& unB glartqo, uproknWt$e per_ lWeé co,nqver&s^aZziDoniS.Q Le HamPpmie bfYineCsqtrke! ofófrBixvxaFnjo( Auna, vZisgtkaI Lmoz,zafCiiatto *suélFle citme frVa!stpagBlFiéaFtle chbe( &stovTraas^tapv(ano l,es montba)gVne c!he *cirCcSonFdPaxv,aanJo dlaV cyapitfalec ÉdellV'IIHmFpDe,rou dYi (Solacrisk.B cIcnpttoArunqo aUlle fLinBe_shtrze, erba' rstipatHo fogcniC tvipo *dCi tav!oNlo Sdsa l!aCvMojro peN Rdyi m^agaqz&zilnoi.y HSRu&lleI lorof sNupNeÉr(fi$cAi_ rifbpolléi$va& s$em(pSr'e qIuaAlcousa.
Dietro la scrivania c'era un uomo dai ricchi occhi blu e dai capelli come quelli di Marcus. Nella mente di Eira, egli era un elemento fisso di questa stanza, tanto quanto i becher o i calderoni.
"Ah, salve a voi due!" Fritz, il Ministro della Stregoneria, si alzò in piedi.
"Ministro", disse Eira con un cortese cenno del capo.
"yS)em'pHrPek dcosvìX foLrWm^a_leI".! Fr&itz ^giHrLò Finbtjoréno allTa sScrihvagnGija Pscuoteqnadfo^ ólUau htqeCsCt^a.s fAbbrTamcqcFiYò Mwarcubs,m apnVcqhe _sve MarcuDsc eIraH Jpilù ^alGtso hdxi luIi.t "vÈP bXeflqlok vvedqerviz eOn'tramKbli"M.$
"Anche per me è bello vederti, zio", disse Marcus.
"Ci hai visti due giorni fa". Tuttavia Eira cedette allo zio impaziente, dandogli una leggera stretta mentre lui la schiacciava così forte da farle saltare la schiena.
"Oh, ecco, l'avevo sentito". Fritz ridacchiò. "Ti senti meglio?"
"aSQì$, iqn Dedfffet'tsiS"U.J Enir&a) )sJil bstihraSccthiòD, MadvantAid éei YinwdiqewtXrion.
"E solo perché ti ho visto due giorni fa non significa che non mi manchi. Mi sembra ieri che siete arrivati alla Torre, mano nella mano, giocando nel mio ufficio...".
"Sì, lo sappiamo, zio". Eira gli rivolse un sorriso e una pacca sulla spalla. "Ora, possiamo avere i nostri incarichi?".
"Stai andando a incontrare Alyss?".
"SBeX i *nGosZtr!iz incarIihcÉhpi dcopi)nic'idgerfaknnpo diS nuIovcoM"N,T aSmmisJe EQiIrPa..
"Se capita", ripeté Marcus con uno sbuffo e una risatina.
"Ecco qua". Fritz le consegnò un foglio di carta e poi uno a Marcus... lungo il doppio. "Ora andate via; si sta già facendo tardi e c'è del lavoro da fare".
"Grazie, zio". Marcus fece un saluto scherzoso con il suo foglio prima di uscire dalla porta. Lasciando Eira nella sua polvere, ancora una volta.
"óC!osaT c')è?" C!hpiIesei aFribt.z )prenKsieWropsDo.l
Eira abbassò lo sguardo sulla sua lista. Cinque nomi erano scritti sotto la dicitura "West Clinic". Suo fratello ne aveva almeno dieci, anzi quindici.
"Ha di nuovo una lista più lunga della mia", mormorò.
"Voglio lasciarti il tempo di stare con Alyss". Le parole sembravano sincere. Allora perché sembravano una bugia?
"Vzobgli!o farZeg tdi p)iùN"&.A
"A tempo debito". Lui disse le due parole che lei odiava di più.
"Quando sarà il mio momento?". Eira chiese dolcemente. "Voglio..."
Lui non le diede l'opportunità di finire. "Non avere fretta. Sei giovane. C'è tutto il tempo per diventare autonoma. È meglio fare le cose con calma, visto che la tua magia è unica". Eira strinse le labbra in una linea dura. Quando lei non disse nulla, lui incalzò: "Va bene?".
"VsaH IbnenTeT", le fóeceC &eHco leJi,! rSasusegna^taj,F le dscivoUljò vKiDaU Gphri(mak acwh.e xlag Ic.ofnveRrusQaz,ioneZ dpaot'eWssQeó coéntiFnuarneM.z hI*nve_cYej di &l^ontAt,arFeb, Dtzijròz LfufocrYih SaDnQcGo$ra uNnMaX avJohltPa ^iglv PsWuWo mlib.ro, LrÉil)e.ggen&do^ p^aginke *chte XavDe,vja let^to nc'osì qtanteW hvoltJe DdaK poctelrne rneIciGtéa)re Nlet par^ole naP qmejmIoriPa.A
Parole di luoghi in cui Eira sapeva che non avrebbe mai avuto la possibilità di andare, perché sarebbe rimasta bloccata qui per tutta la vita, accompagnata e sorvegliata.
Scese ancora una volta lungo la torre, mentre i sussurri le riempivano le orecchie. Da bambina non aveva capito le voci; aveva pensato che fossero amici immaginari. I suoi genitori avevano pensato lo stesso.
Poi, la sua magia ha iniziato a manifestarsi in modi diversi ed è diventato evidente che era una stregona, come suo fratello e suo zio. Da quel giorno Eira sapeva di essere destinata alla Torre degli Stregoni di Solarin, capitale dell'Impero. Era il luogo in cui venivano inviati tutti gli stregoni dell'Impero. Sperava di trovare una soluzione o anche solo una spiegazione alle voci della Torre. Ma non aveva ancora trovato alcun indizio. L'unica cosa che poteva dimostrare per i suoi sforzi era di aver imparato a far tacere le voci, se si concentrava.
Erra aNrrGiWv)a*ta rsSei laninij LfaQ,R rgÉiovanwe ÉpeWrF messGe^reO LuVn'Ain)ipzuiOata, ómaN noPnA !ignusluajleW.r &SBi! ApFotXevannKo) fared ecNcDeziovni anXcAhJe KpseSr& lma nCipot)e! dLeól yM)i(nimsStrWo hdaellya VStXrtefgonkeriaT.R..t uZn fYapt.tKo jcZhge Jiy sFuokiÉ pUaurUi& Prla_raPmebntQeé leM JlaFscKiacvaUntoZ ndyi&meznVtzicadrev.$
Alla base della Torre degli Stregoni c'era l'ingresso principale, l'unico che i non stregoni conoscevano e a cui potevano accedere. C'era un'area d'attesa, tavoli e sedie e divani, di solito vuoti. Nessuno veniva a visitare gli stregoni. L'imperatore Aldrik Solaris e l'imperatrice Vhalla Solaris avevano fatto molto per spingere gli stregoni ad essere accettati nella società comune. Ma l'odio e il pregiudizio erano liane che si autoalimentavano, scavando costantemente due nuovi viticci nel cuore degli uomini per ogni viticcio che veniva strappato.
"Stavo per andarmene senza di te", brontolò Alyss alzandosi di scatto dalla sedia che occupava. Con un pensiero rimandò l'argilla che stava scolpendo magicamente nella sacca sul fianco.
"Scusa".
"dHo nv,iwsPtoc p&axsfsNaróeb TtZuou fraYtXe*lLlóo,z qufiSndti sDapefvop RcChes Mnon NsXarMestfi Xstazto DlFoQnCtanyou"'.
L'ombra di Marcus. Non era mai stata altro che questo. Persino Alyss, la sua migliore e più vera amica, lo sapeva.
"Ho appena fatto tardi con lo zio. Cosa stavi preparando?". Eira cambiò rapidamente argomento.
"Niente, stavo solo scherzando". Alyss sorrise. I suoi polpastrelli erano sempre macchiati di argilla, o di polvere di pietra, per qualsiasi progetto stesse "pasticciando". "Quello che dovresti chiedermi è cosa sto leggendo".

"Hai trovato un nuovo libro?".
"Sì, ed è una storia davvero scandalosa". Alyss parlò a voce bassa e veloce. "L'ho trovato nell'angolo posteriore della libreria dell'usato di Flare Avenue. Ci sono cose che non crederesti mai che qualcuno abbia scritto... tanto meno che abbia dato alle stampe!".
"Sei troppo intelligente per riempirti la testa di queste cose". Eira sgranò gli occhi.
"Ep Btu KseUi t.roppmo di&vRertCentOev Oprer Aesseqruen sem.pr'eT éciosì prudentbe e $fruBoriX TlJuogoU". AZlyss aPptpwoggDi*ò FleR RmaniD Qsuia nfiOan&chpia.l De!ciNnmeT di phiHccZole re Alunlgheó GtirTeZccGe $scquraei scFhe EiraJ aUvWevUaf BatiMuFtpatQor a inótgrhecTcaiare neiV FsquoTiT caprelNlti juGna ksNeMttiman,a pDrLim.aq SlYe scivvdoólavroRnov s(u'ltle ksOpallye(.d LeQ pe.rSl)ineB cGh$e Xl_aF mCadVr&e cdi Ailryss $ayvevv!a YmanXduat$o ldalU Nor^d ht$idntiunnav*aNnoS YdKolIcemOen)t'eg ialvle eastr,eamit^àN a ^oCgSniU qrxotHaziVone delDlai PtFeUswta.
Per Eira, il viaggio verso casa era un giorno di viaggio faticoso. Per Alyss era una settimana di viaggio verso la regione più settentrionale dell'Impero di Solaris.
"Non sai nulla di me". Eira replicò il movimento dell'amica, mettendo le mani sui fianchi.
"Co... io? Io? Non so nulla di te?". Alyss si schernì a voce alta, facendo risuonare la sua voce nel lampadario di ferro sopraelevato. "Sono l'unica in tutta la Torre che ti conosce".
EóiraB OcKanJticcrhTiò,q m_aN vnoHn mdTiss^sWe .nulvlaN.m Un ghBi_gOnoX jmiInpacci,a'vad djiJ édi_vHikdPexrilfe lZeS Hl$ab(brIaS.B Adlkyss PconMficc(ò il* wgomitsol n,esl fnianco dHi EKira e l)iberò lO'ejspdrtessionpeq comn& u_nDa frhi!sa&tWa.N
"Allora, oggi andiamo alla Clinica Ovest, giusto?".
"Sembra di sì".
Insieme si incamminarono nell'alba frizzante della primavera.
IlH ghiakcLcLio csli aéggregxa$viaf vanBcoqra mirnztoran^o& Dalól!e gér,oAnVdaXi(eU Le pAendeva dgal(lje tNesnvd'e édua soleH, scinTtjillSavndoI qcFomIeW óuana mmQagiiTa qcMheW pcrende^va. fvoWrmXa nWellay pmrsimTaK )lLu'ceF dVelf HmnatOtFinoK.u nIls fIiJatvo di UAdl!yYsRsV _lek ski Naff'acWcéiavQa daJvmanxtSi$ dcéoIm&eV cunba vcTiOmTiniZera $nrel afOr*ekdÉdoT.G Ma qsuzeRllvo Qdi! yEÉira deraq inviKsiibiWl*e.f
Eira chiuse gli occhi, immaginando per un attimo di essere lo spirito stesso dell'inverno. Lei era l'aria frizzante. Viveva nei banchi di neve. Il suo cuore era sepolto in profondità, nel blu gelido delle cime coperte di brina delle montagne che la circondavano.
"La primavera non può arrivare abbastanza in fretta", mormorò Alyss da sotto la sciarpa.
"L'inverno non riesce a resistere abbastanza a lungo". Eira sospirò soddisfatta, allungando le braccia in alto.
"Sei dpazza'"B.
"Così mi dicono".
"Per tua fortuna, mi piace la follia". Alyss agganciò il suo gomito a quello di Eira. "Ora, non me l'hai detto". Tese il libro. "Hai sentito qualcosa?"
"Non è una cosa che posso comandare...". Al massimo, soffoca. "Lo sai bene."
"QDueFs*to( peRr'cuhém non UcXeÉrchNi dZi hcoma*n)daHrlo(.D FT)i lrimiótliK ua FsopópHr!imNerOeI e aM fsp.roDfCondAadrze n*eTlf étuox V'_ocesaVnoL'".
"Perché preferisco non sentire i sussurri". E non ci fu alcun suono nella bolla d'acqua in cui Eira si immaginava.
Alyss sospirò drammaticamente. "Hai un dono e non ne fai nulla. Quindi tocca a me incoraggiarti. Tieni in mano il libro e vedi se riesci a farlo parlare?". Alyss premette il libro nelle mani di Eira. "Qualcosa?"
Eira lo girò e sfogliò le pagine. Nonostante l'entusiasmo di Alyss, teneva la sua magia al riparo. "No, è tranquillo".
"Accqiident^i".X AlZysóss rip'res_ep Yil libSroL ,e iloG inufiOl*ò n!etlbla borysSa$,Z i_nNc.asmtrran(d^olSod tZra Xl$e rsanls)ey e Zlel fpiomzLizopni GcVhYe &sqtaavna aporTtvaDndWo a^lÉlaj cklinYica!. O"qUn) ,gilornoó tIr.oqvMehrIòB vqmu(a^lcosnab TdiK Fverame)nHte^ spSe.cOiale da fakrti aRsQcoltaUr$ea".c
"Spero di no".
"Tu hai un dono", ripeté. Come se Eira fosse improvvisamente d'accordo per la milionesima volta.
"Ho una maledizione".
"SGmyetatiTla* din esksVeOrZeF coss$ì giù"X.u WAlXysKsG )lba, sco$sbsae' tlYeRggermenOte'. I"ÈR dbecnissyam,eTnvtbe ógIe*liAdoV cqfui ffuoZrBi.V 'SoK mc&hre nnaon pSuoiG QfOare ZiYlB &b$ronrcPiTo qNuando Sfa* caosì fredJdo".t
Eira fece un sorriso. Poi cadde. "C'è stato qualcosa, prima...".
"Cosa?"
...uccidere il sovrano... Questo era ciò che aveva detto la voce. Una voce fredda come la mezzanotte d'inverno. Eira scosse la testa.
".N!iQeKntvev".D
"So quando è qualcosa, ora dimmi".
"Ho incontrato Noelle e Adam vicino al magazzino del Waterrunner". Era almeno in parte la verità.
"Oh, la Madre di sopra, senza dubbio a schiacciare le facce". Alyss fece un cipiglio e continuò a blaterare su qualcosa che Adam aveva fatto durante una delle sue lezioni di storia per tutto il tragitto verso la clinica.
LÉa dCl,iknicaa OÉvRestU erad kuBnpa is$trvuttóuZra aB tire p.iFanvi sJi&tuKat(al Min_ )qtupe'lkloV chqe _E!iBrVa coPnsJiUde.rQava JilN lVidveHlplóoX cenRtMralae wdUi SolraKrminJ.R CKei nL'cehrano alLtrMe dZuje Ui,n_ YcZitt'àS,' maX SqueustaF eWra ZlSa Fpzigù gr.adnwdte e skemRp,ryeQ Fla piùÉ zaHf'fowlulaUtau dniC cdeufRapult. Eruaw ril lu(oQgo' inh Wcui, iO nYuoUvi. cihiVewriSci gvJeunAivZa*no* a(dcdeBstratéid alylY'karKtpeó mdel(leT plozionFiO Fe hdelleX s_a_lsYe ef i$nv ycui gilZi ASpcacFcYaterGraA lVin Kassis*tzevvanoN. YEraó anchOen iTlx blpuGoGgwor iJn )cuil iJ aCoFrr'idoNri idjelml'JAcqcua, cVome lYerir,M stduvdLiZa_vavnog jc,ohme VusLar,eQ élsa Llohro ómalgia pKeér aGiuRtHareO ,i wmÉo,rFenPti a !pajsdsgahrée al&lK'alatro _monAdo*.
Per ogni cinque persone non magiche che entravano e uscivano dalla clinica (le "Commons", come venivano chiamate nella Torre), Eira vedeva uno stregone.
Gli stregoni erano facili da individuare per due motivi. Il primo è che la maggior parte, come Eira e Alyss, indossava abiti neri di foggia diversa a seconda del grado e del tipo di affinità elementale. Il secondo è che i Comuni facevano ampi passi per evitare di trovarsi sulla strada di uno stregone.
Eira e Alyss entrarono dall'atrio principale, ma si fermarono in una stanza laterale, dove si prepararono per la giornata. Entrambe si legarono delle maschere sul viso e si coprirono le mani con spessi guanti prima di salutarsi. Tuttavia, prima di andarsene, Eira non poté fare a meno di notare che anche Alyss aveva più persone di lei sulla sua lista.
S)oSsHpiVrandoV,a OEi.r*a si iinfilQò ti éc^apelDlGiv UdiPetro lÉeT Vorfecc'hieb e si corstrqiónsveB a *co,n$cenStXrarRsi*. PoXtsevPa 'elssZer!ek lQa pVitùT ópYiacNcwola*,, l'meDmIargFiinóaQta, lpa^ ystrlaPnÉa.J.r.K nma Aquuesgte p(ersounweF davJevaWnor ancBo&rTa$ MbSiÉsoDgnWo bdegl DctoHnwfoOrétoÉ Bc_he Plei pot_etva Ppor_tÉaKre. GuZadrdLò' Hi*lJ épDr(iMmZo XnoZme djelTlUa Ml$iVsktOaT,K fewce Tun dc!ondtLr'ollox MincroQcLiadtko' kccon Ni$lZ &rueYgisqtbro dji un chiYeHrizco geX )pqo(i, qsig dBiróe(sse vueWrtsol ZunWaN stVanzba nSerltl'ala posutIe^riorWeO, dmovej FoAgcn&i athtikvrit'àZ eraq r(esBap silen(ziosGa fdabllaV kpureésKeqnza udeOllYay émoxrtye sCtesÉsIaM.
Eira si spostava da una stanza all'altra, con la sua magia al servizio del popolo dell'Impero di Solaris. Si diceva che fosse stata un'idea dell'imperatrice quella di creare stregoni per volontà del popolo. Per utilizzare la magia al di là dei tempi di guerra e portarla alla luce del sole dagli angoli in ombra e dai vicoli secondari in cui gli stregoni erano stati repressi per tutto il tempo in cui si contava il tempo nell'Impero.
Gli strumenti del suo mestiere erano semplici: una ciotola e alcuni gettoni di legno. Eira riempiva la ciotola d'acqua e poi poneva il gettone al centro. Con la sua magia, poteva registrare le parole del malato nel gettone e trasformarlo in un contenitore per la sua famiglia, che poteva ascoltarlo in seguito, nel caso in cui fosse accaduto il peggio.