Past

Elliot's eyes reddened, veins bulging like fish breaching the surface of water. With clenched teeth, he continued to stare, his eyes wide open despite the burning sensation—far worse than shampoo stinging his eyes. He squeezed them shut just enough to keep seeing. Rapid, fleeting images cascaded through his mind. A young boy with orange hair and green eyes raced across fields, sometimes under warm sunlight, sometimes in the rain. The leaves transformed from vibrant green to shades of orange and yellow before falling to the ground. Day turned to night, only to give way to snow that came and went just as swiftly. Again and again, the child laughed as he ran, like a glider soaring through the ripened fields and over the earth, his smile and genuine laughter never fading.

"Catch me if you can!" shouted the orange-haired Lennard, breathless with exhilaration. "You're way too slow!" another child called out, panting even harder. He was smaller and slighter, yet he bore a striking resemblance to Lennard.

More rapid-fire images followed, this time in an even faster sequence. A family gathered in a modest little house, bathed in warm shades of orange and brown. They sat together at a table reminiscent of nobility, sometimes enjoying stew, at other times more stew. Their postures and expressions shifted every second, yet they were always content, whether there was meat or not. Father, mother, brother, and Lennard himself—they were a family, bound together by love.

Days morphed into nights and vice versa. But soon, Lennard was once again racing through the fields. The harvest was ripe, and his brother Max sprinted alongside him, grinning widely. They ran and ran, the fields blurring into the distance as the roads drew closer. They were in a small, remote village in Elitra, a place of beauty. On rainy days, sunny days, at night, and during the day, whether amidst wind, storms, or other tribulations, the scenery was always captivating. Neighbors greeted the eager little boys as they hung laundry or took leisurely strolls.

But this time, no one was there. Only the wind whispered through the streets and the flapping clothes. Windows and doors stood ajar, yet the playful boys continued to buzz their lips as they raced like gliders. Their innocence and ignorance began to fade when they found themselves standing before their own home. The door was open, but no one was inside. Panic etched Lennard's face, and with a mere tilt of his head, the world around him seemed to spin. Elliot watched as the little boy collapsed, only to hastily awaken again, gasping in darkness, a desperate need for air choking him.

Water surrounded him, accompanied by the sound of derisive laughter echoing in the shadows. As the darkness faded, Lennard found himself bound to a chair, drenched, his gaze fixed ahead. Grief, rage, remorse, bitterness—every emotion flickered in Lennard's eyes. Perhaps they mirrored Elliot's own feelings as he observed, horrified and disgusted. But even more, Lennard stared with empty eyes at the corpses, drained of blood, piled around him.

It was everyone from the village he knew—his neighbors, the baker, the priest, acquaintances, friends, and his family. His father, mother, and brother lay stacked together, their eyes wide open—some gazing into the distance, others directed at Lennard. Again, Lennard was enveloped in darkness; soon, not only his vision but also his ability to breathe vanished. Water poured over a cloth pressed against Lennard's face, but flickering images danced in Elliot's view.

Suddenly, he heard the child's screams. Blood poured from Lennard's forearms—green blood, but much more orange blood. The men, obscured in black coverings, laughed hysterically. The flickering intensified as the men spoke. "We have enough blood." Elliot saw Lennard again, alone and drenched in dried blood, bound in the dark room. His gaze remained cold and vacant, fixed on the lifeless bodies piled around him like sacks of rice.

Lennard trembled and sweated in fear, yet his eyes were always fixed on a single point. Finally, Lennard's eyelids fluttered shut. Elliot felt at a loss for words, his heart heavy with compassion as he lowered his gaze. The scene shifted and hissed, drawing Elliot's sight back to Eriksson, the future Lennard. With a straight, cold stare, he continued walking through the gradually fading rain, his eyes focused ahead, further and further until he approached a larger area.

There were train tracks, signs bearing names of distant cities, and a dark, dry stillness, interrupted only by a loud voice echoing in the distance. "The next Ten-Day train to the Kingdom of Zentria, passing through Nigil and Foen, will depart in half an hour from Platform 5!" Following the voice, Eriksson turned toward it but did not approach the figure in a dark blue suit. Instead, he walked toward a small booth with a woman seated inside.

With a glance exchanged, the light brown-haired woman smiled at Eriksson, who offered no such expression in return. "How can I assist you, sir?" After a brief pause, he replied, "A ticket for the Ten-Day train to the Kingdom of Zentria."

The ticket seller glanced at a slip of paper. "First, second, or third class?" After another silent exchange, Eriksson stated, "Third class." His shoulders remained straight, his gaze fixed. The woman added, "That will be 9 Cont and 2 Celi."

As Eriksson reached into his wallet, he pulled out an Elis note, handing it over. The change returned to the woman was 8 Celi. Eriksson pocketed the coins and headed toward Platform 5, biding his time until the train would finally arrive.

…

Lynn Street 16, at the Corner of the Monument to the Goddess of Night

Elliot awoke with drool trickling down his cheek, his eyes heavy with sleep as he rubbed them awake. Slowly turning his head, he realized he was back at Edwin and Samantha's home. So these visions hardly rob me of sleep, he thought with a reassuring yawn. But it certainly wasn't enough rest…

He held his hand before his eyes, noticing a dark blue, almost black shadow looming over him. It was the familiar blue sun shining in a turquoise sky. A glance to his side revealed a small basket containing a note and some bread. However, as Elliot, who hadn't eaten in a while, picked up the piece, he discovered it was rock hard. He sighed, muttering to himself as he reached for the basket, "Morning routines… First, shopping, then washing, and finally work…" With another sigh, he set off, the atmosphere cold under the dark sky and blue light, the golden moon long since vanished.

In about three-quarters of an hour, he arrived at the shop and met Gene again, purchasing something lighter this time: a box of Foenician cornflakes, a carton of milk, and a pack of Avelornian black coffee. His five Cont coins quickly turned into four Cont and five Celi, and the first part of his morning routine was complete. Now, he was on his way to the public bath, chewing the hard bread with a grimace, a spot of mold threatening to appear on one side, yet he kept his gaze fixed ahead. His bandaged hand was almost healed, and his shoulder felt better, as did the rest of his body. Is this the effect of the blue blood? If so, I need more… much more. Ren, I'll see you soon! Elliot thought as he continued to devour the stale bread.

Upon arriving, he looked around, feeling something odd. The bath was open, and a few others of his kind were inside, but what made him furrow his brow was a large clock hanging above the entrance. It was plain and old-fashioned, painted black, with a large hand hovering between the 6 and 7, pointing at the third small tick mark between them. This wasn't digital, as Elliot was used to; it was a type that hadn't been in use for perhaps the last twenty years. Roman numerals adorned its face, but what perplexed Elliot most were the numbers. Why only from 0 to 16, with double the space between 16 and 0 compared to the other numbers?

He tilted his head slightly as he stared at the clock, muttering under his breath, Damn it, that's why I didn't get enough sleep! He continued to stare intently, searching for higher numbers than 16. No! This can't be! I've been working for hours, probably eight of them. Add in the commute and the other errands I have to run for Edwin and Samantha… Elliot's mouth fell open slightly as he kept his gaze fixed on the clock. If I need about an hour for shopping and probably another half-hour for washing, and if I leave for work around 16:00, then I'll have no time to do anything to free myself from this place…

Just then, from not too far away, Elliot heard someone calling his name, "Elliot!" Moments later, he felt a nudge on his shoulder. "So you're finally going to clean yourself up! Sorry, I should have told you sooner, hehe."

"Gene?" Elliot looked at him, puzzled.

"Yes, that's me, hehe." Elliot's shoulders sagged slightly as Gene placed a hand on them, reading the concern in his eyes. "Is it the clock?"

Elliot glanced away, then replied, "Yes…"

With a deep sigh, Gene met his gaze. "You know what? I'll just tell you, but this is the last time—after this, it'll cost you, got it? So, on Earth, a day was 24 hours. But you have to understand that we were trapped under a dome on the continent of Earth. More accurately, Earth is just a continent within a massive mountain, which has been exploited to create everything artificially. Everything above us—holograms, the sun, the moon, the entire sky—day or night. This allowed the cycle to be adjusted to the calendar of this world, Hemorion. On Earth, there were always 24 hours in a day, seven days a week, with either 30 or 31 days in a month, totaling 365 days in a year. That was nice for us since we could sleep longer and generally had more time during the day. But here, it's a bit different. Each day has exactly 16 hours, 46 minutes, and some dozens of seconds, 40 if I'm not mistaken. A week consists of exactly 10 days, and the months, of which there are a total of 10, have either 52 or, less frequently, 53 days. When you do the math, that means a year has precisely 522 days, which is far more than on Earth."

Elliot stared at him in astonishment, his shoulders drooping as the back of his head touched his neck. Gene added with a suppressed laugh, "Sorry for bombarding you with all this information, Elliot, but there's more. The more blood you have in your bloodstream that isn't red, the less sleep you need. Also, not every day has 16 hours and 46 minutes; instead, each first day of a month, along with the moon's color change, alters the day's length. If I remember correctly, the first day of every month always lasts 16 hours, 15 minutes, and a few seconds."

Out of breath, Gene looked at Elliot. "Anything else? Of course, for a price, hehe."

With somewhat relaxed shoulders, Elliot glanced one last time at the clock. "Not really. I just wonder, if you know so much and you mentioned you get paid in certain blood, do you have a plan to free yourself? I mean, is there any way to escape your bonds through your contract with your mistress?"

Gene shrugged in response. "Honestly, I have no plan. I doubt it's even possible. There aren't even any real reports of people who have freed themselves."

Feeling somewhat dejected, Elliot replied, "Still, thank you." As Gene began to walk away, Elliot watched him go, musing, "So no one has managed to escape so far, but that doesn't mean it's impossible…"