A beam of light penetrated through the wooden window cracks and lit up his face. Meanwhile, the sound of Mrs. Flint's footsteps down the stairs became heavier.

"Another five minutes..." he whispered. He cursed the annoying noises with a grumble.

The door crashed open. He turned the other way.

"For the umpteenth time, Cora! You're late! Wake up or you can forget your summer vacation!" the woman shouted in the darkness of the room. Without waiting for a response, she picked up the pace to the window and threw it open. "Elidana is already waiting for you!" She approached the bed and ripped the blanket away in one swift motion.

Cora sighed indolently and covered his eyes with his hand. "Mrs. Flint! You can't come in like this!" he barked, his face still puffy. He sat on the bed, ran his fingers through the hair mussed from the night and looked at her with a scowl.

"You must be punctual even on the last day!" argued back the woman. She lifted up his crumpled pants and shirt from the chair and threw them at him. Finally, she grasped the door handle. "You're skipping breakfast today. See you in class!" And she disappeared.

Cora stared at the wall in front of him, gave himself two slaps on the face and got up to put on his clothes. He straightened his red suspenders and went to the bathroom to wash his face. As soon as he was ready, he grabbed a handful of pebbles from the desk and put them in his pocket. Some, however, slipped inside his pants and tinkled on the floor.

He grimaced. "When will she finally buy me some new clothes, I'll already be out of this place," he muttered.

He went to the desk and took a greenish, dented pencil case from the drawer. He held it with both hands and opened the lid carefully; inside was a rectangular iron plate that reflected the light back to him. He smiled unconsciously. It was the only gift that Mrs. Flint had given him for his fourteenth birthday. He gave it a quick polish with his thumb and hid it in the pocket of his shirt. He went down the creaky stairs and walked past, lost in thought, the hallway covered all over with drawings.

He paused for a moment at the door that he had passed through every morning and that he would finally no longer see for a while. The engraving, carved with a knife, read "Classroom." "Sure, classroom..." whispered Cora: it was little more than a storage room. It barely fit the old Teacher desk, the two half-broken desk and the wobbly cabinet that was standing only because they had nailed it to the wall. And they had really nailed it well. He himself had made sure it held up, and then added a few more nails for safety. He was convinced that not even an earthquake could knock it down now.

Mrs. Flint was waiting in front of the board; her long hooked nose was buried in the pages of the register.

"Finally," said the young woman who occupied one of the two desk. Brilliant blue eyes glared at Cora, but he took his seat in silence. His hands began to sweat.

She sat calmly, with her back straight and, after shaking her head in disappointment, adjusted the flowery hair clasp.

"Elidana, please..." Cora leaned on the desk with one arm and rested his cheek on it while he observed the countryside outside.

"You could have made a little effort, at least today..." she went on. Elidana's complexion was light and fair, but when she was angry, her cheeks took on a feverish color. With elegance, she removed the amber tuft from her shoulder and took three books from under the desk. "I hope you didn't do anything last night." She opened one titled "History of Lamia: from the Kharzanian Wars to the Unification of the Republic" and began to flip through it.

"Stop with these fake scoldings," he whispered. "Instead, at the end of the lesson, I'll go to Fez..."

Elidana shook her head again. "I'll stay here, Marmorel is coming to see me, she has to tell me some things, but I'm sure she'll talk about Aran," she sighed. "She always talks about Aran... and she'll keep doing it even more in these three months..."

"I don't think I can stand it until the end of summer festival," said Cora.

"Neither do I." They exchanged a smile. Elidana extended her open hand towards him. "Did you forget something?" she asked, now with a furrowed brow. "Yesterday, because of you, I couldn't get a wink of sleep," she added. "We had a deal."

Cora took one of the small stones he had in his pocket. He cleaned it well and placed it on the young girl's palm. "This thing has to end..." he murmured.

Elidana closed her fist and brought it to her chest. She made a slow nod of her head. "Thank you," she finally said.

Mrs. Flint faked a cough. "As you well know, today is the last day of this school year," she said in a solemn tone. Cora and Elidana nodded in agreement. The woman rose from the desk.

"The apron," said Cora, pointing to her.

"The apron, right... you're right," repeated the teacher as she took it off her waist and awkwardly placed it on the chair. She faked another cough and began to run her finger on the register. "So, "Kharzanian Wars": done. "Union of the Spears and Seven Senators": done. "Cec systems and Croden schemes": done too. "Well, I'd say we've finished the program," she said as she lowered the notebook and took it behind her back. "Well, it means your vacations have started." The woman approached the window and opened it with a yank; small paint chips came off and swayed to the ground. "However, I would like to know your plans for this summer. We haven't talked about it and I was thinking of taking the kids to Virn, for them to enjoy the sea." She crossed her fingers, cinched her waist, and took a deep breath. "I would like to know if you have decided to consider my proposal to find a summer job."

Elidana buried her head in between her shoulders. Cora knew she would have preferred to spend the vacation in the shade of some tree, reading her books.

"We don't have many resources and the donations from the city council are becoming increasingly rare," continued the woman.

It was Cora's turn to clear his voice. "I've already made a commitment with Aran and Fez. We're going to Clodia," he said. "It's a serious thing."

Mrs. Flint arched an eyebrow, while Elidana's eyes widened. "You, Aran and Fez... to Clodia? What job do you plan on doing?"

"Waiters, dishwashers... things like that. The pay isn't much. But as Mrs. Flint said, a little extra money can always come in handy," he said quickly.

The woman hesitated, but didn't object. She looked towards to Elidana. "Please, dear, could you go wake up the children?" she asked in a polite manner.

"Of course." She got up and straightened the shirt that was too big for her. Throughout the entire journey to the door, she stared menacingly at Cora with a menacing gaze.

Once they were alone, the older woman approached the boy's counter and rested the tips of her fingers on the wooden surface in front of her. "How are you?" she whispered with an uncertain smile.

Cora became serious, but kept his gaze on the window. "You were unfair to me, Mrs. Flint," he said flatly.

The woman hugged herself. "I had to protect you in some way."

"Protect me? You should have kept that piece of metal to yourself. At least I wouldn't have found out," he growled, letting out all the air he had in his lungs. He felt betrayed.

"I'm sorry," she continued in a broken voice.

"Well, it's too late. You played with my feelings."

"If the Kharzanians had found you, they would have taken you with them." The furrowed forehead emphasized her wrinkles.

"Maybe it wouldn't have been a bad idea, don't you think? Maybe on the other side of the continent, I have a family... a REAL family," he pointed out.

Mrs. Flint paused and sobbed. She brought her hand to her mouth and her eyes watered.

Cora shuddered and almost regretted his outburst. He shrugged and sighed. "I'm not stupid. It's just that now everything is a mess." This time his voice was calm. He took the metal plate and pushed it onto the desk. "Should I think that this Ethan is my father?" The plate was split in half and he pointed to the incomplete name and serial number.

"I don't know... I can only tell you that when they brought you to my door, in the basket, the plate was also there. I was scared, at least as scared as you are now."

They kept silent for several minutes, a pause that Cora filled by starring into the void. The issue of not knowing his parents had never been a problem: he had wondered about them before. But the faces, the behaviors, the hopes of those who brought him into the world slipped away without any support into a stream of hypotheses. Now, however, the name was there; on that medallion. Mrs. Flint had hidden a secret that Cora had the right to know.

Elidana returned shortly after, "Mrs. Flint, they're ready for breakfast," she said.

The older woman shook her head. "Well, I'll leave you," she whispered. "I have to take care of the kids." When she left, she closed the door, holding the doorframe with the other hand.

Cora stood up, but Elidana stepped between him and the only way out. "You know, I've been thinking about it. I know you too well. What are you and that madman up to?" she asked as she poked him in the chest with her finger.

"Why do you always have to think the worst?" Cora walked past her. "For once, relax."

"Relax? I'm not falling for that, not for a second! I've never seen you move a sack in here. And Aran thinks he's the prince of Lud. You two serving tables or sweeping the floor? Don't make me laugh!" She crossed her arms with a threatening expression.

Cora swallowed: he was screwed.

"You can fool Mrs. Flint with your stories, but know that I'm on to you!" she replied. She arranged her notebooks and, annoyed, left.

Cora breathed a sigh of relief and took advantage of the opportunity to go outside the building and hoped not to meet her again on the way.

In the summer sun, he stretched his muscles and took a deep breath of the countryside air; it was one of the first truly warm days of the season. He continued along the path, whistling and walked past the beam that held the sign: "Lud Orphanage, a home for those who have no home."

He took the metal plate out of his pocket and looked at it again. He hadn't talked to any of his friends about it, neither Aran nor Elidana. He already knew what the people of Lud thought of the Kharzanians and it was not the time to stir things up. "It really isn't..." he said out loud.

The city was just a stone's throw away, at the end of a road surrounded by the green of the plain. Centuries-old bricks faded by time and stripped by the weather were stacked one on top of the other, organized into tall defensive walls that surrounded Lud. The Emerald River flowed nearby, a wide body of water that nourished the agricultural lands of the province; at that moment, Cora slowed down to observe the numerous fishing boats that crossed it slowly.

The rows of trees embraced the town all around its perimeter and transformed into a forest to the south, devouring the rest of the plain beyond the horizon. He breathed in the vague spice scent carried by the wind with delight, and with a determined step, he headed towards the city walls.

The rhythmic sound of wooden wheels on the soil mixed with the clatter of hooves. A caravan escorted by four riders on high horses passed by him. "The inns will make a fortune," the boy said. The wagons were loaded with wood and wild game, but the faces of the merchants seemed exhausted and their gaze blank.

Located on a hill near the entrance to Lud, a giant oak tower over the entire area: a torch burning under the blue sky, with the wind gently caressing its crown.

As far as memory serves, the red leaves that grew there had never abandoned the branches, not even during the harsh winters or strong storms.

Passing by, Cora bowed his head in reverence, a habit that Mrs. Flint had taught him since his first trips to the market. The roots were similar to bony hands and seemed to dance with each other before clasping into the foundations of the earth, clinging deeply. It was a monumental tree, immense. A botanical monument elected as a symbol of resilience and prosperity that the people of Lud wanted to keep alive: it was the Great Jalme.

Crossing the western gate, Cora greeted the knight who managed the entry controls. He wore a heavy armor made of padded metal plates. A dress imposed by his military order that at that time of day made you sweat just looking at it. Next to him, firmly planted on the ground, was the flag with the banner of the Republic of Lamia: a sword with the tip facing down and seven wheat spikes bound around it. Seven spikes, one for each city, tied by a cloth that carried the motto: "Union and Virtue" written in beautifully adorned characters.

The boy immersed himself in the continuous murmur of merchants and shopkeepers engaged in negotiating and selling their goods. He took the main road dotted with scattered potholes and had to flatten himself against the wall of the blacksmith's shop to avoid a carriage that was proceeding quickly in his direction. He slowed down and savored the intense fragrance of freshly baked bread. He felt a grumbling in his stomach. "Maybe later," he whispered with a hand on his stomach.

He wandered confidently into the narrow streets of the commercial district; an overwhelming labyrinth formed by low houses in the shadow of a marble column towering well above the surrounding roofs. At the top, the large clock marked the time and appointments of the city.

After drinking from a nearby fountain, Cora continued on his way, careful not to be sucked in by the crowd of people.

"Antiques at Shadid's," he read above the small store located between the spice shop and a fabric seller. He knocked hard on the wooden door.

"May I?" he said, pushing immediately afterwards.

"Please, come in," replied Mr. Shadid's voice. He was a sturdy and stocky man, with a complexion darker than the other residents of Lud, halfway between caramel and chocolate. "Oh, Cora! Please, come in."

"Thank you, Mr. Shadid, I'm looking for Fez: we had an appointment." The young man stopped next to a red velvet armchair, among yellowed paintings and dusty cabinets.

"Well, he will be coming soon. As for you, I haven't seen you around in a while." The man stroked his mustache, two black olives flattened under his nose.

"You know how it is ... I've been busy lately." Something moved among the junk on the floor and Cora followed with his eyes a scampering cockroach.

The store door opened and Mr. Shadid jumped to attention.

"Dad, I-" The young man who just entered was taller and bulkier than Cora, and he dropped a heavy cloth sack on the ground. Fez had short curly hair. He widened a smile. "Hi, Cora!" he exclaimed. He gave a fleeting look at his father, "If there's nothing else to do, I'm going out."

"Yes you can go. And you, my boy, give my regards to Mrs. Flint," said Mr. Shadid, returning behind the counter.

"Of course," he replied before saying goodbye. As skilled as Fez's father was in the role of seller, every time Cora listened to him describe his antiques, he held back an instinctive laugh, thinking about how gullible his customers must be to buy those objects.

Cora and Fez reached the heat of the square outside.

Fez undid the first button of his school uniform, loosened his tie knot and peeled off his sweaty shirt from his skin. "I saw Aran at school and he said to meet him at the Grand Jalme, but he didn't told me why."

"We have a summer plan. You won't believe it, it's something amazing." Cora narrowed his gaze and became serious. "But it has to be a secret. If you dare to spill anything, even just a small detail, Aran has already said he'll skin you alive."

"You always leave me out..." Fez grumbled.

"We didn't have time to tell you. Please, don't start again."

"Do you want to leave me hanging?" The boy showed his disappointment with a grimace.

Cora led him away from the crowd and returned to the shade of the column with the big clock. Upon their arrival, a flock of pigeons rose and fled. "Okay, just make sure you remember to make a surprised expression when the time comes. Here, take this." He took a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his pants and handed it to him. "Look."

It was a flyer featuring a man on a two-wheeled vehicle with glowing decorations.

"So what, it's a vaasp?" Fez asked.

Cora pointed to the title of the poster and the other's expression became even more doubtful. "Is-Is that what I think it is?"

"Tenth edition of the Edel Grand Prix," Cora said solemnly.

Fez tightened the paper with both hands. "Seriously?" he asked as he stared at it.

"We've thought about everything: travel, accommodation and tickets to the event."

"Do-Do you have any idea what it means to go there?" Fez continued, this time with a hint of fear in his gaze.

"Well, it's just another holiday," said Cora with feigned disinterest.

"It's the Kha-Kharzan!" he exclaimed. Fez pulled out from his jacket a bolt as long as a finger, with the shiny nut that he began to spin up and down the entire threaded run.

Cora gestured for him to lower his voice. "You always complain that there's nothing to do around here, that we never involve you, and now that we have this kind of opportunity in our hands, you back down? When will you ever get to witness the Grand Prix of Edel?"

Fez neither said yes nor no, but once again lowered his eyes. "The other day, the teacher showed us an old article in a Kalaran newspaper," he finally said. "It reported that the Kharzanian army attacked some commercial ships docked there as if nothing was happening."

"So what?" asked Cora."They probably were following orders."

"Do you know what happened to that journalist?" The broken voice.

The rhythm with which he tormented the bolt increased.

"No."

"No one has heard from him again." Fez's face was at the peak of a worried grimace.

"You are overreacting!" exclaimed Cora.

"Do you think it's a joke? Those guys are dangerous!"

"Stop it. I have never heard of anyone disappearing for writing an article!"

"Exactly, that's the problem."

Cora shifted his gaze and sighed. In the midst of the turmoil, he saw a familiar face. A boy who was pulling his blonde hair back with his hand. The proud and piercing gaze. He was surrounded by three smiling young girls and seemed terribly comfortable in the center of all that attention.

"Get your jaw off the floor, there's Aran," said Cora.