Rain poured down upon a beach of black sand beneath tall, jagged cliffs, their edges sharp as blades.
On the crescent-shaped shore stood old Bulc—a man in his sixties—beneath the rain and wind that whipped at his clothes and gray hair. His hands and lips trembled. Though the rain concealed them, tears were streaming from his eyes as well.
"Please, Mocy, calm down. Please," Bulc begged the figure standing before him.
He was speaking to a slender little girl with blond hair, black eyes, and lips that seemed barely drawn. Mocy's hair thrashed violently in the wind blowing from left to right, her brow furrowed. Her pitch-black eyes remained fixed on the old man's; she neither spoke to him nor offered the slightest expression. Unlike him, the little girl stood motionless as a marble statue.
"Please, Mocy, I'm begging you," the old man insisted.
She did not seem to hear him. Behind her, out over the sea, something that made the old man tremble rose above the raging surf, beyond the black sands.
An enormous sphere floated and revolved there; it seemed to be water and wind compressed together, deep blue beneath an amber sheen that did not belong to this world. The heart of the storm pulsed within it: waves withdrew from the shore and converged upon it in jagged lines, while the trapped air roared in a vortex.
"Listen to me, Mocy. Listen to my voice, please," Bulc pleaded, taking one step closer, then another.
The old man turned. Behind him, figures emerged from the rain as though awakening within a dream and marched without hesitation toward the cliffs' uneven edges, drawn by the liquid core. They did not blink. They walked straight ahead like sleepwalkers obeying the wind. High above the beach, Bulc craned his wrinkled neck to count them. There were dozens. Horror wrenched his mouth open, and he clutched his head in both hands.
"Mocy, Mocy... Mocy!" he shouted at the girl.
She paid no heed to his words; her face remained pale, her eyes black, her expression carved in stone. Bulc hurried, throwing himself toward her as fast as his old bones would carry him. When he finally reached her, with no other choice left, he struck the girl on the head, and every light went out for her. The people approaching the edges of the cliffs stopped.
Darkness swallowed her in an instant, though not forever.
2
James, Jason, and Jordan were happily making the most of their summer vacation that day in the earthly paradise they loved so much. They were walking along the dirt road as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon, bringing a wonderful day to a close. For the three friends, however, the day had begun only a few hours earlier, since the previous night had lasted far too long.
They were now heading for their favorite beach in the area. It lay at the foot of enormous cliffs that sheltered it from the strong northern winds like massive walls. Paths wound between the cliffs, and all three knew them well by now. They could reach the beach in a matter of minutes. That day, they were going there to recover from the night before; ever since arriving in the country, they had been living at a frantic pace, enjoying more than enough excitement to warrant a pause.
They carried beer in coolers and everything they needed to make sandwiches that evening. The JJJ, as they called themselves and were known to everyone, had been friends all their lives. They had been born, raised, and had grown up in the same district of the capital. Friendship had been inevitable: back in their home country, their houses stood on the same block.
They loved one another like devoted siblings. They told one another everything; there were no secrets among them, nothing one ever concealed from the others. They were a single unit, facing life with joy and generous hearts. Although Jordan was very beautiful, James and Jason had never considered seeing her as a woman rather than as their friend—a possibility that would have caused all kinds of conflict among them.
Instead, they saw her as someone of their own blood. When they reached the edge of the cliff, ready to descend along one of the paths leading to the beach, all three stopped dead, staring openmouthed at what lay before them in broad daylight. They stood high above the sand, several meters above sea level, yet they could still make out the thing that had seized their attention, stirred their curiosity, and awakened their fear.
Without wasting a second, they hurried down the path, their feet darting over the slippery stones beneath their sneakers. They scarcely watched where they stepped, unwilling to take their eyes off the sight that had left them astonished and enthralled.
They did not want it to vanish forever in the blink of an eye. After a ten-minute descent—a record compared with the time it usually took them—they reached the beach's white sand at the foot of the towering cliffs. Once there, they began to approach, slowly, what had seemed small from a distance but was anything but.
END OF AVAILABLE CHAPTER