The giant, hunched beneath the weight of the bridge and chapel on his back, kept his eyes shut, as if dreaming. His hands, meant only for prayer, now held up a cliff, as though it had become his new sky.
At the centre of the bridge, a boy stood barefoot by the moss-covered parapet. But unlike the giant, bowed beneath the sky's uncertainties the boy, Asra ,stood tall, eyes wide open, staring not upward but downward.
This intrigued him more than the unreachable sky, though he carried the same questions about both.
There was a time he couldn't stop looking up at the blinding fireball that burned his eyes and at the three scars that streaked the firmament. At night, when he crept out alone, he swore he could hear whispers in an unknown tongue slipping from one of the gashes. But since his mother never answered his questions,and since he obviously couldn't fly, he shifted his curiosity to something closer, something that felt almost touchable:
The sea.
Or, as his mother called it:
The nameless truth's grave.
A name heavy with meaning, though none ever explained it to him.
Asra felt the wind whip across his face, tangling his ashen hair, while the waves churned below, smashing into the rocks by the forbidden beach. As always, the water was empty. No fish, like the ones he'd read about. No distant ships.
Only the sea. And nothing beyond it.
He sighed, leaning forward on the parapet, peering closer, haunted once again by the same thought:
"Maybe I really should jump."
But it would be risky. He couldn't swim. Death would be the only certainty, and Asra didn't want to die.
At least, not yet.
Anyway, whenever he tried, his brother showed up. Throwing rocks or anything else from a distance was pointless, he couldn't see the reaction. Only one option remained:
"I should just push my brother in."
He was almost sure the creature could swim. If not… well, at least he'd be rid of those tedious morning lessons.
He was almost sure the creature could swim. If not… well, at least he'd be rid of those tedious morning lessons.
He stepped back from the ledge, smirking at his own cleverness, swaying slightly.
"You're not thinking of throwing me in again, are you, Kafka?"
A rough voice cut through the wind.
Kafka,no, Asra froze, eyes widening in recognition. Not out of fear, of course (not over something as minor as his brother), but because he still hadn't gotten used to how the other appeared. Like a ghost.
He turned away from the view, knowing full well he'd be questioned otherwise.
Three paces away stood his brother, Emrys, arms crossed, scowling. Like Asra, he wore a long black cloak embroidered with golden threads spiralling in circles. Unlike him, he also wore soft black shoes to match.
Asra forced a dazzling smile.
"I'm just waiting for the perfect moment to push you."
He didn't hesitate. If there was one thing he couldn't resist, it was saying exactly what he thought,always, of course, at the worst possible time.
Emrys, used to it, snorted and looked down. Despite your little brother's endless bluster, he was still the taller one—even if Asra, at thirteen, wasn't exactly small for his age.
"Grow up first, runt," he shot back, hand on his hip. "Besides, I doubt Mother would approve of your little plans."
Asra ignored the insult (just a phase, surely), and his grin widened, practically glowing. He stepped in close, toe-to-toe with Emrys. The older boy just raised an eyebrow.
"Funny you bring up Mother," Asra said, his voice syrupy with fake innocence. "I'm sure she'd be very interested to hear about your nightly beach adventures. Wouldn't she?"
This time, Emrys's eyes, blue like their mother's, widened. But before he could reply, a deep metallic clang shattered the air, cutting through the wind and silencing them both.
They stopped, wide-eyed.
The chapel bell had tolled.
They were late.
Emrys ran a hand through his tousled golden hair, already glancing toward the cliff's edge, where the chapel stood.
Asra turned too, though with far less urgency. If it were up to him, he'd never step foot in that place.
Sighing, he began to walk, but barely got two steps before a hand yanked his collar. Emrys slung him over his shoulder and broke into a sprint.
"What are you doing, Rys?!" Asra shouted, his view reduced to his brother's back as he ran like a lunatic.
"Shut up!" Emrys barked. "If Mother punishes us, I swear I'll toss you off this bridge myself!"
Asra wriggled, indignant, but fell quiet as Emrys wiped the sweat from his brow with one arm.
The chapel's gaping doors drew closer.
Once again, the boy would pray to a god he'd never seen.
And for him, who believed only in what his eyes could prove, putting faith in something invisible felt worse than death. But as his mother always said when she caught him faking his prayers:
"Better silence than hollow words, Kafka. He hears the emptiness between them."
So, as always, he gave in.
Resigned to his fate.