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" Speaking "
" SPEAKING LOUDLY "
" Speaking in a magical language " (Spells/Ancient Runes/Parseltongue)
" ...*Quotes*... "
' Thoughts '
' LOUD THOUGHTS '
* Sound effects *
##### = Scene break
Time and place where the story is happening
Enjoy the chapter !
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France – Paris (1:05 PM – January 1st, 2025)
A young man stood in front of a bakery tucked between two Haussmann-style buildings in the heart of the city of love. With short brown hair, warm brown eyes, and a lean frame hidden beneath a grey winter coat, he looked around eighteen. He was about 1.80 meters tall (5'9") and looked every bit the wandering student.
He stepped inside the cozy shop, where the scent of fresh bread and buttery pastries filled the air. After purchasing a bottle of water and a ham and cheese sandwich, he headed back out into the cold Parisian afternoon, munching absentmindedly as he strolled along the cobblestone streets.
His name was Arthur Polaris. A young biology student with dreams of becoming a scientist, who had always been fascinated by the mysteries of life. He knew that research wasn't always exciting—there was repetition, setbacks, and often little to no meaningful results, let alone dramatic discoveries every day—but he loved it nonetheless. There was something profoundly beautiful in asking questions no one had answered yet, in exploring the unknown, and in contributing—however modestly—to humanity's growing understanding of the world.
Arthur had another passion, too: reading. He devoured everything from dense scientific articles to fantasy novels with dragons and spells. One grounded him in reality, it was necessary both for his education and to understand the world to quench his inexhaustible curiosity, while the other let him escape from reality, from all the problems and bothersome situations that exist in this world... all that without taking any risk and more or less for free.
Right now, though, he was on vacation, enjoying a long walk through the streets of Paris. The problem was, he had a notoriously bad sense of direction and an equally unreliable memory, all that, coupled with the fact that he was a literal airhead. So whenever he set out to do something like this—strolling around, sightseeing, grabbing a bite here and there while daydreaming—he inevitably ended up lost. But he didn't mind. He had been that way for so many years, that by now, he was used to it, he simply accepted it and went with the flow.
In fact, he rather liked getting lost. Wandering off the beaten path often meant stumbling upon hidden cafés, quiet courtyards, or old bookstores tucked away in forgotten alleyways, places so well concealed that even Parisians might not know they existed. And thanks to his unreliable memory, whenever he came across one of these spots a second time—or even a third—it always felt like the first. His birdbrain never bothered to remember, which granted him the rare joy of rediscovering things again and again. A rather welcomed trait when it came to secret places… but far less so when it came to reviewing an entire semester's worth of material for his exams.
Now, as a young adult in the 21st century, he didn't worry much about finding his way back. With a credit card, mobile data, and a GPS app in his pocket, getting lost felt more like a game than a real problem. And even if those tools failed him, there were always people around to point him in the right direction. After all, he wasn't that clueless, he could follow simple directions… at least most of the time.
Except that today... something had gone wrong.
While distracted by thoughts of sandwiches and scientific curiosity, Arthur had, once again, managed to get lost. But this time, the situation was worse: his phone battery had died. With no one in sight.
'No one? At noon? In Paris?'
Now, that wasn't something you saw every day. Granted, it was New Year's Day, so most people were still at home, sharing festive meals with family and enduring the awkward jokes of that one uncle they felt obligated to invite. But still, the streets were unusually empty. At this time of year, even if most French locals preferred to stay indoors, tourists were usually out in full force. And yet, now there was none, except him of course.
So there he was, pacing the streets in search of someone—anyone, really—who could help him find his way. Ideally, he would've retraced his steps back to the bakery where he'd bought his sandwich earlier… but unsurprisingly, he had already forgotten how to get there.
So, minutes passed while Arthur was walking in empty streets. Then, salvation appeared : a biker.
Someone was sitting on a vibrant red bicycle, parked beside the banks of the Seine, the sun glinted off the metal frame, and the river shimmered in the cold light of early January. The biker was completely absorbed in their phone, oblivious to Arthur's approach, and seemed entirely unbothered by the eerie emptiness of the streets.
They could've been a local, and maybe this part of Paris really was this quiet most of the time, but Arthur wouldn't know, he wasn't even sure where he was, let alone what it was supposed to look like. Or maybe he had been there before but had forgotten, he had often wandered into unfamiliar, silent corners of the cities he had visited, and this place certainly did fit the pattern.
Still, the sight of another human being reassured him. Finally, someone who could help. Relieved, Arthur stepped off the sidewalk to cross the street, still half-lost in thought, the empty streets dulling his usual caution.
A memory stirred, something that had somehow stayed in his head for years, which was no small feat given his—oh so reliable—memory. He recalled a strange dream, or maybe a memory, of being in England as a kid and stumbling onto a strange street full of people dressed like wizards, as if for a carnival. He didn't really remember going there, but the dream came back often, so vivid and tied to one of his first trips to London with his parents, that he sometimes doubted whether it had actually happened.
Who knows, maybe he was so lucky that he had managed to enter a street full of magical people, one where imagination was the only limit. Maybe his awful memory wasn't entirely natural, but the price of a spell meant to protect the secrecy of some secluded community…
But the memory was cut short. Halfway across the road, he noticed—just a second before it was too late—that a truck was barreling toward him, much too fast for a Parisian street.
Panic surged. With a startled yell, Arthur leapt backward, just barely avoiding the oncoming vehicle. As it sped past, he managed to catch a glimpse of the license plate : *TRUCK-KUN*, before the truck sped past him, disappearing in a corner of the street.
Now, the truck may have failed its 'mission' of cooking some Arthur-flavored pancakes, but when Arthur had jumped back toward the sidewalk he had unknowingly committed a big mistake.
The sidewalk behind him had been dug up for electrical work. No warning signs. No fences. Just an open pit full of exposed cables.
And so he fell.
There was a blinding flash, a crackling sound…And then, nothing.
That day, Arthur Polaris died. Electrocuted while dodging a speeding truck.
A truly shocking New Year indeed.
And yet... it was only the beginning. Because the surprises weren't over, and in fact, a far more magical story was just about to begin.