The dream didn’t start.
It was just… there.
Dark.
Not at night.
Not shadow.
Just empty.
Adriano stood in it, but he couldn’t see himself.
Couldn’t feel the ground under his feet.
Couldn’t tell if he was even standing at all.
And then—
Voices.
Not one.
Not two.
Many.
Layered.
Whispering over each other, like they were trying to say something at the same time, but none of it made sense.
“…non—”
“…ricorda—”
“…torna—”
“…non lasciare—”
The words slipped through him.
Not clear.
Not whole.
Just pieces.
He tried to listen.
Tried to focus.
But the more he tried—
The quieter they became.
Like they were pulling away from him.
Or worse—
Like they were being taken.
“Wait—”
His voice didn’t echo.
Didn’t carry.
Didn’t exist.
The darkness shifted.
Just slightly.
And for a moment—
He saw something.
A shape.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
Then—
Nothing.
Adriano jerked awake.
A sharp breath tearing out of him as he sat up, his chest rising too fast, his skin damp with sweat.
The room was dark.
Real.
Silent.
“…again?” a small voice came.
Adriano turned.
Tomaso sat beside him on the bed, knees tucked under him, eyes wide but not scared.
Just… used to it.
Before Adriano could answer—
The door opened.
Signor Bianchi stepped in, already awake, already knowing.
Another pause.
Then a quiet sigh.
“…ancora,” he said softly.
Again.
Adriano ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back slightly.
“I’m fine.”
Bianchi didn’t look convinced.
“You’ve been having them for weeks now.”
“Two months,” Tomaso added.
Adriano shot him a look.
Tomaso shrugged.
“What? It’s true.”
Bianchi stepped closer.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
Adriano nodded once.
Too quickly.
“I said I’m fine.”
A small silence followed.
The kind that said no one believed him.
But no one pushed either.
“…try going back to sleep,” Bianchi said finally.
Adriano didn’t respond.
Because he already knew—
Sleep wouldn’t come easily again.
***
Valdoro woke like it always did.
Quiet.
Normal.
As if nothing strange ever happened at night.
But Adriano felt it.
Even walking through the streets—
Something stayed with him.
Like the dream hadn’t fully left.
He passed the bakery.
The smell of bread was the same.
The people were the same.
Something flickered.
Just for a second.
A sound.
A voice.
“…qui—”
He stopped.
Turned.
Nothing.
Just the baker, working like always.
Adriano frowned slightly.
Then kept walking.
At the school—
Closed.
Silent.
He paused near the gate.
His hand brushed the wood.
And suddenly—
A flash.
Quick.
Too quick.
Children running.
Laughter.
A voice calling—
Not Tomaso.
Someone else.
Familiar.
But gone before he could catch it.
Adriano pulled his hand back.
His breathing is steady.
But his thoughts—
Not.
“…what was that?”
No answer.
The blacksmith’s forge.
Heat.
Metal.
Sound.
He stepped closer.
And for a moment—
The fire bent.
Just slightly.
Not like Chiara’s.
Not controlled.
Not shaped.
But it moved.
Toward him.
Then snapped back.
The blacksmith didn’t notice.
But Adriano did.
He stepped back.
Slowly.
By the time he reached the archive, something felt off.
Not wrong.
Just…
Different.
Inside, the air was still.
But the moment Adriano stepped in—
A few loose pages shifted.
Barely.
Like something had passed through.
Elio looked up.
“…did you feel that?”
Sofia frowned slightly.
“Feel what?”
Elio hesitated.
Then shook his head.
“…niente.”
Nothing.
But he didn’t look convinced.
Tomaso appeared behind Adriano suddenly.
“You’re doing it again.”
Adriano glanced at him.
“Doing what?”
“Being weird.”
Adriano exhaled softly.
“That’s not helpful.”
Tomaso grinned.
“It’s accurate.”
Adriano shook his head slightly, then reached out and ruffled his hair again.
Tomaso groaned.
“I said stop doing that.”
“You didn’t mean it.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t.”
“…maybe not.”
But even in that moment—
Light.
Normal.
Something lingered.
Just beneath it.
***
About two hours before midnight.
The meeting wasn’t announced.
It never was.
But they all came.
The Pillars. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Or what remained of them.
Gathered in a quiet chamber, away from the town, away from listening ears.
The air was heavier here.
Not tense.
But serious.
Martino DeLuca stood near the centre.
Silent.
Waiting.
Enzo Marino leaned against the wall, arms folded.
Francesca Rossi remained still, grounded as always.
Aldo Bellandi stood beside his wife, Caterina, both quieter than usual.
Standing slightly apart.
Watching.
“It’s happening faster,” one of them said.
No one asked what.
They all knew.
“Our powers,” Francesca spoke quietly.
“They’re weakening.”
“And the heirs?” Enzo asked.
“Stronger,” Aldo answered.
A pause.
Heavy.
“What do we do?” Caterina asked softly.
That question sat in the room.
Unanswered.
Until—
Martino spoke.
Slowly.
Carefully.
“They were never meant to stay with us. As the book of history has informed us, the power does not belong to us… It passes through us.”
Silence.
“They were meant to move,” he continued.
“To pass on, and become something greater than what we are now and what we used to be.”
Enzo frowned slightly.
“Then why does it feel like we’re losing all control?”
Martino didn’t answer immediately.
Because he didn’t have one.
Then—
A voice cut in.
Sharp.
Unsettled.
“And also, why is it happening to me?”
All eyes turned to him.
Enzo stepped forward slightly.
His expression tight.
“If that’s the case… then why am I losing mine as well?”
A pause.
A longer one.
“…I don’t have children.”
No one spoke.
Until—
Caterina Bellandi looked at him.
Not harsh.
Not cruel.
Just… honest.
“…forse è questo il punto.”
Maybe that’s the point.
He frowned.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Her gaze didn’t waver.
“It means…”
She hesitated.
Just slightly.
“…the premonition.”
The room shifted.
Everyone knew.
No one liked to say it.
“…it said you wouldn’t have one.”
A child.
An heir.
Silence fell.
Heavier than before.
Because now—
It wasn’t just theory.
It wasn’t just a change.
It was something decided long ago.
Something they couldn’t stop.
“So yours will get transferred to one of your brother’s children instead. You carry the same blood.”
Enzo didn’t speak again.
But his expression—
Changed.
Not confusion.
Not fear.
Something sharper.
Something unsettled.
And somewhere beyond that room—
In the quiet of Valdoro—
Adriano lay awake.
Staring into the dark.
Listening.
Because the voices hadn’t stopped.
Not really.
They had just… gotten quieter.
Closer.