Buildings made of cold metal and ground stone were built in endless rows that curved and stopped wherever one chose to linger with their gaze. They were tall, not tall enough to obscure the moon but just barely reaching its bottom with their twisted yet sturdy structures.
The street looked tidy, welcoming even. Filled with fruit stands that had no customers or owners and stone roads that felt aged and worn. Pieces of it even crumbled under Valentine's feet where he stumbled and looked back with a low snicker.
There were many signs hanging across the buildings, made of aged wood that looked like scorched wood filled with abstract symbols and drawings pointing towards their entrances.
Focusing on the familiar yet incomprehensible symbols surrounding him, Valentine sighed and returned to exploring the Cradle.
I can't understand any of this.
Everything was written in the unknown language he had seen in the notebook Sunday took from him; however, this time, it did not look as easy to discern as last time.
The letters looked crude, curved in places they should not have been twisted, and always ending with a dot or a line that led to the next one and the one after that. Overall, it was a mess.
Perhaps it would be a good idea to learn it later, though he doubted his ability to do so.
He strolled through the curved streets with unhurried steps, always taking a moment to take in his surroundings fully before moving on to another area.
This way, he passed through the empty construction site, through the stranded streets, and towards the main one, a larger street with bigger, decorated stands and wider roads that held them.
Hm? What's this?
Coming up to one of the stands, Val noticed a multitude of exotic fruits neatly stacked in wooden crates for display. Tiny signs with numbers ranging from ten to forty were nailed above each of these delicacies, most likely the price for a kilogram of said fruit.
He held up one of them carefully, holding it in his hand and noticing how similar it looked to an apple.
However, it was dyed grey, with a slightly thinner shape that looked like a mix between an orange and a pear.
Lifting it to his lips, he smelled its textureless skin and bit into it with his teeth.
The next moment, he spat it out on the concrete, looking at the remaining fruit with disdain.
This thing tastes worse than a lemon; who on earth eats these?
His face twisted in unnatural ways as he placed it back on the pile of similarly ashy fruits and ventured further into the endless streets, passing through stores and small factories that looked like the ones from the nineties, built with common red brick in a cubical shape.
Following the trail of dimly lit moonlight, he entered one of the smaller factories, pushing the metal door on his path aside with little to no trouble.
As the smell of smoke and waste reached him, he noticed a multitude of conveyor belts stacked over each other so high that the ceiling could barely contain their number; even the entrance was just clear enough to walk around it.
They were empty, like most of this factory, which had no product or workers to make it.
Looking at the empty place with a disinterested look, he turned back to the trail that led him through the conveyor belts, not caring whether or not he could actually make it past them.
He tried to push himself between them, going headfirst and managing to see the other side that led to yet another metal door, but his shoulders were too broad to fit in the little space it had to offer; his skin struggled against the rubber until he let go and stood up with a resigned sigh.
Dead end for once.
Valentine looked around for a second, noticing that the place seemed similar to a maze except the fact that everything was left in the open like an unfinished stage. Easily see-through and not as hard to finish as it would seem at first glance.
It did not take long for him to find a path around, turning to the set of dark stairs that led to the next floor filled with metal fences and passages that dug through its consistent maze of rubber and metal frames.
With quick steps, he made it to the other side without any trouble, looking down at the place he previously stood at.
It's quite high.
With a shallow grunt, he kept on following the white trail as if it were the only thing he could do in this colorless world.
It was only him, the silence of the nonexistent life.
And the moon.
The silent crescent of fading starlight that rained crushed dust and dimming glow.
Which, for some reason, kept on following his body that was getting further away from the landing site by the second.
Is it watching me?
Valentine gazed up at the pale moon with his colorful eyes.
It looked back at him; no, he imagined it looking back at him with a lifeless gaze of a dying star, staring down his pitiful life with whatever was left of its incomplete form.
His whole body shuddered at the thought of it having a mind of its own and resumed its activity, hastening his steps, which were going astray, leading him through a shadowy alley filled with ink and old rot.
He did not like having to savour countless variants of human waste with his heightened senses - especially smell - but for some reason, he wanted to hide from the moon as soon as he could.
It was something his mind had been trying to tell him.
The cold shadows of a stranded alley hugged him tightly as he pressed his body against a wall of harsh stone. He looked up at the moon above that always stayed at the corner of his eyes, clenching his teeth with uncertainty hidden beneath.
And, for the first time, kept his mouth shut.
He did not utter a single word as it hovered above the darkened buildings, hiding in the shadows as quiet as a mouse. The trail of moon dust was long gone from his reach, not extending for him nor trying to escape.
Actually, it somewhat stopped, freezing around the heartless moon like a picture frozen in time.
It worked... his plan worked!
...Or so he thought.
Hugging the wall as tightly as he could, Valentine started to back away from the frozen moon, always keeping his eyes on its faintly pulsating form that had been getting more active the further he got from his starting point.
It was similar to the letter from Sunday, but also different in a way.
Maybe because it wasn't a polished scrap of paper but rather a giant floating stone.
Or perhaps something different entirely.
Countless thoughts raced through his mind as haphazard as they were. He could not stop them from making him a complete mess in a moment's worth of time.
Sweat rolled down his face like a cold shower; his limbs felt heavy and limp, trying to push through the darkened shadows that moved like thick water.
His skin was turning pale, rugged breaths started leaving his dry lips that opened and closed at any possibility of moist wind blowing at his face.
What is this...?
He could feel himself stuck to the dark wall like a fly caught in a trap.
His body could not budge in the slightest, just barely struggling against the determined pull behind his back.
Where he had not noticed before, charred hands held him in place, wrapping around his exposed flesh like living shackles.
His arms, legs, torso, neck.
Corpse-like hands appeared from within the shadows, seizing his free will.
Old nails dug into the soft skin, piercing through the delicate flesh beneath and drawing lines of crimson meant to be swallowed within the shadow completely.
All of his strength disappeared in an instant as the shackles of old age bound him in place for the world to judge him.
He wanted to tear those wrinkled hands from him as fast as he could and run out of the dark alley. To return to the moon that he wanted to avoid on a whim.
But there was nothing left in him.
Only the sour aftertaste of his lips turning dry and the pale moonlight that was waiting just around the corner.
***
"Earth to Noah~."
The female knight poked the man with her finger, once, twice, thrice just for her own boredom.
"You know very well that I can hear you perfectly fine," Noah spoke quietly, trying to keep things polite.
"I know~ But you're just no fun lately..."
He gave her a sharp side-eye, trying to ignore her provocations.
"Just because we are knights does not mean we cannot worry."
"I know, but still-"
"Cut it out, Lillith." Noah stopped her mid-sentence, raising one of his palms from his crossed hands.
She stared at him with her mouth left agape for a second, then straightened her posture and leaned on one of her legs, somewhat mimicking his posture but in a more laidback way.
"'Cut it out, Lillith.'" She lowered both her voice and expression, trying to make a face as straight as his while watching the children struggle in their sleep with sweat accumulating across the cold stone, but failed miserably after noticing him look down on her with a stone-cold expression.
Falling into hysterical laughter, her voice carried across the street, drawing in worried looks from people who chose to stay and watch the selection with free time to spare.
As her melodious tone slowly stopped, a figure approached the two with a calm atmosphere lingering around her extinguished form, showing her adorned in similar, yet lighter armour both in material and colour.
It was Aurora, the knight marshal who forced the children into slumber.