Chapter I

 

It was a huge, red house with a magenta hue. The doors were rectangular, the window panes oval. A beautiful garden revolved around the house. In the garden, there was a sculpture of a swan, resting its head on its wings in a beautiful gesture. Inside, the house promised to be even more interesting. All the furniture was in a classical style. In the hall, a red carpet, covered with interwoven branches, spread across the parquet floor. The ceiling was enormous. In the kitchen, opposite, stood a sideboard. On the center door of the sideboard was carved a bas-relief of a rabbit. The beds were oak. The wardrobe next to the bed was small. In the upper section of this wardrobe, there were no shelves; instead, a beautifully lit aquarium stood in the cabinet. The souls of bygone years were enchanted in the old but beautiful furniture. All the houses in Lodhemar had this fabulous structure. Lodhemar was neither a city nor a village; it was an ancient place where the moon never peeked. Only the sun hung in the sky. That was until a time. Now it's a place forgotten by all. A place where neither sunset nor sunrise will ever again exist. Lodhemar's only remaining charm lies in its beautiful houses, where, long ago, extraordinary beings lived, with the appearance of animals but the character of humans. These were the Burbens. Beings of extraordinary spiritual beauty. Their only flaw was their distrust of visitors, of strangers.

No one knows the story of their mysterious destruction. All that is known is that they all disappeared, and that it happened several thousand years ago. Now the story of Lodhemar and the Burbens remains a bedtime story, occasionally told to children.

*

"Marway! Come on...quickly, or they'll take the bench."

It was a small boy with a robe of blond hair that fell gently to his shoulders. His eyes showed no sign of life; they were slightly lidded and lusterless. Marway, for that was his name, quietly approached his school desk. He pulled out his backpack, placed his books on the edge of the table, and silently began leafing through his latest notes from class. Or at least he pretended to, wanting to impress the observing teacher that he was a conscientious student and didn't make a mess in class during recess like his classmates, who were having a blast jumping on desks, throwing pencil cases into the trash, and attacking each other with a wet chalkboard eraser.

"Man, why are you studying? It's summer vacation. Last week, grades in, chill out." A

strong, booming voice came from behind him. It was Robin, his classmate. He was at least a head and a half taller than him. So it was no wonder Marway was insecure around him.

The boy didn't answer, but pointed discreetly with the top of his head at the short, balding man standing in the doorway, who reacted to every foolish student antics with a slight frown. He looked like a piglet, with a round, almost beetroot-colored head, and a small handful of gray hair peeking out from the top. Robin patted him sympathetically on the back, winked, indicating understanding, and moved toward another table with more students.

Marway hated breaks, hated the uncertainty of being hit with a sponge or a "flying book," or having his belongings taken and, more unusually, thrown out the window. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the bell. He knew that during classes, Principal Lajor always inspected the classrooms. The students, like innocent lambs, sat down at their desks and waited anxiously for Lajor. The doorknob creaked, and the principal opened the door. He stood in the middle of the classroom

. "Class...stand up!" he roared

. No one spoke. Only the scraping of chairs could be heard.

"Hmm...Pita?

" "Here.

" "Who are you with now?

" "Mr. Klaus, Mr. Principal.

" "Hmm...thank you, Pita."

Pita was a teacher's informer and a relative of the principal. He wasn't the brightest, but his background earned him considerable respect from the teachers.

Lajor walked to the window; the students held their breath.

"Hmm...Pita, come here .

" "Yes, sir...yes, Mr. Principal," he finished hastily, seeing Lajor's frozen gaze

. "Pita, tell me, do you recognize these backpacks?"

The boy leaned out. He spotted several schoolbags with their contents spilling out on the sidewalk.

"No, Mr. Principal," he lied. He cared about his good reputation at school, but he didn't want to rat on his classmates, as that would risk his life.

"Okay... if you say you don't recognize them, I believe you, but just to be sure, we'll check if each student has a backpack."

He started walking between the desks. He stopped in front of one of the students

. "Derwin, show me your backpack

." "Well, Mr. Principal, I... I... I don't have it

- you don't? That's interesting. Please, come to the window."

The boy stood up and walked resignedly to the window.

"Well, do you recognize your backpack?

" "But Mr. Principal, I don't know how it got there. I swear I

wasn't involved .

" Lajor approached him. He stood in front of him, blocking the entire classroom from his view.

"Hmm... were you here the whole break?

" "Yes, Mr. Principal...

" "Well, you'll definitely tell me who participated in this hilarious game

." "Yes, Mr. Principal... I mean, no, because I really don't know.

" "Don't play dumb, tell me, or you'll get hit for the whole class

." "Hmm... I think it was Marway, Robin, and Clark," he lied.

"What the hell are you talking about, Derwin!?" Robin growled, then came to his senses, but it was too late. The whole class roared with laughter, only Lajor stood still.

"Quiet, class!" he shouted. "Oh, Robin, you'll make it up to me..." Marway, Robin, and Clark follow me to my office.

"But Mr. Principal, Marway and I studied all through the break. Derwin is lying, I swear

—no way. "