The first summer with Wylan
Aditi sat at the kitchen table, busy removing mud stains from her lively son's clothes when she noticed him sitting on the doorstep, putting on his shoes. "Little rabbit, where are you off to?"
"To see my new friend," Jesper replied, briefly lifting his gaze from the shoelaces he was hastily tying.
"Do you mean the little Kerch boy who moved into the villa next door the other day?"
"He's called Wylan." Aditi watched him bounce in place with his shoes perfectly in position.
"Have fun, but not too much, or I'll have to spend hours getting those stains out of your clothes," she gently scolded.
"Sorry, ma." Jesper flashed the mischievous smile his mother couldn't resist, then quickly ran to her to plant a kiss on her cheek, snatch one of the cookies on the table, and finally exit like a small tornado through the door. "Bye-bye!" Jesper heard his mother's distant response to his greeting as the door closed behind him.
As far back as Jesper could remember, the villa bordering the farm had always been uninhabited, or at least until the week before. Jesper hadn't quite figured out what kind of family lived there. Wylan had told him that it was just him, a maid and a private tutor.
"Where are your mom and dad?" Jesper asked, unable to comprehend why a child wouldn't live with their parents.
Wylan was playing with some blades of grass, weaving them between his fingers without looking Jesper in the eye. "I don't have a mom anymore, and my father works in the city."
Jesper looked at his long brown lashes lowered toward a ladybug crawling on his hand and thought, "He's just like the prince in the story my mom and dad used to read to me." In his illustrated fairy tale book, there was a drawing of a lonely little prince with red hair, who never left his castle. And as wonderful as his kingdom was, he was always sad because he had no one to enjoy everything he owned with.
Under the summer sun, Jesper headed towards the villa, sometimes kicking a stone enough rounded to easily roll away, sometimes tearing leaves from plants that he could catch with his hands while walking, sometimes stopping to pick up a branch to smack on the ground while keeping the rhythm of his measured steps. When he got close enough to the large garden surrounded by a high hedge, he climbed the tallest tree. His friend couldn't leave the villa, so the only way to play together was to sneak into the boundaries of the residence. At the top of the tree, he looked down to spot Wylan's curly head. As soon as he saw him, he called with a whistle, and the boy's blue eyes snapped upward, filled with light. In the days before, Jesper took a rope with him to descend more easily from the tree, without getting scratched and bruised. Even that day, Wylan watched anxiously as Jesper clinged to the rope.
"Do you like cherry pie?" It was the first thing he said once his feet touched firmly on the ground.
Wylan tilted his head thoughtfully. "I don't know, I've never had it."
"What? You've never had it?" Jesper asked incredulously, and widened his eyes when Wylan shook his head to confirm. "Tomorrow, I'll bring you some."
"Really?"
"Of course, my mom always makes it for my birthday because it's my favorite."
"Tomorrow is your birthday?"
"Yes! I'm turning nine," he said proudly, then realized he had no idea how old his friend was. "Wait, how old are you?"
"Seven. But I'll be eight years old in two months."
"Then I'll ask mom if she can make cherry pie for your birthday too."
"Really? Thanks!" Wylan smiled with enthusiasm.
Jesper felt that happy to see his friend so excited that, two months later, he decided that a pie wasn't enough. For two months, Aditi helped him figure out how to shape metal, and together they finally fabricated what would become Wylan's birthday gift: a key to open the gate of the garden confining him in the villa.
The second summer with Jesper
"Jes! I can't believe it!" Wylan brought his hands to his wide-open mouth in surprise.
"I swear! I didn't even know I could do it. It was the first time I touched a flower and took its color away," Jesper gestured as he recounted how, at just six years old, he had written a massive curse word in the family farm's jurda field without even being aware of how he managed to do it. Since Wylan discovered that Jesper could transfer the natural pigment of plants, they occasionally had fun experimenting with colors together: Wylan brought his sketchbook, made a quick sketch with charcoal, and Jesper stole colors from the surrounding flora to paint his drawings.
"Was your father really angry?"
"Angry?" Jesper paused for a moment to think. "No, dad was just worried that I'd do it again in front of some stranger."
Wylan was more astonished by Jesper's father's reaction than by the prank itself. Wasn't it normal for dads to always be angry, to yell and hit their kids when they made mistakes?
"What was the word?" he asked, unable to resist the curiosity of the forbidden.
Jesper looked around cautiously before approaching him. "I'll tell you in your ear, but don't repeat it to anyone," he warned him, then placed a hand on Wylan's cheek. That light touch tickled him, but he didn't pull away. Jesper whispered the most obscene word Wylan had ever heard.
"Jes!" he exclaimed, scandalized while his friend laughed.
"You turned all red," Jesper teased, tears in his eyes from laughter, and Wylan couldn't help but blush even more. "Wait, stay still." Jesper grabbed a nearby blue flower, and with a brief touch, transferred the color of the petals onto his fingers. Wylan looked at him enchanted, but he jumped a little when he felt Jesper's colored fingers on his cheeks. "There, now you're not red anymore. You're blue."
"Jesper!" Wylan complained, he took out his pocket watch to see his reflection in the silvery metal. Clear blue fingerprints from Jesper were clearly visible on both sides of his face. "Remove them immediately!" he ordered, but as soon as he looked up from his reflection, another finger quickly brushed his nose. He immediately looked at the reflective surface of the watch; now there was an added yellow stain on the tip of his nose.
At that point, Wylan lunged at Jesper just in time to block a hand completely green with chlorophyll. Unfortunately, he hadn't noticed that in Jesper's free hand, he still held the leaf from which he had stolen part of the color, and he wasn't quick enough to stop him from placing the leaf on his forehead, covering it in a vivid green. Jesper couldn't contain himself anymore and burst into a loud laugh at the result of his prank; Wylan's face was a mixture of colors, between the redness of his cheeks and the stains he left.
But that blush was no longer an embarrassment; it had made him angry, and Jesper knew it well because he immediately started running, with Wylan chasing him with all the strength he could put into his legs.
In the end, Jesper had laughed so much that he stopped to hold his aching stomach, so Wylan caught up with him and forced him to clean his face. He certainly couldn't go home with a dirty face.
"Master Wylan! How did you manage to get so dirty?" scolded Gerta upon seeing him return to the villa. Wylan turned towards the large mirror in the hall, and only then did he notice his clothes. He had been so focused on the colored spots on his face that he hadn't realized he had filled his shorts and shirt with mud because of the run. "Come on, let me prepare a nice bath for you." Wylan took the hand that the maid was offering him and obeyed silently.
'At least the drawings came out well,' he thought as he let Gerta guide him to the bathroom.
The third summer with Wylan
The bullet shot out of the gun barrel with a small explosion, and by the time it took Jesper's eyelashes to close and reopen, it had already completed its trajectory. Jesper let out a frustrated sigh when he saw it stuck in the wood of the fence rather than hitting the apple positioned above it as the target.
"The technique requires patience, little rabbit," his mother's warm hand squeezed his shoulder. The height difference between them was diminishing; Jesper would soon catch up to Aditi and even surpass her, but the nickname would never change. "And for now, you have neither."
"Mom, I can't do it! It's too hard when it's that far away, and that apple is too tiny. How am I supposed to hit it?" Jesper pouted, arms crossed over his chest, and a scowl of annoyance on his face.
Aditi didn't immediately respond to her son's question. First, she took the revolver from his hands and with a swift motion, fired a shot that exploded the apple into hundreds of juicy pieces. "You're supposed to hit it like that," she said, satisfied.
Jesper was left speechless in front of his mother's speed and precision. She laughed at his stunned expression, and putting her index finger under his chin, closed his still wide-open mouth. "Try again, little rabbit. This time, listen carefully to what your instrument has to tell you, let it sing under your fingers. And remember to hold your breath before shooting," she encouraged him, returning the weapon to him.
Jesper weighed the gun in his hands. When he focused enough, he could sense the metals of the alloy and the wood blending together to give it that perfect shape to be gripped between his fingers. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he even felt the exact point where the bullet rested. It was as if it was waiting for his index to pull the trigger to come to life and fly towards the target. Jesper filled his lungs with air and slowly let it out as his eyes focused on the apple that was observing him from the top of the fence. When the shot rang out, all of Jesper's thoughts were directed at that bullet, the one he had sought. He widened his eyes as the fruit disintegrated with a single shot.
"I got it! Mom, I did it!" He bounced like a spring, too full of enthusiasm to stand still.
"Well done, little rabbit," Aditi smiled proudly. "That's enough for today. Let's go home." From the height of the sun, it must have been late morning; soon Colm would return from the fields to have lunch with them. Jesper handed the gun to his mother, as always after their training. Despite Aditi's promise to teach him to shoot, Jesper was still too young to own a weapon. But that day, his mother remained still, not reaching out to take the revolver, leaving Jesper with a confused expression and his arm outstretched. "Today, you turn eleven; you're old enough."
Jesper's face lit up with a radiant smile. "Really? Can I keep it?"
"Of course," Aditi caressed his face. "But I'll keep the bullets." And with a quick gesture, she opened the revolver's cylinder and slid all the bullets into her hand.
Jesper couldn't contain his excitement; his birthday had started off great and was only destined to get better. He couldn't wait to go to Wylan's to show him his new gun, so he walked briskly with a box under his arm containing the leftovers of Aditi's cherry cake, and the revolver neatly tucked into the holster his father had given him just before he left for his friend's home.
"Wy!" he called out in a whisper, leaning against the tall gate that separated the villa from the rest of the world. However, for several seconds, there was no response, which was strange because Wylan was always ready and punctual to meet him. "Wy, are you there?" he inquired, peering through the gate bars and hedge leaves.
His eyes scanned every inch of the lawn in search of his friend, and finally, he noticed a tuft of reddish hair peeking out from behind the bark of a tree. But no matter how many times Jesper repeated his name, Wylan didn't respond. Had he fallen asleep there while waiting for him? Jesper wasn't known for being patient, so he stopped waiting for a response; he forcefully pressed the palm of his hand against the gate lock, and within a few minutes of work and concentration, he managed to open it.
He entered the garden as he had done hundreds of times before, ready to find Wylan leaning against the tree trunk dozing off. However, when he leaned beyond the large bark, he didn't see what he expected. His friend was curled up, with his face hidden between his knees held close to him.
"Wy, what's wrong? Does your stomach hurt?" he asked, approaching him.
"No," came the strained reply. "Happy birthday." Wylan's mumble reached Jesper's ears with great difficulty.
"Thanks, I brought you mom's pie."
"I'm not hungry, sorry." Wylan still hadn't lifted his head, and Jesper continued to strain to look at his face.
"Okay, you can eat it later." Jesper placed the box on the ground and sat next to Wylan. "Did your dad leave?"
"He left this morning," he confirmed, but didn't elaborate. Jesper had no idea what was going through his friend's mind, perhaps he felt sad because his dad had returned to the city and left him there.
"Look at what mom got me for my birthday." He presented the revolver, the metal gleamed under the sunlight filtering through the tree leaves.
Wylan raised his face from his hiding place to observe what Jesper was showing him. "It's very nice, Jes."
"Isn't it? I love it too. But mom says she'll teach me to make bullets when I'm older."
"I'm sure you'll be great."
"Wy, what's going on? Why are you sitting like this?" Jesper tried to pull his forearm to see his face, but as soon as he touched his sleeve, Wylan flinched. He immediately protected the spot Jesper had touched with his free hand and hissed in pain. Wylan's instinctive reaction had revealed his face, and Jesper fell silent upon seeing that one of those blue eyes he knew so well was surrounded by a reddish-purple color that clashed greatly with the myriad of brown freckles.
"I fell down the stairs," Wylan immediately responded to the question Jesper hadn't found the words to formulate yet.
Jesper couldn't stop to look at him. Now that he looked closer, he was wearing a long shirt and long pants, covering every inch of his fair skin. Yet, it was such a hot day that such heavy clothing must have been stifling. "Does it hurt a lot?"
"I'm fine." Wylan remained curled up, hugging his arms tighter around his legs, as if he wanted to disappear within himself. "Jes, I have to go home."
"But we were supposed to go swimming in the river."
"I can't." Wylan pulled the shirt sleeve nervously.
"Why can't you? You said it doesn't hurt."
"But now I have a stomachache, I can't anymore. Goodbye." Wylan didn't give him a chance to retort and disappeared into the villa, which Jesper was denied access to.
He stood there for a long moment, motionless, staring at the spot where his friend had just vanished, unsure whether to feel hurt, angry, or both. Not knowing what else to think, he got up from the lawn where he had settled and, only then, noticed a sheet of paper exactly where Wylan had been. A watercolor version of himself smiled, surrounded by orange flowers.
The fourth summer with Jesper
The evening in Novyi Zem was different from Ketterdam. The air was cool, but the trees softened the wind that brushed against Wylan's arms, and he didn't feel cold. He had been living in the sunny countryside for four years now and continued to be amazed at how different it was from the humidity and cold he was used to. He lifted his nose to the sky and, among the branches of the trees, searched for the moon. Since the new tutor had arrived, he had developed a passion for astronomy, constantly talking about stars and how he wanted to see them. The teacher had explained that there was a high probability of witnessing a phenomenon called "shooting stars" that day, and Wylan was so fascinated that he spent the entire afternoon discussing it with Jesper.
"What? You mean you've never seen one?" Jesper interrupted abruptly.
"No," Wylan suddenly felt embarrassed to admit it. "I'm not allowed to go out when it's dark."
"That changes tonight." Jesper had that determined expression on his face that Wylan saw every time he was about to pull the trigger and hit the mark. It was somehow reassuring and frightening, and he couldn't explain the feeling it gave him. "Be near the gate at midnight, I'll take you to a nice place."
It wasn't even that difficult to sneak out of bed quietly and exit through the back door. Gerta always repeated to him that he was such a well-behaved child, while his father liked to remind him that he couldn't do anything on his own. So, perhaps, no one could have expected that the little eleven-year-old would dare to sneak out of the house at night.
Wylan swung his legs to relieve the anxiety of breaking the rules and prayed that Gerta wouldn't suddenly decide to look out the window. He was so panicked that he didn't even hear the gate open behind him.
"Wy, let's go," Jesper called him, making him jump in fright.
"I'm coming." He put the gate key in his pocket and quickly followed his friend beyond the high hedge. The world was the same as always, but it was the first time Wylan saw it shrouded in darkness and illuminated only by the moonlight. The further they got from the villa, the more it seemed to be a bright blue rather than a shapeless black spot. "Jes, where are we going?"
"I know a place, trust me," he replied enigmatically, but it seemed enough for Wylan. The road was gradually becoming steeper and steeper. The only sounds around them were the crickets, the rustling of the grass, and what seemed like the gurgling of a little river not too far away. Looking up, Wylan realized that the light was getting brighter, the stars shone even more now that they were higher. He was so engrossed in the spectacle that he almost stumbled over his own feet. "Hey, eyes on the road, you can look at the stars later." Jesper laughed at his clumsiness, but then took his hand to make sure he didn't fall.
After another minute of walking, hidden behind thick vegetation, there was a stone structure that looked like an old abandoned tower. What used to be the entrance door was now just a large wooden plank resting on the opening. Jesper moved it without too much difficulty, and Wylan let himself be led inside those walls that smelled of mold and the dampness of a place that had not been ventilated for a long time.
"How do you know this place?" Every step Wylan took was cautious and well-calculated; weeds had grown on the floor, and debris was scattered everywhere.
"When I was little, Dad and I went exploring and found it," Jesper began to explain as he patiently waited for Wylan to join him at the stairs leading upstairs. "It used to be a watchtower; Dad says it was used in a war, but I don't remember which one."
"Is it safe to be here?" Wylan stopped uncertainty in front of the first seemingly unstable step.
"What are you worried about? I'm with you." Jesper was more confident than ever, and that great self-assurance somehow managed to be a comfort to Wylan. They climbed the long staircase that twisted around the tower like a snake until they reached the top. As soon as Wylan saw the sky waiting for them, he instantly forgot all his anxieties.
"It's beautiful." He couldn't find other words to describe the strong feeling of bewilderment and fulfillment that seeing the stars so large, numerous, and bright gave him. He was startled when one of them disappeared in front of his eyes, leaving behind a shining trail.
"Do you like it?" Jesper's voice had a satisfied and proud tone.
"Very much!" Wylan wanted to jump, but he couldn't take his eyes off the sky for a moment for fear of missing a shooting star.
"I brought blankets; let's lie down, it's more comfortable to look up." In an instant, they settled down, despite Jesper's proximity and the blanket covering him, Wylan began to feel his nose freezing. The temperature had dropped, and the wind at the top seemed stronger, but he didn't mind.
"Jes! I recognize it; that's the constellation of Sankt Juris's Sword!" He pointed to a spot in the sky where a cluster of stars had taken a precise shape in front of his eyes, just as his guardian had taught him.
"Which one? I don't see it."
"There. Do you see the two lines crossing, one shorter and one longer?"
"Where? Oh! I think I see it. Is that it?"
"Yes, it is! And instead, I think that..."
"Another shooting star!" Jesper interrupted him excitedly.
"Really? Where? I didn't see it."
"It's okay, you'll see the next one."
That night, Wylan counted twenty-three more shooting stars. The next day, it was difficult to explain to Gerta how he had caught that bad cold in the middle of summer, but it was worth it.
The fifth and last summer with Wylan
"These things are so good... what did you call them?" Jesper savored the sweet waffle.
"Stroopwafel." Wylan wiped a few crumbs from the corners of his mouth with a cloth handkerchief. Jesper found it as elegant as it was unnecessary, hands would be enough to clean the mouth. "Unfortunately, these were the last ones. Gerta says she's run out of cinnamon, and she couldn't find any at the market. But I'm glad you liked them. My mother loves them... loved them."
It wasn't unusual for Wylan to pause before correcting himself; Jesper never knew what to say, so he had started pretending not to notice. Maybe it was cowardly, but what else could he do? "When is your dad coming back? Maybe he can bring you more stroop... thingies." He made an attempt to distract his friend.
"He'll be here in a few days." Wylan lay on the grass and, with a long sigh, then crossed his hands behind his head. The tree under which they sat was big enough to shield them from the scorching mid-morning sun and the feeling of grass against the skin was even more refreshing than the breeze that caressed them. "Do you want to finish the book? There's only one chapter left."
Jesper immediately searched the bag for the book borrowed from his father. In the last months, Wylan had been repeating that Jesper's voice had deepened and sounded wonderful when he read for him. Jesper didn't even know how it had started, but for some time now, he had been asking his father for new books just to hear Wylan's compliments on his baritone and harmonious tone. Colm was pleasantly surprised; his son had become a model student overnight, and he had no intention of asking him why he suddenly developed an interest in literature, he would only encourage it. "We still need to see if the bad pirate died when he jumped off that cliff."
"Of course, he's dead. How could he survive the fall?"
"Because he fell into the water."
"But he was tens of meters high; in that case, the water's surface is as hard as stone."
"Okay, know-it-all. Let's read this last chapter and see who's right." With a determined gesture, he opened the book and began reciting the text. The pirate was obviously still alive. Wylan rolled his eyes in annoyance, criticizing the 'lack of scientific accuracy' while Jesper boasted, "Who cares about your science? It's a book, it's supposed to be fun."
"Books are not supposed to be fun. They can, but they're not obligated to." The last vowel truncated by a yawn that he immediately concealed behind the freckled palm of his hand. It was impressive how he didn't forget his manners even when he seemed completely relaxed.
"Are you sleepy?"
"A bit." Wylan's eyes closed slowly, his eyelids weighed down.
"Sleep, I'll wake you up in half an hour."
Wylan murmured a small agreement and, with a smile on his face, fell asleep in an instant.
Jesper was never good at sitting still; there were moments when he felt like he had to jump just for the sheer joy of it. He began tapping his fingers on the book cover, then stopped when he thought the noise he was making might wake his friend resting beside him. He turned slowly to make sure Wylan was still deeply asleep.
His head was slightly tilted towards him, the forehead free from the curls that usually covered it was relaxed. One arm stretched along his side, the other resting on his chest rose and fell with his slow and calm breathing. The slightly parted mouth gave him a peaceful expression.
Lately, Jesper found himself observing Wylan a lot. He had known him for years, he was his best friend and he knew exactly what he looked like. Yet, more and more often, he found himself lingering on the brown eyelashes, the straight nose, and then those pink lips, thin but with a pleasant rounded shape.
It wasn't the first time Jesper had looked at Wylan in that different and new way, but Jesper would remember for the rest of his life that that was the first day he had thought about wanting to kiss him.
The fifth and last summer with Jesper
It had been two weeks since Jesper had last shown up, and Wylan didn't know what to think. The day before, he had found a letter between the bars of the gate, but, of course, he had no idea what its contents were. The ink danced on the paper every time he looked at it. So, all that remained to him was to make assumptions.
Jesper couldn't be sick; Grisha didn't catch a cold, and, in any case, he wouldn't have been able to come all the way there to leave a letter if he was unwell. Perhaps he had gotten into some mischief, and his parents had grounded him, which, knowing him, wasn't unlikely. But also the possibility that he was avoiding him couldn't be ruled out. Wylan had pondered for a long time, wondering if there was something he had said or done that could have hurt or angered Jesper. However, the option that terrified him the most was that Jesper had realized Wylan had a crush on him. What if he found out and was disgusted by him? Could it really be possible that he no longer wanted to be his friend?
Wylan approached the door and stared at the wood grain for a long time before taking a deep breath and gathering enough courage to knock.
"Come in," Jan Van Eck's voice reached him, muffled from the distance.
The shiny brass handle shouldn't have been so heavy, but it took him a great effort to turn it and take the first step into his father's study. "Good morning, Father. Did you want to see me?" Jan's authoritative figure stood in front of the window, backlit, and Wylan couldn't distinguish his expression, which only increased his anxiety.
"Come, son. Sit down." Wylan had already learned that what sounded like a cordial invitation was actually a peremptory order. He quickly sat on the chair his father had indicated to him with a glance.
However, his father didn't take a seat at the desk but began to wander around the room with his hands crossed behind his back. His slow steps and the eyes distracted at exploring the room made him look like someone that was just strolling carefreely, leaving the boy confused. He had no idea what was about to happen. It was only nine in the morning; his father's reading lessons took place only in the evening, after he finished his daily work. And he looked so calm that morning, but Jan Van Eck was never calm in his presence; he was always annoyed when he had to talk to his son. What was he thinking? Was he perhaps experimenting with a new way to test him?
"How are your studies progressing?" The sudden question made Wylan jump in his chair.
"Very well, Father." Wylan swallowed in an attempt to hide the tremor in his voice. "Mr. Thompson says I excel in physics, chemistry, and algebra. Starting next semester, we'll study philosophy, and I'm quite excited to learn about the political, ethical, and logical thinking of the greatest philosophers in history."
Jan Van Eck hadn't stopped for a moment measuring the room with his long steps, and when his son had answered his question, he showed no sign of listening. The silence that had fallen in the room created such tension that Wylan, not even knowing when he had started, was nervously biting his thumb.
"Come on, son. I didn't raise you like this." His father corrected him, pointing to the finger still clenched between his teeth. Finally, Jan Van Eck stood in front of him and looked at him, yet his expression still seemed impossible to interpret.
"I apologize." Wylan quickly removed his thumb from his mouth and sat up even straighter than before.
"And tell me," his father sat on the large oak desk right in front of him, keeping his gaze in a superior position that made Wylan feel small and defenseless. "How is it going with the arts?"
"The arts, Father?" he asked, surprised by this never-before-shown interest. Jan Van Eck had always considered music a practice for 'riffraff too lazy or too stupid to do something genuinely useful'. "Currently, I am studying a Mozart's Singspiel called The Magic Flute."
"No, Wylan. I'm not talking about music." Jan's tone suddenly changed. If before it was calmly artificial, now it showed the typical disdain that Wylan was used to feeling poured on him. "You draw, am I right?"
"Yes, Father." Wylan was becoming stiffer in his chair. Instinctively, he gripped the armrests uncertain about where this conversation was heading.
"And what tools do you usually use?" Jan Van Eck stood up and walked to the opposite side of the desk, opened a drawer, and searched for something that Wylan couldn't see from where he was.
"Tools, Father?" he repeated, increasingly confused. "I use simple paper, but also pencils, ink, brushes..."
"And this? Can you tell me what this object is?" His father gently placed on the desk the small wooden mannequin with movable joints that Jesper had made for him as a gift for his last birthday. Wylan paled, and no sound came from his dry mouth. "It serves as a reference for drawing, am I right? I found it in the garden this morning; the maid says she hasn't bought anything like it. You will understand that the question arose spontaneously: how did you get this object?"
"Father, I don't..." Wylan looked down, unable to meet his father's icy eyes.
"Don't try to lie to me; I know it's yours. I asked you a very simple question: who gave it to you?"
The fury that erupted that morning had various consequences, from Jan Van Eck's shouts to a black eye on Wylan's face. Yet, that was not enough as a punishment; on the same day, they packed their bags, life in Novyi Zem ended like that. From that moment on, Wylan would return to Ketterdam under the constant control of his father. It had been useless to plead with him not to leave, to swear that he had never revealed his secret to Jesper, and that he wouldn't bring shame to his family name like this.
Wylan spent the following summers in Ketterdam, wondering what was written in that letter and regretting not being able to say goodbye one last time to his best friend. Or at least that was what he thought until they met again, in a laboratory in the slums of the Barrel.