Tower of Paradise

Chapter 115: Sherazade

«What treasures might the local shops hold? What wonders might the blacksmiths forge?» The majestic and enigmatic temples also sparked my interest.

It was hard to imagine that somewhere a war was raging, such was the vitality that permeated the air. Castles, towers, and barracks—fantastical structures absent in Danafor—captured my curious gaze.

Then, I recalled with particular clarity the first moment I raised my eyes to the sky. My eyes, accustomed to the perpetual gloom of the underground refuge, filled involuntarily with tears. The vast blue of the firmament left me breathless, triggering an emotional reaction I couldn’t contain. «Had the sky always been so magnificent?» I stood absorbed, my soul suspended in a state of pure contemplation as an unparalleled peace flooded every corner of my being.

The air I breathed was exceptionally pure and revitalizing, a gulp of life that contrasted dramatically with Danafor’s stale atmosphere. Each inhalation filled my lungs with an unfamiliar energy, as if the sky itself were embracing me, systematically soothing all the invisible wounds I had accumulated in my short but intense existence.

For the first time in my life, I truly understood the vastness of the world. The infinite blue of the sky, speckled with clouds that seemed like white brushstrokes by a cosmic artist, made me feel my smallness on a scale I had never contemplated before. The clouds floated as if dancing in a slow ballet choreographed by air currents, and I found myself hypnotized by their structural beauty.

Over time, I systematically explored the city until, finally, I could behold the clear firmament that began to turn golden as the sun slowly sank on the horizon, like a shining coin dipping into a sea of perfect stillness.

I shook those memories from my mind with a movement of my head. Now wasn’t the time for sentimental distractions. There were more pressing matters.

Danafor was a gloomy, labyrinthine, and oppressive place by all objective standards. In stark contrast, Sherazade rose above it like a radiant jewel of human progress. They were geographically connected—one above, the other below—like twin sisters, but separated by an ideological and structural chasm that seemed insurmountable.

Sherazade represented a marvel of architecture and technology, a strategic meeting point for inventors, scientists, and merchants who thrived through the systematic application of magic and technical advancements. The pristine streets and imposing buildings were a tangible reflection of planned order and prosperity. Danafor, on the other hand, was the hidden face of that splendor: an ecosystem where misery and danger were constant and inescapable. Overpopulated, unplanned neighborhoods, toxic factories operating without regulation, and endemic corruption defined daily life, dominated by structural poverty, uncontrolled pollution, and overcrowded spaces. Innovation there arose driven by desperate need, but often at an unbearable social cost to its inhabitants.

In Danafor, existence was exponentially harsher by any objective metric. The residents, many of them unskilled laborers, struggled daily to survive in a hostile and dangerous environment designed to exploit their workforce.

The animosity between the two cities was palpable and quantifiable. Sherazade officially regarded Danafor as a primitive and shameful vestige, while Danafor’s citizens saw Sherazade as systematic oppressors who prospered parasitically at the expense of their suffering. This animosity fueled growing social tensions and periodic violent conflicts.

—Stop!

The commanding voice of a woman abruptly interrupted my thoughts. I raised my gaze to see a luxurious carriage suddenly halt in front of me.

—Does that boy have nowhere to stay? —From the carriage window, a young woman of elegant appearance observed me with curiosity as I sat on the ground—. How unfortunate.

I didn’t meet her gaze, opting to remain silent and assess the situation before responding.

—Again, miss?!

The exasperated question came from one of the guards who had dismounted to confirm the young woman’s orders. From the tone and reaction, I deduced this wasn’t the first time such a situation had occurred.

—What can I do? It’s my nature.

I listened closely as the woman descended from the carriage with her guard’s assistance. Then, I registered the hurried steps approaching my position with a light rhythm.

—Hmm? —I opened my eyes and deliberately raised my gaze, feeling her evaluative stare on me.

—Are you new around here?

—Uh? Yeah.

The young woman didn’t seem older than fifteen, by my estimation. She was tall, with long, wavy blonde hair that fell elegantly to her shoulders, crowned by a soft blue light accessory. Her blue eyes shone with intelligence and curiosity. She dressed with refinement: a long-sleeved white blouse adorned with a blue ribbon at the neck, over which she wore an elegant sleeveless white dress, complemented by a black corset and blue ruffles. Her white boots completed the ensemble with aesthetic precision.

—If you don’t have a place to stay… would you like to come to my house?

The young woman leaned slightly forward, observing me with her large blue eyes. Her sweet voice and seemingly kind expression caused a momentary hesitation in my usually steady heartbeat.

—I don’t have any money —I replied, employing an initial resistance tactic to gauge her true intentions.

—You wouldn’t be sleeping here if you did —she retorted with impeccable logic, holding her dress with both hands to shield it from the cold night breeze.

—Miss Daphne can’t abandon people.

I heard the voice of one of the guards, dressed in a white-and-black checkered uniform and a visor cap, who escorted the young woman, confirming my suspicion that they stayed close to protect her at all times. With black sideburns and green pupils, he was attractive and had the romantic temperament of a poet.

—You should accept her goodwill.

The comment came from the second guard, armed with a revolver and positioned about two meters from the first. Despite his words, I remained motionless on the ground; it wasn’t the right moment yet. He was a rough, brutal, and direct man, but perhaps only someone like that could intimidate drunks, thieves, pickpockets, villains, and vandals.

The world of nobles was entirely different from the rest. Oppression was commonplace, even among children, and their lack of maturity to conceal it often caused problems. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that a single word from Daphne could turn anyone’s life into a living hell, with no possibility of revenge.

—What do you want to do? —Daphne asked with a warm smile, placing her hands behind her back in a gesture of innocent expectation.

—…Well, it’s better than sleeping on the street —I conceded finally, scratching my head while averting my gaze in a calculated gesture of apparent indifference.

—Settled, then —she declared with satisfaction.

Daphne’s melodious voice and radiant expression, shining like a perfectly cut diamond under sunlight, sparked in me an unusual sense of nervousness I rarely felt in social situations. Things were unfolding exactly as Mica had said.