Capitolo 5: Chapter 4: The First Monster
The rooftop had changed.
It wasn't just a forgotten slab of concrete anymore. As the Bangkok sun dipped low, washing the city in soft gold and dusky violet, the place felt like a secret kingdom carved out just for them. Michael had brought a small, frayed mat to sit on, while William, never one to arrive empty-handed, had produced a tiny portable speaker from his backpack. A gentle, instrumental track hummed in the background; soft synths, faint echoes, something that felt like the soundtrack to a dream.
They sat cross-legged, facing each other. Michael, with his sketchbook open, pencil resting in his hand. William, with his battered notebook, pages already filled with hurried scribbles.
"Alright," William began, his voice unusually low, as though the rooftop itself was listening. "The Whispering Labyrinth. Kael's journey starts now."
Michael smiled faintly, his pencil making slow, circular motions across the page, warming up. William's usual whirlwind energy was there, but beneath it was something different tonight. A quiet undercurrent. Like he was holding onto something tightly, trying not to let it spill out all at once.
"Kael's got his Labyrinthine Empathy," William continued, "he feels the maze, can shift it a little. But he's not in control. He's desperate. He's searching for the Anchor Point because it's the only thing that can save his village."
William's eyes softened when he spoke of Kael's desperation. It was the first time Michael noticed that William's excitement wasn't always rooted in joy. Sometimes, it was a cover.
Michael nodded, sketching abstract, twisting walls. "And Lyra?" he asked, not looking up.
"Ah, Lyra," William grinned, the light flickering back into his expression. "Lyra's the anchor. The observer. She sees the patterns when Kael's drowning in the chaos. She carries a map that changes with the maze. No one else knows how to read it but her." He paused, and then with a sly, meaningful glance, added, "Kind of like you, Michael. The way you see things no one else does."
Michael felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He buried it in his sketch, lines forming a slender silhouette with sharp, knowing eyes. He'd never thought of himself as an anchor. Drifting, maybe. Observant, sure. But an anchor?
William leaned forward, elbows on his knees, lowering his voice further. "So, Kael steps into the Labyrinth. And it's immediately… overwhelming. The walls breathe. The ground shifts under his feet. But then, he feels it. The first real threat."
William's brow furrowed his usual lively tone dimming. "It's not just a monster," he said, voice tight. "It's a weight. A sound that crawls into your bones and shakes you from the inside."
Michael's pencil paused. "What kind of sound?"
William's eyes closed. For a long second, he just breathed, as if remembering something. Then, quietly, he said, "A low thrum. Like a distant drumbeat, but not music. More like… a warning."
Michael waited. He could sense it, the shift in William's posture. He wasn't just building a story. He was remembering.
"That sound fills the maze," William murmured, "and then it appears. A shape, but not a shape. Like a shadow that's too heavy to stand still. Hulking. Shapeless. It doesn't have eyes or a mouth, but it moves with these sudden, violent bursts. Every step makes the walls tremble."
Michael's pencil began to move again. He didn't focus on details. He focused on feeling; a blurred mass, vibrating lines radiating outwards, swallowing the space around it.
William's pen tapped against his notebook, fingers tensing. "Kael can't fight it. That's the point. It's too much. Too strong. He has to move. He has to make the Labyrinth shift with him, block its path, redirect its rage."
For a second, William's fist clenched on the page. His knuckles turned white.
Michael glanced up, catching the movement, catching the tremor that accompanied it. William wasn't talking about Kael anymore. Not really.
"The Brute doesn't want anything," William said, eyes fixed on a spot beyond Michael. "It doesn't have a reason. It just is. A force that smashes everything in its path because that's all it knows how to do."
Michael didn't speak. He didn't need to. The story was pouring out now, raw and unfiltered. He just kept sketching, etching the monster into existence, but this wasn't fantasy anymore. It was personal.
"It's not about defeating it," William continued, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "It's about not letting the fear paralyze him. The Brute feeds on that. If Kael freezes, the Labyrinth turns against him. The walls close in."
Michael's pencil slowed. He could hear it now, the thrum William described. Not through the speaker, but in the weight of his words. He knew that sound. He'd never heard it, but he knew it.
William leaned back, forcing a bright smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "So, yeah! That's the Thundering Brute! First big bad of the Labyrinth. Think you can make it terrifying?"
Michael looked at his sketch. The monster loomed on the page, undefined yet oppressive. He raised his eyes to William's smile, and for a moment, the facade flickered. There it was. The exhaustion, the wall of energy that was starting to crack.
"I can," Michael said softly. "I think I already did."
William's smile widened, but his shoulders relaxed just a little too much like he was letting himself believe Michael's words were about the story, not about him.
The sun was nearly gone now, Bangkok's skyline a jagged silhouette against a deepening indigo sky. A breeze, cooler than before, whispered across the rooftop. William stretched, reaching up, and that's when Michael saw them.
Bruises.
Faint, purplish shadows peeking from under the sleeve of William's polo shirt. Old impacts, not fresh, but unmistakable.
"William," Michael said quietly, pointing. "What happened to your arm?"
William's arm dropped instantly, pulling the fabric back down. The smile didn't falter. It snapped back into place. "Oh, those? Just me being my usual clumsy self. You know me, gravity's worst enemy." He chuckled, but the sound was hollow, brittle. He waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it. Seriously."
Michael said nothing. He knew when a wall had been raised. He also knew not to press. Not yet. But he couldn't unsee it. The bruises. The clenched fists. The way William described Kael's Brute, like he wasn't imagining, but remembering.
William was already moving on, chattering about the next monster, the Echo-Weavers, mind-twisting illusions that warp memories. His words flowed easily, but Michael wasn't really listening. He kept sketching, though. Letting his pencil move as William spoke, keeping the conversation alive.
But now, every line felt heavier. Every shadow meant something more.
Because Michael wasn't just drawing a story anymore.He was drawing William's labyrinth.And its monsters were all too real.
Stato Settimanale dell'Energia
-- Classifica
Potenza 
-- Pietra del
potere