Soon, the night befall and the children were tucked to bed. Matthias was the single soul awake.

He laid on his bed, gazing at the ceiling. His window was covered by a curtain – it was eerily quiet.

It was always lively whenever it’s morning until afternoon, but everything becomes dead silent once seven p.m.  hits. 

He can’t help but wonder why this is the case, why the murderers are never caught despite the guards patrolling the street every night?

Was it because the aristocats are the ones committing these deeds, covered by their own wealth as a shield from the accusations, leaving the poor to blame? 

He grabbed his blanket and shook his head.

That was a bit weird to think about, he'd never do that before – thinking of someone badly due to their status, it wasn’t always the case. Was he becoming prejudiced just like those people he hated?

He covered himself with his blanket. He tried to fall asleep. He blinked repeatedly, counted sheep, everything he could do to try and fall to slumber failed. 

Suddenly, he heard it. 

The heavy breathing, the soft giggles, something being dragged across the wooden floor, and the sliding sound outside his door.

 He doesn’t know what it was. No. 

He refused to know what it was. But he had to see – he had to be brave and see what it was. Surely it was just something, perhaps, one of the children was thirsty and got out of their beds to get water —

A wet dragging sound, similar to the sound you’d get when a butcher cuts a piece of meat for you, and that meat was dragged across the wooden cutboard… 

The smell of iron soon hit his nose, filling up his lungs with the smell of fresh blood. His body froze in fear — he heard it again.

A high-pitched delighted giggle and laughter.

Henry Arkhold, known as the demon of Archeko with the rumor that he made a pact with the devil to achieve the rich and knowledge he currently owned. 

He laughed as he scanned the heading of the newspaper that was in his hand.

“How creative,” he murmured to himself. If he made a pact, he would’ve wished for something to fulfil his boredom. 

In some sense perhaps he did get what he wished for. Something called the Trumpets – everyone in this world was obsessed with it. He didn't really think highly of it until he got two of it in his hands.

In front of him was an office table. He opened the drawer and grabbed one of the necklaces – eyes scanning the piece with mild curiosity and boredom. 

His head turned to look behind him – out the window.The buzzling town earlier almost became a ghost town, which seems like the perfect time to test his theory.

Are the trumpets real or not? If he blew on it, what would happen?

Will it cause chaos that it’s supposed to, or was it all a fake story — developed by the church to keep the citizens bowing to an unknown force that cannot be seen by the human eye? 

He blew on his tobacco pipe before placing it down on his table. He stood up and he held the Trumpet necklace in his hand. He placed it on his lips and blew on it.

No sound was heard. Nothing happened. 

He let out a bitter laughter.

Of course it wasn’t real. How stupid.

He figured that he was similar to those dumb citizens that he looked down upon, believing and spending so much money on something useless like this.

He threw it back down to the drawer and closed it with a thud. His gaze was cold and calculating as he faced the mountain of paperwork that never seems to end – he continued to work despite the darkness hugging everyone to lullaby. 

Unknown to him, a campfire soon engulfed the couple who used it to warm themselves in the cold forest — spreading to the west, engulfing everything on its way without mercy, as if in search of something in dead winter when temperatures hit minus seventeen. 

Two people heard the Trumpet blown.

It was more nerve-wracking when Matthias continued to hear that distant and distorted giggle of a woman, dragging something slick across the wooden floorboards outside his room. It slowly dissipated – then, he let out the breath he didn't know he held. He has been warned to always lock his door and never, ever open it. 

No matter what.

And that he should sleep early, Mama Nana told him. But he never listens – it might be a good idea if he started doing so. 

Soon, the laughter did vanish.

However — the repeated jiggling and rattling of the door handle — as if someone or something was trying to force its way never ceased — it just filled his heart with dread.

He breathed heavily, closing his eyes shut to ignore and drown the sound he heard. 

It sounded frantic. Something was trying to get inside his room. It didn’t even speak. 

In another part of Archeko –  Chris was wide awake. He sat at the corner of his bed; he heard it. He wasn't mistaken: The Fourth and Sixth Trumpet illuminated, addressing his doubts.

His doors tightly shut. His hands tightly clenched around the two Trumpets with his eyebrows furrowed. 

He bit his lip too hard, drawing blood but that wasn't important right now — He wasn't sure which Trumpet was blown but he knew it will be known tomorrow morning. Frustrated, his face contorted with pain and regret: he should have tried harder. 

He should have tried harder – that fool who blew one of the Trumpets doesn’t know what power it holds. His gaze focused on the lamp that dimly illuminated his room. 

“I'll have to make my move – if I want to stop the calamity that destroyed Earth,” he bit his tongue.

“I have to get Matthias on my side, he's the key to all of this – that I'm sure. I'll do anything, anything – to prevent another tragedy from happening,” he whispered to himself as he laid down on the bed.

He placed the Trumpets inside the drawer – then, he stared at the ceiling. 

He couldn't fall asleep, it seems like that the night will be long for him.