Chronicles of the Cycle: When the Sun is Blue

Chapter 2 - The Mural That Breathes

The bell signaling the end of class echoed like a metallic clang through the halls of Rixus Institute. My head was still spinning from the discussion with Maestra Zara about Fosack’s new genesis era. She had taught her class with that calm authority that commands respect, but the same thing kept ringing in my ears: the official history didn’t line up with what I had read in rumors and old writings. And that void, that blank space, was what pulled me in like a magnet.

Karol was waiting for me by the door, clutching her notebooks to her chest. The smile she gave me held a hint of nervousness, as if she were excited to carry out the teacher’s assignment. “Alright, Miguel,” she said. “Time for the official tour. Brace yourself, because this campus is a labyrinth.” I nodded, following her as the other students scattered into clusters of laughter and quick conversations. The main hallway opened into a wide corridor with soaring ceilings and stained-glass windows that let in a fragmented light of gold and green. The Institute felt more like an ancient temple than a school, and that mix of solemnity and student life struck me as odd from the very beginning.

“Here are the science and math classrooms,” Karol explained, pointing to a hallway on the right. “The main library is further down, but I’ll show you that later. If you go alone, trust me, you’ll get lost.” I chuckled softly. My school in Abrak barely had a two-story building and a courtyard full of mango trees. “Everything here seems… so big.”

“You’ll get used to it.” She gave me a curious look. “Do you really like plants that much?” “Yeah, I always have. And the sea. I don’t know… there’s something about the way nature breathes that calms me down.” I didn’t want to add the other part: that nature also keeps secrets, and that the rumors about magic always mentioned it as its source. We stepped out into a central courtyard, an open space surrounded by white columns. Students were gathered along the edges, some playing sports, others reading under the trees. In the center, a large mural stretched across the oldest wall of the Institute. And I recognized it instantly: it was the same one I had seen when I arrived, the one that had felt like a strange calling. I stopped in my tracks.

The mural depicted intertwined figures, concentric circles, and lines that seemed to mimic both roots and constellations at the same time. It wasn’t a simple decoration; there was something more, a secret order hidden in its strokes.

“Ah, you’ve seen it.” Karol rolled her eyes with a knowing smile. “The favorite mural of all the curious ones.”

“What does it mean?” “Nobody knows. They say the first architects made it when they built the Institute, centuries ago. Most people just see it as a symbol of knowledge, nothing more.”

I walked closer, ignoring the bustle of the courtyard. I ran my hand over the lines in the stone. The surface was cold, much colder than it should have been under the sun. I felt a tingling in my fingers, like static electricity.

It wasn’t normal. For an instant, I swear I heard a low hum, very faint, at the edge of my hearing. I pulled my hand back sharply.

“Miguel?” Karol raised an eyebrow, surprised by my reaction.

“It’s… strange.”

“It’s just a mural.” She shrugged. “You’ll see, in a few weeks you won’t even look at it. Everyone just walks right by.” But I couldn’t just walk by. Something in that drawing was alive.

We continued the tour. Karol showed me the technology labs, the main auditorium with its immaculate red seats, the dormitories for the students from out of town. Every space seemed designed to impress, as if the Institute never wanted you to forget its greatness. At the library, though we only passed the entrance, I felt a knot in my stomach. Endless rows of shelves disappeared into silent corridors. The smell of old paper hit me full force. “Can we come back later?” I asked, almost pleading.

Karol laughed. “Of course, bookworm. But first, food.”

We headed to the cafeteria. The dining hall was enormous, filled with long tables and metal trays lined up at the counters. The scent of fresh bread and spices made me realize how hungry I was. We sat across from each other with our trays of hot soup, bread, and fruit juice. Karol set her notebooks aside and leaned her elbows on the table, watching me intently.

“So, tell me. What really brought you to Rixus?”

“The exchange program, I guess.” I looked down at my soup, stirring it with my spoon. “I wanted to learn more about Fosack, its history…”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t buy it.”

I smiled, uncomfortable. “Well… I also heard rumors.”

“Rumors?” “Yeah. That Fosack is the center of something bigger. That the bridges to other worlds are here.” Karol let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth so as not to draw attention. “Wow! You’re the first new student to hit me with those stories.”

“You don’t believe them?”

“They’re just stories, Miguel. Folklore. Things people repeat to make life more exciting.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes stories have a bit of truth to them.”

She watched me for another moment, weighing my words. Then she smiled, changing the subject.

“Well, if you want to be the weird kid who talks about magic, be my guest. I’d rather be seen as the friendly one.”

We both laughed, though deep down, the conversation left me uneasy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in the right place, at the center of something that everyone else refused to see. The murmur of the dining hall surrounded us, mixed with the clinking of cutlery and the laughter of other students. Outside, the sky was beginning to turn orange with the sunset. Everything seemed normal. But in my memory, I could still feel the cold of the mural under my fingers. And that faint vibration, as if the stone were breathing.

Something told me it wasn't just a mural.