Chronicles of the Cycle: When the Sun is Blue

Chapter 3 - The Curiosity That Awakens

Karol

I had never paid so much attention to a new student… and I’m not the type to be easily impressed. But Miguel was different. From the very first day, there was something about him I couldn’t ignore: his eyes didn’t just look, they observed; his questions weren’t simple curiosities, but attempts to read between the lines, to uncover what the rest of us accepted without question.

Today, as we walked through the Institute’s inner gardens, I noticed it again. He was walking ahead of me, his fingers brushing the edges of the columns, the leaves of the shrubs, even the rims of the stone fountains. Every gesture seemed to be measuring, calculating, memorizing.

“Karol…” he said suddenly. “Have you ever felt like something in this place doesn’t fit?”

I stopped, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” “I don’t know… like there are secrets no one wants you to find.” He turned to me, his eyes shining with intensity. “Like that mural…”

I glanced toward the old wall of the central courtyard, where the mural still stood, silent, imposing. All the other students ignored it, but he seemed to see it as if it were breathing.

“It’s just an old mural, Miguel,” I tried to sound nonchalant, though something stirred inside me. “We all just pass it by.”

“But I can’t,” he said. “There’s something about it. I feel like it’s watching me.”

I looked at him, really looked at him for the first time. It wasn’t fear I saw, or even awe. It was curiosity. The same curiosity I’d had for everything since I was little, the kind I had always kept hidden so I wouldn’t seem strange. “Maybe…” I murmured, “you just need time. This place has a lot of layers, and not all of them are visible at first glance.” He nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. We walked together to the science building, where we had advanced physics. As we climbed the stairs, I felt like Miguel noticed things I would have never imagined: small cracks in the wall, inscriptions nearly worn away by time, and a faint vibration that seeped through the silent corridors. “Do you always look at everything like that?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just… I like to understand the world around me.”

His simplicity made me uncomfortable, and yet, it drew me in. There was something about him I couldn’t define, as if his every movement told a story the rest of us couldn’t see. The class went by quickly. Miguel participated, as always, with comments that mixed logic with an almost obsessive curiosity. The other students looked at him with a mix of respect and confusion. I watched him in silence, wondering if he was aware of how he drew attention without even trying.

After class, we walked toward the library. Miguel told me about the rumors he’d heard in Abrak, about portals connecting worlds and the lost magic of Fosack. I smiled, trying not to show my surprise. Most students would have called those stories “fantasies.” “That all sounds like old wives’ tales,” I said, but my voice lacked its usual certainty. “Maybe they are tales,” Miguel admitted, “but I think behind every myth, there’s a spark of truth.” As we walked among dusty shelves, I noticed how his gaze fell on each book with unusual attention. Not just the titles; the margins, the illustrations, the ancient symbols most students would never notice. There was something in him that didn’t fit into our school routine, something that made him dangerous… or special. That afternoon, as we returned to the gardens, I couldn’t help but look at the mural once more. Miguel walked up to it and touched the stone. I could see the slight tremor in his fingers, the tingle that ran up his arm. For a moment, a shiver went down my spine.

“What did you feel?” I asked, trying to make it sound casual. “I don’t know… cold, like the stone was breathing. And a very faint hum.” He stepped back a little, observing the wall as if expecting something else to happen.

I said nothing. I remained quiet, keeping to myself the feeling that the Institute wasn’t as normal as it seemed. Maybe Miguel was right. Maybe there were secrets that no one wanted to be discovered. Later, in the cafeteria, we sat across from each other. The conversation was light at first, about classes, teachers, and classmates. But then Miguel returned to his theories about portals and magic. I smiled, but this time I couldn’t help but let my interest show. “If all that were true…” I said, playing with a spoon, “wouldn’t you be scared?”

“No,” he answered without hesitation. “I’m not afraid of the unknown. I’m interested in it.”

His boldness surprised me, and a chill ran down my back. There was something in him that wouldn’t settle for the official version of the world. As we talked, I felt a brief presence near our table. I turned my head, and for a second, I saw Maestra Zara, watching us from the beverage counter. She gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile, and left. I don’t know why, but the feeling that something much larger was at play didn’t leave me. “Everything okay?” Miguel asked, noticing my distraction.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound calm. “It’s just… this place sometimes feels like it’s watching you more than you’re watching it.” Miguel nodded, as if he understood exactly what I meant. And in that moment, something in me changed. His curiosity wasn’t just a flaw or a whim; it was a force that could pull him to places I couldn’t yet imagine. The sun began to set outside the windows, and the dining hall started to fill with students. The light cast warm tones on the tablecloths and trays. I realized I was excited and scared at the same time. With Miguel by my side, every walk, every conversation, every detail of the Institute seemed charged with meaning. That afternoon, as we shared our meal, I knew our friendship would be more than simple camaraderie. He brought with him questions no one else dared to ask, and I wanted to be there to see what he would discover. Something had begun to move in Fosack, and though I didn’t fully understand it yet, I felt that Miguel was the spark that would ignite a change.