Tribute to Elegba... chapter one...

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The farewell ceremony for Hermentrude was scheduled for five o'clock in the afternoon, but in fact it began half an hour later, although no one complained about this. The people kept coming and coming to the local city church, and as soon as they all fit there. It was amazing to see such a large number of people in the church hall of such a small town, and all because the good old Hermentrude was beloved and known by almost every resident of Riddlehill. The woman lived here a long and relatively happy life, devoted herself to teaching at the local elementary school, did community service and was always at the forefront of volunteers. Of whom, but about Hermentrude it was impossible to hear a bad word: she had no enemies and haters in Riddlehill.

The ceremony went according to all the rules. Moreover, what is remarkable, it was not overshadowed by an endless stream of tears and sorrowful lamentations. Hermentrude's death did not come tragically, but for natural reasons, so no one who expressed a desire to read a prepared or not quite planned speech was heartbroken at all, but rather remembered old Hermentrude with a smile and bittersweet memories. Even her son, the honorable Mr. Tywin Finnegan, a handsome, aged man, made the audience plunge into pleasant nostalgia rather than feel the desire to burst into tears. In addition, indeed, it was right. According to Tywin, his mother would not want her funeral to be flooded with tears.

August day turned out to be very warm. The habitual closeness subsided, and it blew with a gentle coolness, the herald of a velvety, soft autumn. The door to the church was left open. No one noticed how the guest, who was late for the ceremony, a very young boy, deftly and silently, entered the hall and sat down on a bench in the last rows, throwing a hood over his head, hiding a mop of thick chestnut hair. He sat silently, did not greet anyone and did not even exchange glances. No one has noticed his presence until now, because he did not even seem to show signs of life and resembled a mannequin from the window of a local non-remarkable non-brand clothing store. The boy's gaze was directed to the open coffin standing at the altar and did not express a single emotion.
 
After Tywin, several other people spoke, including Hermentrude's best friend, Selena. Hermentrude was her childhood friend, and all her life they were inseparable. Old Selena mostly talked about this. Therefore, she burst into tears in emotions, even refused to read the speech on paper and ended with an eloquent impromptu about real female friendship, wiping her wet cheeks and smiling.

Then a farewell ceremony for Hermentrude took place, and everyone present could approach the open coffin to say goodbye. The people began to line up. At that moment the young man, who had been sitting motionless until now, got up and went to the altar. He heard what people were talking about: they all seemed to know each other well, shaking hands and hugs, and their words sounded with warm tenderness and care. For example, a woman standing a few steps away from a person with a hood turned out to be the director or head teacher of the local school, who spoke passionately about how the children loved their teacher (we were talking about Hermentrude, of course) and that it would be difficult for her to find a worthy replacement. Tywin and Selena stood at the altar, to the side of the coffin, and exchanged warm words with everyone who came up to say goodbye to the deceased.

Having waited for his turn, the guy, bending quite a bit over the coffin, looked at the lifeless body of a gray-haired woman with her arms folded across her chest, her white lace dress, her pendant in the form of a black faceted heart, her wrinkled pale face. The lad looked at Hermentrude not at all like a man who had come to say goodbye, but there was something curious, exploratory in his gaze. Nevertheless, no one noticed either. No one, except for one person who politely approached the unknown and asked not to delay the queue.

The boy looked at Selena, who holding her gaze a little on the face of the young man again moved away from the coffin, returning to communicate with the priest and Tywin. The guy, whispering something very similar to "goodbye", turned around and trudged for the exit of the church, taking cigarettes and a lighter from his sweatshirt pocket.

This young man's name was Tristan Daveraux. Tristan was very fond of this intermediate moment of the off-season, when the summer began to fade away, and autumn had not yet hit with cold and rain. Of course, Tristan knew Hermentrude, and even very well, and her death caused him a whole range of feelings, the main of which, oddly enough, was irritation. Emotionality was given to Tristan with great difficulty and by his appearance, it was difficult to determine what he feels, unless of course the guy himself wants to arrange a demonstration of his inner state. This happened so rarely that it almost never happened. Not because he was an insensitive bastard. Far from that. Now the boy urgently needed to smoke. Being, in fact, still very young, he did not think at all about the dangers of nicotine, was not afraid, as is often the case, that adult vigilant people would see a smoking teenager and condemn him for it. Tristan was afraid of little now, because he knew that soon everything would fall into place. Because he is, finally, home.

Riddlehill was a small town. Old and dilapidated, it sometimes resembled a kind of historical fragment. Ancient buildings, wooden houses, stone-paved roads - everything in this town seemed to take away several centuries ago. Over time, due to the outflow of young people to larger cities, Riddlehill became even smaller, in terms of population, first of all. But those who remained faithful to their native town looked after the surroundings, kept order and comfort, so the city was full of parks, alleys, ennobled and pleasant to look at. The trees, of which there were a lot of planted in the city, were covered with yellow-red foliage, and the leaf fall was only at the initial stage. A few hundred meters from the church there was a square with benches and a small fountain. In such secluded places, it would be comfortable for anyone to retire, think about something important or not very important. It was right place where thoughts were thought better, and decisions were made wiser. Tristan Daveraux reached the square quickly enough and was already finishing his cigarette, throwing the cigarette butt into the trash can. The second cigarette was not long in coming.

Tristan has not been to Riddlehill for a long time. He arrived today. Returned after many years. Was there something strange in the fact that such a young man travels all alone, without luggage and trucks with furniture? In this case, no. More precisely, it was not at all important against the background of the purpose for which Tristan returned to his hometown. Trying to solve some very difficult problem in his head, the young man did not notice either the people pouring out in front of the church, or the procession with the coffin, which had already been closed with a lid and were ready to be loaded into a hearse, or even the powerful vibration of a mobile phone in his pocket, announcing one or multiple text messages. Only the voice of a woman who approached the bench could pull Tristan out of the pool of his thoughts.

“How long have you been here?” Selena said, wrapping herself in a light knitted scarf lying on her thin shoulders. It was not cold outside. Was good. However, Selena continued to stoop, pulling her torso into a silk scarf: the old woman was awkward and uncomfortable. Obviously, she recognized Tristan Daveraux, and this fact clearly did not please her.

Tristan raised his head and looked again with his research, curious look at Selena, who drove him ten minutes ago from the coffin. Instead of answering, the young man shook his head, dragging on his cigarette.

“What are you doing here, pray tell”

Selena's tone showed undisguised displeasure. The reason was clearly not that an underage teenager smoked in the presence of an elderly woman, and even in a public place. Selena, by the way, never judged anyone and was not an "old grumbler."

“Why not?” Tristan shrugged. “I haven't been here for a long time, but this is my home, my dear old Selena. No matter what happens, Riddlehill was and still is my home”.

“This is no longer your home. And I am no longer dear to you”, the woman minted.

Tristan smiled. Despite this entire situation, the guy was still glad to meet an old acquaintance, even hostile now. He silently continued to drag on his cigarette and artfully expel perfectly round smoke rings from his mouth.

“I'm surprised you recognized me”, said Selena. “And you arrived, as you know, too late. And even went to the funeral. Why are you here?”

Tristan put out his cigarette. He stared at Selene, and for a few seconds, he drilled the unhappy woman with a cold look. A gloomy and very sad smile did not leave his lips.

“I'm glad to see you”, the boy said calmly.

Selena stood stock-still, and then slowly walked around the bench and sat down. The woman pursed her lips, looking away at the jets of the fountain breaking on the surface of the water, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Moreover, unlike those tears that were shed by Selena during the reading of the speech in a church, these smacked of sheer tragedy. There was no hysteria and unrestrained sobs, but rather quiet despair and obvious hopelessness. It took a few seconds for Selena to pull herself together.

“You know, she waited until the last day for you to return. Although this expectation has already become a habit for her, but, I swear to God, there was not a day that Trudy did not think about you, you little asshole!”

“I know”, nodded Tristan.

“Tell me honestly. Why? Why did you come?” Selena repeated her question, and then added. “And don’t just say that. Don't say you've been taken over by a sudden love for the outback where you grew up. Don't lie that after all these years you were drawn to Riddlehill”.

“Whatever I say now, you will not perceive as the truth”, sighed Tristan. “It's better to just keep quiet”.

"Yes", Selena agreed. “Probably, this question was rhetorical. So how long did you decide to stay here? For a while? Alternatively, will you live here now?

Tristan thought, holding a pause, but then still answered. He didn't seem to have made up his mind yet, so an affirmative answer seemed a little unconvincing to Selena, albeit an exhaustive one.

“I will live”, Tristan kept calm and humility.

“What if someone recognizes you? There will be questions and rumors. Our quiet city is not at all accustomed to all sorts of strange stories and upheavals”, Selena warned the young man. “I know you, even though I haven’t seen you in years. Where you are, there are only chaos and disasters”.

Riddlehill was truly created for a quiet and measured life, although its history was overshadowed by several dark events of bygone days. Selena's fears were not unfounded.

“You know, who can recognize me, except you”, the guy answered. “Years later, even the brightest events of history become a victim of oblivion. Even if you don't feel like it sometimes. I hope you don't hate me. Because I don't wish you harm”.

“The last time you were in Riddlehill, you ruined my friend's life. You committed a betrayal, with the consequences of which Trudy lived until the very end of her days. You may not have realized it until now, but your trick inflicted such a deep wound on Trudy that not a single happy event of subsequent years healed”.

“You do not know the whole story, Selena...” Tristan began to speak, but the woman did not let him continue.

“I'm not happy about your return, but I can't forbid you to stay in Riddlehill either. However, I warn you, Tristan: if you do something, anything, any small dirty trick that could bring trouble to our city, I’m already silent about something serious, I will do everything so that people know who you are and what did you do. I won’t throw sand in your wheels, but I will watch closely. Don't dare to disturb the peace of this city. I hope I've made myself clear”.

Selena rose from the bench, dusting off her black dress.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” Tristan asked.

“That's all I had to tell you”, Selena admitted, this time giving her voice a cold indifference.

“So you're threatening me?” suggested Tristan, watching the woman slowly leaving the square.

Selena didn't say another word and didn't even spare the guy a glance, heading towards the church, where the mourners were already ready to go to the city cemetery. The sun had already set below the horizon, but it was not yet dark. Tristan opened the phone and read the text. He had to go. Not at all for the farewell. The guy got up from the bench and headed towards residential streets filled with one-story houses standing in a row.

Actually, Riddlehill was a one-story city. There were cafes, and shops, and leisure centers, but nothing was higher than one floor. The buildings were quite old, but often restored, which kept Riddlehill's residential area well-groomed old-fashioned. Today was Saturday, and the central streets were strewn with people relaxing in bars and street cafes, taking an evening walk by the lake and just hurrying home from work. A very small circle of people used cars here, again because the city was small and everything you needed was within walking distance.

A little closer to the outskirts of the city, abandoned houses often began to appear. Some of them looked completely dilapidated and overshadowed by the imprint of time, and some seemed to have become abandoned quite recently and gave themselves out only due to the boarded up windows and doors. Tristan walked along the wide street past the stretching fences, as if looking for the gate he needed, but never finding it. The boy walked and walked, seemingly not hurrying anywhere and not being afraid that the twilight had already begun to thicken, and there were no people on the street at all.

Then suddenly Tristan finally stopped. A broken gate, a fence that had not been painted for a long time, shabby and completely unsympathetic. Withered grass, strewn with all sorts of rubbish, and a neglected yard. A large, branched tree that had no leaves at all (and this was clearly not a consequence of the approaching autumn). A house in which, judging by the appearance, no one has lived for more than a dozen years. Nevertheless, he attracted Tristan with something. It was not by chance that he entered this gate. He walked slowly along the stone-paved path through the yard. He climbed the steps and freed the doorframes from the wooden beam nailed with short nails, freeing the passage inside. A hand push on the door - and now Tristan is already on the threshold, ready to enter.

Tristan once grew up in this house until he was forced to disappear from the lives of his family and friends. It was here that his childhood passed so fleetingly, as if in one moment it flashed before his eyes and flowed along the river of time, erasing the traces and signs of his former presence. So now, Tristan is here again, after many years.

The guy went into his native walls, holding his breath, as if he was afraid to disturb the ghosts of the past. He ran his hand over the furniture in the hallway, revealing a thick layer of dust, glanced at the empty photo frames hanging on the walls, even opened the closet where the outerwear should have been hung. Now there was only an old cane umbrella with a wooden handle, and a couple of hangers dangling from the crossbar.

The kitchen and living room looked just like in Tristan's memory. His old children's room, too. No one took out the worthless furniture, probably because it was already so old that it truly could not be useful to anyone. But it was impossible to live among her, as well as in the whole house, which was in a terrible and neglected state. Nevertheless, this did not frighten Tristan. Stopping in the living room, he looked around every corner and every, even the most unremarkable thing, then he raised his hands, palms forward and seemed to spin an invisible tape measure in front of him, whispering something indistinctly under his breath.

At that moment such things began to happen that not a single old-timer of the calm and quiet Riddlehill would have believed, even becoming an eyewitness to them. Garbage, dirt and dust began to disappear right before our eyes, the surfaces of the walls and ceiling damaged by time were restored, the furniture seemed to have traveled back in time, becoming new and ready for use, new interior items appeared, as if out of thin air. Order and suitability for comfortable living reigned. When everything was apparently over, Tristan lowered his hands, nodding contently to himself.

“That's another matter. Welcome home little Tristan”.

Feeling a drop above his upper lip, the guy discovered the blood that went through his nose.

"Oh, damn it. Again..." Tristan hissed as he walked up to the cupboard that appeared on the soft leather couch and pulled out a napkin.

Now everything in the room was good. Things needed for various needs were also right there. Even in the old, but the very nice fireplace, the fire was miraculously crackling, promising a warm evening.

The bleeding was quickly stopped. Unfortunately, these were the backfires of magic that Tristan had been dealing with for several years now.

Tristan Daveraux was a magician, and of course it was a big secret. No one in the city, except for Selena and the deceased Hermentrude, knew about this. And shouldn't have known. This was one of the main reasons why Tristan returned to his native quiet town: it was necessary to hide for a while. From everything that surrounded the young runaway lately. In addition, for a comfortable stay it was necessary to settle down. Where, if not in the native walls, Tristan could feel safest of all?

The dizziness was completely gone in half an hour. Any magic simply devastated Tristan: lately, what was taken for granted was given to the magician with great difficulty. Tristan was weakening and could no longer resist the world and its machinations. Now it was necessary to figure out what to do next, and the good old scotch helped to relax and make decisions without escalating the situation too much. How convenient that transit magic could transfer Tristan's collection of favorite alcohol to this now cozy house. The guy, despite his age, was a great connoisseur and connoisseur of expensive alcohol.

Sitting on a leather sofa and sipping a drink from a tumbler, Tristan gazed up at the flames in the fireplace. The mobile phone vibrated again. This time, Tristan paid attention to this and answered the call.

"Welcome", said the voice on the phone. “Well, are you nostalgic?”

“We both know that I did not come here for nostalgia”, thoughtfully said Tristan. “Yes. I got there. I also met a ghost from the past. Not at all what I expected. And no kidding: we have problems. Hermentrude is dead. Do you understand how critical this is?”

“If you think it's critical, then you're an idiot”, the voice on the phone chuckled. “You are young, everything is with you. All roads are open before you. Did the death of your dear Hermentrude discourage you so much?”

Tristan mumbled. He put the empty glass back on the brown glass table and climbed up on the sofa with his feet resting his head on the soft armrest. Fatigue weighed on the boy. Not everything went according to plan, but he didn’t even have the strength to make a quick decision right now. Tristan already regretted answering the call. It was necessary to reschedule this conversation for tomorrow.

“It'll just take longer without her. And time is not on my side. I arrived very late”, he replied. “But I will deal with all this. I have a plan”.

Tristan lied. Of course, certain thoughts and assumptions were spinning in my head, but it was impossible to call them a full-fledged plan. Thanks to the fire in the fireplace, the air in the living room began to warm up. An agonizing fatigue filled the boy's body with lead.

“Of course you will. You have no choice, my boy”, a voice poured from the receiver after a short pause. “The inhabitants of a small town are ignorant and not tempted by intrigues. They live such a boring life that they will not see you as an enemy until you yourself give them such a tip. No one will suspect a handsome youth, even so suddenly appeared in their quiet abode. You have many opportunities, Tristan. Use them wisely. The margin for error has run out. Don't miss your last chance”.

“I know! I know!” Tristan said irritably, though without even raising his voice.

“It's good that you know”, said the voice.

“When do you come?” asked the guy, closing his eyes. He wanted to quickly turn off his cell phone and, finally, plunge into sleepy peace, sleep. This question was supposed to be the final one in the conversation.

“Not before you put all the puzzles together into a single picture. And when that happens, you'll be the first to know of my arrival. Promise. Often we will not be able to communicate, so call or write to me only on business”.

“Well, so be it”, Tristan promised, and then he heard short beeps in the speaker, which he was very pleased with. Yawning, he rolled onto his side and fell asleep.

The night was quiet. As quiet as Tristan could ever imagine. Perhaps, any night in the outback after the metropolis would seem to the guest as serene and full of peace. Light rain drizzled in the morning, but lasted no more than half an hour, only irrigating the lawns and sidewalks, refreshing the surroundings for those who were an early bird and at dawn were already ready to go for a morning run and have a bite to eat at a local coffee shop after.

Aywa loved to meet the dawn. Even in bed, she would wake up early almost every morning, remove the curtains from the windows, and watch the sunlight begin to peek over the horizon. Today's new day is no exception. The girl opened the window, letting cool fresh air into the room, and went to the bathroom, intending to devote herself to water procedures.

Aywa Atlantis had lived in Riddlehill all her life, almost sixteen years now. She was the daughter of Charles Atlantis, the local sheriff, a respected and beloved defender of justice and order in the cities, and Adelaide Atlantis, who died a few years ago. Aywa, without being too modest, was a very beautiful girl: a chiseled figure - a consequence of athletics and cheerleading, thick brown hair, perfect fair skin and deep brown eyes. Aywa had a very kind disposition to everything else: she could not be suspected of snobbery, the girl easily got along with people, and she had several best friends and a young man, Kelvin, whom she had been dating for the fifth year. Calvin and Aywa had no plans for the wedding or the family, but their relationship observers were 100% certain that this was a lifetime of true love.

Father was already bustling about in the kitchen, whom Aywa greeted and kissed on the cheek. Charles also got up at dawn, but already on duty. The man had finished making cheese sandwiches and was pouring freshly brewed coffee into a mug.

"I put ten minutes of my time and my entire father's love into breakfast", Charles said as he hurriedly breakfasted, glancing at his wristwatch. “So no snacking in town. After your run, come home and have a normal breakfast. Milk in the fridge, muesli with three different toppings. And I'll leave the sandwiches in the microwave”.

Charles Atlantis had just passed his 40s, but he actually looked about ten years younger than his age. The secret, according to him, was proper nutrition, an active lifestyle and optimism. It sounded, of course, like banal motivating parting words, but Charles could argue with his result. He was a tall, strong man with bushy eyebrows, kind and often-thoughtful eyes, thin even lips and broad cheekbones. Moreover, at work, and usually at home, Charles walked in a work uniform. According to him, the sheriff is not a profession, but a lifestyle. The townspeople called him "our protector" or simply Charlie, which spoke of the universal love and trust of people.

Charlie devoted his life only to his work and his daughter. After the death of Adelaide, his beloved wife, several women showed interest in the young sheriff, but he made it clear that he was not at all ready to let new feelings into his life. Charlie often spoke on this subject with his daughter. Aywa wanted her father to solve her problem of loneliness, to which Charlie replied that loneliness is a problem only for those who are afraid of him, and that he already has everything necessary and most beloved in his life.

The sheriff, of course, had to work hard, and he managed to spend time with his daughter not as often as he wanted. Still, their family relationships were always strong and trusting.

“Do you have to leave?” Aywa shook her head, tying her shock of hair into a ponytail. “Earlier than usual today. Another tough day coming up?”

“The big bosses are coming today. Harmful people, in my opinion, but they didn’t cope with such people either. Then another parade in honor of the day of the city. We need to deal with the organizers. In general, many things. Otto wrote that someone had broken into the back office of the school. This also needs to be dealt with”.

“And save the peace and well-being of our little Riddlehill”, Aywa smiled sincerely, hugging her father for the last time. “You are my hero, dad. Good day to you”.

Then Aywa left the house, running towards the city lake, located a little less than two kilometers from the house of Atlantis. There were very few people on the streets, but almost everyone waved to the girl and wished good morning. Indeed, the people of Riddlehill knew each other and showed affability and friendliness.

The water glare was bright: the sun was already illuminating the city, which began to wake up actively. People started showing up walking their pets in the park by the lake began to bustle shop workers, where you could always buy ice cream, cotton candy or just water, and people of different ages went for a run.

Aywa ran fewer miles today than usual. It was stupid and embarrassing on the part of the girl, but having been distracted by the barking of a spitz for just a couple of seconds, she ran into a man running in front and knocked him down. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries, only a slight bruise of the knee and torn skin.

'Oh, my God, I’m sorry, please,' said Aywa, helping a deranged man get back on his feet. 'I’m just a walking disaster. Are you all right?”

Next to her was a tall, skinny guy in sports shorts, T-shirts and sneakers. And he also jogged around the lake until he was interrupted. The guy obviously wasn’t upset at all and took it with a little humor. It was Tristan. He decided to get up early and ignored his obvious lack of sleep. A drop of blood gleamed near his nostrils, which he quickly removed with his finger, without even leaving a red divorce on his skin. Tristan took the curls off his face and straightened up. The guy didn’t seem to have hurt himself at all. However, Aywa was still waiting for an answer.

"All right", he smiled. “It's interesting you have here in the city. The first morning on a run, and already such a close contact. So original”.

“It's always like that with me. It is necessary to be distracted only for a moment, and the whole world collapses ... I am Aywa”.

The girl held out her hand to the guy as a gesture of peace and smiled too. Tristan willingly extended his hand in response, introduced himself, and the handshake took place. Mr. Woodcroft, the father of Aywa's friend, running past, reminded the guys with displeasure, but without aggression, that they interfere with people running past.

"Sorry, for God's sake", the girl said. “And forgive me, Tristan. Looks like I got hurt. My run is over for today. Need to go home, treat the wound”.

“I can take you if you don't mind. And we'll hang out along the way. I arrived recently. And I don't know anyone here yet. Will you be my guide?”

Suddenly Aywa froze for a moment and stared at the young man, as if she had been stoned in an incredible way and she had turned into a statue. The girl did not understand why this was happening, and in general, she was usually on the other side of the barricades. Aywa, to put it bluntly, was staring at Tristan, completely mesmerized by this guy who mysteriously appeared in her path.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asked, touching Aywa's frozen shoulder.

The girl immediately returned to reality and, wincing, answered:

“Sorry. Apparently, I was hurt too badly”.

“Let’s get off the treadmill already”, the guy suggested.

It was a great idea. Mr. Woodcroft again made a remark to the guys. He was generally a grouchy but harmless man. Tristan insisted on taking the girl home, and Aywa did not even want to look for reasons to refuse. Afraid to admit to herself that the stranger fascinated her completely, the girl did not understand such clouding of her mind at all. Being in a relationship and being faithful to Kelvin, her boyfriend, Aywa had never experienced such outbursts of increased sympathy for guys, especially strangers. However, today was an unprecedented event. This stranger seemed to enchant her: there was something so attractive in Tristan that it was impossible to resist. It was stupid, but nice.

Tristan turned out to be a very sociable guy. At the same time, he is not boastful and very inclined to himself. Aywa found him very attractive: Tristan’s charisma simply knocked the girl down, though Aywa was now afraid to admit it to herself. Praise be to God, the conversation was flowing smoothly, and that ease helped to brighten the absurdity of a chance encounter.

“And how do you have fun here?” Tristan asked as the couple stopped by the road, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. Of course, there were practically no cars on the roadway, but the traffic light is a rule that the guys obviously did not want to break.

“Besides knocking strangers off their feet?” Aywa answered with a bit of flirtation, but trying to stay within the bounds of decency. “Well, tomorrow is the day of the city. Usually there is a beautiful parade. Our school is also involved. There is an opportunity to win a big grant for the school. Then there will be a party. Not for school, but for anyone in general. By tradition, we will launch lanterns into the sky. Well, if it doesn't rain”.

“You have interesting traditions here. A little old-fashioned, but quite in style with everything else. In big cities, of course, this is not the case. There is something in your city ... I can’t even find a word...” said Tristan. “I will definitely come to see the parade and the celebration”.

“And you couldn’t have avoided it even if you wanted to”, Aywa pointed to the green light, and the guys walked along the crosswalk. “Riddlehill is small, and the holiday will be literally everywhere. Everything will start from the main street, but by six o'clock the holiday will spread to all the neighborhoods”.

“I honestly do not really like noisy events”, embarrassed admitted Tristan. “But if you invite me, I will definitely come”.

"Come", the girl nodded. “I will introduce you to my friends. Of course, it won’t be quiet with them, but it’s definitely interesting”.

“Do you have a lot of friends? Yes, you are popular, I see”.

Tristan smiled again with one corner of his lips, and the girl blushed, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Not. This is not true at all. I only have two girlfriends. And further…”

Aywa didn't continue. She herself did not understand why she did not mention Kelvin now. Is it right? For the first time in her life, Aywa didn't seem to understand why her body and mind didn't obey her.

"Best friends", she added. “We have been a mountain for each other since the first grade. We took part in the parade last year. Somehow, something went wrong with that. Getting ready for graduation. Need high scores, you know? I am preparing to become a lawyer”.

'I’d love to meet your friends,' said Tristan. 'I don’t talk to many people at all.”

“Why did you come?” Aywa asked.

The road turned right and the house of Atlantis was already visible. Father's car was no longer in the yard. "It's good that he's already gone. A stranger in the house is not something that dad would approve of”, the girl thought, and then caught herself thinking that perhaps Tristan should not be invited: he seems to be an intelligent guy, he should understand everything.

“This is where my folks used to live. You know, grandparents. At one point in my life, I decided I should come to Riddlehill. Try to live a measured life,” said Tristan, trying to give his story some specifics.

“But how is that?” Aywa asked. “You're quite young. Are you here alone or with your parents?”

“My parents died when I was just a child. And the foster parents did not treat me very well, although, probably, this was the maximum that they were capable of at that time. I had to grow up early. It's a long story. Now is not the time for that”.

"Sorry," Aywa shook her head. “Very tactless of me”.

“It’s ok”, shrugged the guy. “All is well now. This was already a very long time ago and does not cause me suffering. On the contrary, I am glad that life is getting better. I am the owner of my life and I can do whatever I want”.

“You came to Riddlehill. And what do you want here? What are your goals? After all, if you are an adult now and here, you must understand the importance of goals”.

Tristan shook his head in the affirmative, noting the depth of the question, and even thought a little.

"What are the goals?" he repeated. "I guess I just want to live. Away from the fuss, noise, intrigue and surprises. For some reason, I think Riddlehill’s just made for it, isn't it?"

"I have nothing to compare it to, to be honest," said Aywa. "I’ve lived here all my life, though I don’t regret it. Even from the topic of moving to the metropolis for the sake of learning, I’m freaking out: leave my father, friends, beloved city. Nevertheless, I guess life can’t change without changes. This is my house, by the way. We’re here".

"So I walked you home and kept my promise," said Tristan. "You don’t need anything else? Should I go to the drugstore? Should I buy something?"

Aywa refused. In fact, everything was in her home medicine cabinet. Moreover, the wound was not so serious after all. The girl timidly and embarrassingly thanked the guy, and as he turned to leave, Aywa hailed him by name, fueled by the tide of a strange feeling sweeping her over and over again.

"Would you like to come in? I have breakfast, coffee. Let this be gratitude for the fact that you saw me off," she said delicately and restrainedly.

"Is it convenient?" Tristan asked. "I don't like to impose".

"I'm inviting you. So it's quite convenient," Aywa smiled, inviting the guest to go into the courtyard. Both immediately entered the house.

While Tristan looked around the interior of the Atlantis house, the girl deftly found peroxide and a band-aid and quickly treated the wound, sealing it. She also quickly let her hair down, removing the scrunchie, and changed into casual clothes: jeans, a top and sneakers. For some reason now Aywa was very important about how she looks, so she ran into the bathroom and straightened her makeup a little.

"You are very comfortable," said Tristan, going into the kitchen. “It’s very… homely, i think…”

"We live here with my father. He's a sheriff, he works day and night," Aywa has already appeared in the kitchen, went to the microwave and pressed the heating button. Then she started making coffee.

"How's your leg?" Tristan asked carefully, sitting on a high chair at the counter dividing the kitchen into two zones. At the stove, the girl mixed various coffee additives in the cezve, and the guy watched this with interest.

"Nothing serious, really," Aywa replied. "When I was doing athletics, I always broke my knees. And not just the knees, you know. And this," she pointed down with her hand, "is just nothing. Do you drink coffee with milk? Or strong?"

"Strong," smiled Tristan.

Aywa continued to make coffee, took the sandwiches out of the microwave. Breakfast was ready. Despite the fact that the acquaintance turned out to be unexpected and extremely chaotic, the conversation went on more than well and pleasantly. It turned out that Tristan was very fond of classical English literature, just like Aywa. The girl told him how in elementary school she played Ophelia in an amateur theatrical production, which seemed to be a moderate success and was shown three times. And Tristan said that, being also a fan of music, he used to take a guitar and try to set Shakespeare's poems to music of his own composition.

Time flew unnoticed. When the clock showed a quarter to twelve, Tristan admitted that he had some personal business to attend to and got ready to leave. Aywa once again invited him to tomorrow's parade.

“Everything will start at two in the afternoon,” she stated. “Not far from here is the main square of Riddlehill. Nearby is the old big bridge and the tall statue of Thomas Riddle, the founder of this city. The whole city will be there. So let's find each other.

"I will come," promised Tristan.

Definitely, he was honest. And I was determined to see this pretty girl one more time. The guy was sure that Ava understood everything, and he really liked it. This was the beginning of his story at Riddlehill, not going exactly as planned, but rather smoothly.

Tristan left the house of Atlantis, slowly heading towards the central streets of the city in an effort to find the statue of the founder, and walked slowly, looking around and enjoying the warm August morning, as perfect as it could be at that moment.