Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive

Alias followed Theo through a series of narrow, winding gaps between buildings. Every time they stepped out of a sliver of shade and back into the open, the light hit Alias’s pale skin like fire to his skin. He could feel his shoulders starting to sting, a sensation he vaguely recognized from his scrolls as the beginning of a ’sunburn’.

"Keep your head down," Theo muttered, not looking back. He was moving quickly, his bare feet seemingly immune to the scorched ground. "The closer we get to the Lower Ward, the more people are going to wonder why a silver-haired noble is wandering around without a guard."

Alias lowered his head, his long hair falling forward like a shimmering curtain.

"Is it always like this?" he asked, his voice sounding thin as he struggled to keep pace. "Does the sun never tire?"

Theo let out a short, dry huff of a laugh.

"Tire? The sun is the only thing in this city that doesn’t need to sleep or eat. It just stays up there and watches us crawl. My grandmother used to say the God of Light is a jealous one—he wants to make sure we’re always looking at the ground so we don’t see him laughing at us."

Alias flinched. The irony was a sharp, uncomfortable needle in his chest. He wanted to tell Theo that the God of Light—or at least the Architect who designed the light—wasn’t laughing. He was currently sweating through his expensive silks and tripping over loose stones.

"We’re almost there," Theo said, sensing Alias’s fatigue.

He ducked under a low hanging clothesline and pushed through a heavy curtain of beads that marked the entrance to a cluster of leaning shanties.

The air here was different. It was still hot, but it was thick with the smell of charcoal smoke, dried fish, and too many people living in too small a space. This was the heart of the slums, a place where the logic of the Heavenly Scrolls became a messy, tangled reality.

Theo stopped in front of a small hut made of sun-dried mud and scrap wood. It looked like it might collapse if the wind blew too hard, but it was tucked into the deepest shadow of a larger stone wall, so it was fine.

"Home," Theo announced, his voice losing its sharp, defensive edge. He pushed open a creaking wooden door and gestured for Alias to enter. "Get inside, Moon-boy. Before you actually turn into a puddle on the street."

Alias stepped into the dim interior. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust after the brilliance of the sun. The room was tiny and smelled of dust and old herbs, but compared to the furnace outside, it was a sanctuary.

"Maya?" Theo called out softly.

A small girl, about seven years old, popped her head out from behind a tattered blanket that served as a room divider. Her skin was a deep, beautiful bronze, and her black hair was tied in messy tufts. When her eyes landed on Alias, she froze, her jaw dropping.

"Theo..." she whispered, her hazel eyes wide with wonder. "Did you bring a ghost home?"

"Not a ghost," Theo said, finally letting out a long, relieved breath as he tossed the bread onto a low table. "Just a traveler who doesn’t know how to stay out of the sun. This is Alias. He’s... well, he’s a friend. For today, anyway."

Alias stood awkwardly near the door, his tall frame making the small room feel even smaller. As Maya stepped closer, looking at him as if he were a creature from a myth, Alias felt a strange, new sensation. It wasn’t the ’logical empathy’ he felt while looking at the scrolls. It was a sharp, physical ache in his chest—a realization that these two children were the tiny glowing dots he had seen from the heavens, and they were far more beautiful than the maps had ever shown.

"Beautiful," The words escaped his lips before he realized and Theo’s shoulders squared in pride.

"Yup, my sister’s a beauty," he rubbed his nose.

"But I’m not as beautiful as you, mister," She said, stepping closer and poking Alias’ pale hand. "You’re glowing."

Alias stared down at the small finger pressing into his skin. To her, he was simply the most luminous thing she had ever seen—a sharp contrast to the earthy, shadowed world of the slums. He wasn’t literally emitting light, but his skin had a pristine, unblemished quality that didn’t belong in the dust of the South.

"It is just the sun," Alias said softly, though the lie felt heavy on his tongue. He gently pulled his hand back, tucking it into the wide, soiled sleeve of his silk robe.

Theo snorted, leaning back against a wooden support beam.

"Yeah, the sun that’s currently trying to kill the rest of us is apparently making you look like a polished pearl. Real fair." He gestured toward the straw mat in the corner. "Sit down, Alias. You’re making the room feel crowded just by standing there."

Alias did as he was told, lowering himself onto the rough mat. The straw pricked at his skin through the thin silk, a sharp, tiny sensation that he found himself focusing on. It was a reminder that he was here, taking up space in a world that wasn’t made of light and math.

Maya didn’t sit far away. She hovered near him, her hazel eyes tracking his every move as Theo began to tear the rest of the bread. The room was dim, cooled slightly by the thick mud walls, but the air was still.

"Here," Theo said. He handed the largest, softest piece to Maya, then broke off another chunk for Alias. He kept the crusty, burnt end for himself, though Alias heard his stomach let out a protest that was almost as loud as the baker’s shout from earlier.

Alias held the bread, feeling the warmth of it seep into his palms. He looked at Theo, whose face was set in a mask of casual indifference, despite the way his fingers trembled slightly as he held his own meager portion.

"You should eat more of it," Alias said, his voice quiet. "You were the one who ran the distance. Your body requires more energy than mine."

Theo paused, a piece of crust halfway to his mouth. He looked at Alias with a look of genuine disbelief, as if the stranger had just suggested the sun start rising in the west.

"I’m the one who provides," Theo said, his voice firming up. "Maya eats first, guests eat second. That’s the rule in this house. Besides, I’ve had plenty of practice being empty. You look like you’d keel over if a fly landed on you."

"It shouldn’t be..." He said but his words died down in a whisper, "like that."

He isn’t supposed to ’practice how to starve’. It is wrong. It feels wrong. Alias could feel it in his heart but he could not think of providing everything for the humans so they do not starve on any occasion. Too much of everything was equally bad.