Skkrrreeeeekkk….
The sound split the air as Kael slowly pushed the old teakwood door open.
Its creak shrieked—hoarse and jagged—scraping his ears, crawling down his spine as if it could raise every hair on his body.
Tap… tap…
Kael stepped across the threshold—between the raging storm outside and the unfamiliar emptiness within. Each footfall felt like crossing into another world, leaving behind the whispers of frozen wind for a space sealed by time itself.
He glanced back briefly, then shut the door.
KREEP… BWUHHHSCH.
The wood echoed once, followed by a final gust forcing its way inside—then stopping abruptly. The room settled into the soft scent of aged fibers, the dying creak fading into faint wooden clicks, like a quieting whisper.
Krakk… tikk…
Silence fell—dense, almost sacred, as if the room refused the noise of the outside world.
Krakk… tikk…
Kael turned slowly. His eyes narrowed; his breathing grew uneven and heavy.
Haaahhhuhhh….
The breath left him unnoticed, blooming white in the warm air—thin, fragile, like a shy wisp of fog dissolving into stillness.
"The cold out there is too cruel…" he murmured, voice hoarse at the edges. "Cruel… for someone only just beginning to understand a pain he never chose."
Yet his gaze stayed fixed ahead.
"But this house… its warmth calms me."
Kael stepped forward, one pace at a time, toward the center of the room.
Tap…
Tap…
Each step drew a quiet groan from the wood beneath him. The floor creaked as if welcoming its master home—or lamenting the presence of a stranger no longer the same.
"And also… somehow…" he whispered again, his voice trembling, thin as a breath held too long.
His eyes swept the room, slow and hesitant, as if fearing each detail might vanish. Yet the longer he looked, the more certain his heart became.
The main room stretched before him—simple, medieval-modern in style. Yet something about it felt… alive. Like shattered memories carefully woven back together.
The ceiling rose high, supported by old beams that curved gently, giving the illusion of standing within the belly of time. At the center hung an antique chandelier, still, casting a soft yellow glow. Its light spilled onto the teakwood floor, which held a faint sheen—as if once tended by gentle hands.
The floor led straight to a stone hearth set into the wall. A small fire danced in reddish-orange hues, breathing life into a nearly forgotten space. Beside it, a round metal mirror caught the firelight, scattering it across the ceiling and gray brick walls, making the room breathe with fragile warmth.
On the right, a low wooden rack held dry logs and faint black ash—remnants of nights long past. Proof the fire had never truly died. It had only slept, waiting… waiting for its owner to return.
Not far away stood a round table draped in a yellowed white cloth, untouched by time. Simple wooden chairs surrounded it, waiting for conversations that would never come again. Atop it, a ceramic vase held artificial petals that still stood upright—their colors steady, defying time, as if to whisper that not all things false are fragile.
Kael swallowed. His chest tightened.
"Now… my heart feels so heavy…" he whispered, nearly breaking.
That word—heavy—tore at him from within. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt it. This was no longer a place of return, no longer a shelter. Now it was only a wound—festering, filled with memories that refused to be buried.
His gaze shifted again. In the corner near the window, a bookshelf still stood tall despite time's wear. Old volumes filled its shelves—silent, unreadable, yet stubbornly enduring.
"This is more than real…" Kael drew a trembling breath. "My eyes can't be lying. Neither can my instincts. This isn't just a house. This is… exact. Exactly like my home the last time I saw it."
Tap…
Tap…
His steps moved closer, heavy with something unseen. The floor groaned beneath him again, joined by the soft crackle of the fire.
Krekk… krak… tikk…
The dry pinewood popped, stirring faint whispers—of old nights, of stories that would never return. The warmth was real, seeping into his skin, yet something felt incomplete. A gap lingered. Something missing. Something waiting to be found.
"But—"
"Nox… veil…"
The words slipped softly from his lips, like a fragile mantra on the verge of being forgotten. And yet—he remembered. He could still say it.
"This city should have been destroyed long ago… since 2067. That era ended here."
His hand lifted, hesitant, then brushed the brick wall beside the hearth. His fingers traced its surface slowly, following rough grooves and fine cracks, as if reading every wound carved into the stone.
His body trembled—not from the cold, but from the weight of that touch.
It struck him hard, colliding with fragments of memory he had once buried by force.
"Why… does it still feel the same?" he whispered. "Did I… really return to the past through this memory?"
He fell silent. His heart pounded, yet his eyes were drawn elsewhere.
Near the hearth, a small shelf stood—something he hadn't noticed before.
Kael stepped closer. His breath hitched. His gaze fixed on the objects resting there.
There—a small wolf figurine. Its paint faded, slightly tilted, yet still standing. Beside it, a glasses case wrapped in dark red cloth, neatly folded, as though untouched.
And between them—a photo frame.
Still. Silent. Yet in the firelight, it seemed almost alive, as if pulsing with memories trying to escape.
The frame itself was intact. The old wood remained sturdy, holding a faint sheen despite time. But the glass… was clouded. Like a stubborn morning fog that refused to lift, no matter how light brushed across it. Not ordinary dust—rather, a hazy veil, as though something behind it was meant to stay hidden.
Kael held his breath before reaching out. His fingers trembled as they touched the glass—cold, unyielding, offering no warmth. A strange sensation crept across his skin, freezing him for a split second. Slowly, he grasped the frame and lifted it to eye level.
"…This photo—" his voice faltered. "It's buried in dust."
He brought it closer and blew gently across the surface.
Fuuuuhhh…
The breath was soft—but nothing changed. The haze did not thin. Did not shift. As if defying logic, as if the object itself refused to be cleaned. Or worse… as if something within refused to be revealed.
"Huh…? Why won't the dust—" Kael narrowed his eyes and tried again, stronger this time.
Huuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—!
Still nothing. The glass remained clouded, unmoved no matter how hard he tried.
"What…? How is that possible…" he whispered.
He pressed his palm against the glass, rubbing it firmly—slow, deliberate, certain this time.
But…
Nothing. Only vague shadows. No faces. No shapes. Not a single line his eyes could grasp.
"…I can't clean it at all."
His body stiffened at once. Something tightened deep within him, squeezing his chest from the inside. The room—once warm—suddenly felt too quiet. The fire in the hearth, which had been gently dancing, seemed to shrink, its light dimming, as if holding its breath.
"Could it be… this photo?" he murmured, almost like a frightened prayer.
And suddenly—
Mom! Mom!
Do you want to see something?!
A voice rang out behind him.
A child's voice. Bright. Clear. Sharp. So sudden it nearly tore his heart from his chest. And worse—terrifyingly so—it was unbearably familiar.
It was his own voice.
The voice he had as a child.
Kael froze. His head trembled faintly. His breath caught in his throat.
And as he slowly, stiffly began to turn—
She appeared.
A woman.
The one presence that had never been replaced in his life, no matter how many times the world collapsed and reformed.
Lhuna Vieron.
The final legacy of Vieron blood—the ancient lineage that carried the breath of the Architect's soul, guardian of PRISMA's deepest secrets.
In legend, her name was etched as The Veil of Dawn—a woman who walked the boundary between destruction and rebirth. A weaver of hope from ruins, a fragile light that endured even when crushed beneath endless darkness.
She wore a simple green dress. Her hair—like silver washed in dew at the end of a dying season—flowed softly down her back, faintly gleaming even when light itself had nearly vanished. Her eyes were green, calm as emeralds, capable of soothing any heart that met her gaze—even one already broken, even a soul long lost.
Lhuna's body was not that of a warrior. She was not as strong as knights, nor as hardened as those who wielded blades. But her resolve… could pierce steel. Her faith was sharper than any weapon.
She carried a gentle aura—warm, calming, protective. An aura that could dull hatred, ease pain, and quiet fear itself.
Like a mother—who would still embrace her child, even as the entire world burned around them.
***