Miralen stood frozen, staring at the colossal door.
"...Okay," she muttered. "Now what?"
She looked at it from head to toe, then from toe to head, as if the door might suddenly feel embarrassed and open on its own.
Nothing happened.
"How am I even supposed to open you?" she asked quietly, rubbing her temple. "Or should I just... leave?"
The thought felt tempting. With a frustrated sigh, she turned away and walked back toward the throne.
Maybe if I take the map back onto the throne this whole dramatic door will disappear and I can go home and pretend none of this ever happened.
She lifted the map from the throne.
The door remained.
Miralen blinked. Once. Twice.
"...Seriously?" She stared at the unmoving door, then shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way."
Clearly annoyed now, she tossed the map back onto the throne without care and marched toward the exit she had entered from.
She grabbed the handle and pulled.
Nothing.
She pulled again— harder.
Still nothing.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
She yanked once more, irritation bubbling over. The door didn't even creak. It was sealed shut, as if the cathedral itself had decided she wasn't allowed to change her mind.
Miralen exhaled sharply and rested her forehead against the door. "Great," she muttered. "So now I'm trapped."
Defeated, she turned around and trudged back to the throne. She picked up the map again, narrowing her eyes at it like it had personally offended her.
She looked at the map.
Then at the giant door.
"...You're connected somehow," she said slowly. "I know it."
She walked up to the door and knocked.
Knock. Knock.
Silence.
"...Hello?" she tried. "Ancient time door? Manipulative curse? Anyone home?"
Nothing.
Miralen pressed both hands against the stone and pushed with all her strength. The door didn't budge. A minute later, she slid down and sat on the floor, breathing heavily.
"This is stupid," she groaned, running a hand through her hair.
She pulled out her water bottle, took a few careful sips, then stopped herself. "Nope. Save it. Who knows how long I'm stuck here."
Standing up again, she faced the door one last time.
"Listen," she said seriously, pointing at it, "I am not good at puzzles, ancient trials, or whatever dramatic test this is. So if you could just–"
Silence answered her.
She lowered her hand slowly.
"...Wow. That was embarrassing."
Frustrated but thinking, her gaze drifted back to the clock carved into the door-and the jasmine flower etched at its center.
Her brows furrowed.
"...Oh."
She stepped forward and pressed the jasmine flower.
The cathedral trembled.
Golden veins across the door flared to life, light pulsing like a heartbeat. Stone groaned as ancient mechanisms awakened, and slowly— very slowly— the massive door began to open.
Miralen's eyes widened.
"... Of course," she muttered. "It was the flower."
She took a cautious step back as the door opened wider, revealing darkness— and something beyond it that felt very much alive.
Her heartbeat quickened.
"Well," she said softly, squaring her shoulders, "guess there's no going back now. Okay, let's see what's inside."
Miralen stepped into the dark room, after collecting her courage.
The air inside the room was colder than the cathedral outside, thick with the scent of dust and something far older.
Instinctively, her hand slipped into her bag. She pulled out the knife she had taken from the kitchen— her very unprofessional but emotionally reassuring weapon.
"Okay... calm down," she whispered to herself, gripping the handle tightly. "It's just a room. A very dark, very suspicious room." She took a few careful steps forward.
Rustle.
Miralen froze.
"...Nope."
Without thinking twice, she spun around and sprinted back out, barely stopping before crashing into a pillar. She ducked behind it, heart pounding so loudly that she was convinced the statues could hear it.
"Why do I do this?" she muttered under her breath. "Normal people sleep at night. Normal people do homework."
She waited.
One second.
Two.
Nothing moved.
Slowly, cautiously, she peeked out from behind the pillar like a guilty child sneaking cookies. The doorway remained dark and silent, as if mocking her bravery. She exhaled. "Great. I scared myself."
Miralen straightened and glanced around the cathedral. Her eyes landed on one of the candlestand near the pillar. She walked over, reached near it, and carefully removed a candle from it.
"Plan B," she nodded to herself.
Candle in one hand. Knife in the other.
She stepped back into the room.
The flame flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the walls. As she moved deeper, the candlelight revealed towering shelves lined with books— ancient, dust— covered, and packed so tightly it felt like the walls themselves were made of stories.
"...Books?" she whispered. "You scared me with books?"
Suddenly—
Fwoosh.
A candle lit itself on the far wall.
Then another.
And another.
One by one, candles burst into flame, lightning the room in warm golden light. The darkness retreated, revealing an endless library, stretching far beyond what should have been possible.
Miralen's jaw dropped.
Rows upon rows of towering shelves filled the space, books stacked like silent witnesses of centuries long past. Dust floated lazily in the air, glowing softly in the candlelight.
"...Okay," she murmured. "This officially beats the skeleton."
Before she could take another step—
Tap.
Something touched her shoulder.
Miralen screamed. "Ahhh– !"
She jumped, spun around, and slashed forward with her knife.
The blade passed straight through the figure.
"...Huh?"
Her blood turned cold.
The boy standing in front of her looked completely solid dark hair, calm green eyes, faintly glowing edges— yet the knife had cut through him like smoke. Miralen's fear finally won.
She turned to run.
The boy calmly stepped in front of her.
She let out a strangled sound somewhere between a scream and a gasp, her knees buckled, and the world went dark.
The candle slipped from her hand and rolled across the floor. The knife clattered softly but remained loosely caught in her fingers.
The boy stared down at her unconscious form.
"...Wow," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "That went worse than expected."
He sighed— long, tired, deeply done with everything.
Lifting her carefully, as though afraid she might break, he carried her toward a large wooden table at the center of the library.
"Next time," he said quietly, laying her down on table, "I'll start with 'hello."
———
He sat on a chair beside the table where Miralen lay unconscious. His gaze never left her face. It was the kind of look that suggested he knew far too much— yet would never speak of it freely.
The candlelight flickered softly, catching the sharp lines of his black coat. The fabric was formal, old– fashioned, untouched by the dust that coated everything else in the library— as though time itself had learned not to linger on him.
After a while, Miralen stirred.
Her amber eyes slowly fluttered open, faintly catching the candlelight like embers beneath ash. She groaned softly and pushed herself up, one hand clutching her head. The warmth of the room eased the dizziness just a little.
The boy watched her silently.
Miralen blinked, taking in her surroundings— then turned her head to the right.
She froze.
Her expression shifted instantly, as if she had just seen the skeleton giant all over again.
The boy frowned, clearly not expecting that reaction. He lifted his hand slightly and gave a hesitant wave. As he moved, something at his throat caught the light— a small green gem set into the black bow at his collar, glowing faintly before fading back into shadow.
"Hello," he said, forcing an awkward smile.
Miralen blinked twice, eyes still wide.
"H– Hello..." she replied.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them. They stared at each other for a long moment until the boy finally cleared his throat.
"So..." he said slowly, "what's your name?"
"Uh... me?" Miralen asked, pointing at herself just to be sure.
"Yes. You," he replied, mildly amused. "What's your name?"
"My name is Miralen," she said. "Miralen Evander." She hesitated, then added, rubbing the back of her neck, "And... yours?"
"I'm Caedmon," he replied neutrally.
He stood and walked toward one of the towering bookshelves. The tails of his coat shifted neatly as he moved, his polished black shoes soundless against the stone floor. He brushed dust off an ancient spine with careful fingers.
"What are you doing here?" he asked without looking back.
"You shouldn't be here. It's not safe."
Miralen swallowed.
"Actually... I think I'm stuck here."
Caedmon froze.
He turned around sharply, green eyes wide with shock-and something dangerously close to fear.
"W– What did you just say?"
"I'm stuck," Miralen repeated, confused by his reaction. "I don't know how to leave. Is... is something wrong?"
In an instant, Caedmon crossed the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders.
"How can you be stuck here?!" he snapped. "Are you insane?! Why would you come here in the first place?! Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you're in?!"
His grip was tight, though careful. His face had gone pale. Anger burned in his eyes— but beneath it was unmistakable concern.
"Hey– don't shout," Miralen said, pushing his hands away and steadying herself. "And what do you mean?"
Caedmon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair.
"I mean," he said, his voice lower now, tense, "you've stepped into something far bigger than you realize."
He looked around the endless shelves, the candles, the silence pressing in from every side.
"You should never have come here."
"But why?" Miralen asked confused.