The crackling of burning wood was the only sound in the room, a rhythmic backdrop to the tension that hung between Silas and the mysterious woman. Tiny sparks flared and faded in the hearth, their fleeting light dancing on the walls. The warmth of the fire was a stark contrast to the chill that still clung to Silas' skin, but even that comfort couldn't ease the storm of questions raging in his mind.
Despite everything, the woman before him radiated an unsettling calm. There was no trace of hostility in her expression, no flicker of malice in her emerald eyes. If anything, her demeanor was… welcoming. It threw Silas off.
He slowly set the dagger down on the nearest table, the metallic clink echoing in the quiet. "Sorry for pulling a weapon on you," he said, his voice still cautious. "But I have a lot of questions."
The woman offered a small, understanding nod. "Go right ahead."
Silas hesitated before asking the most pressing one. "You said this place doesn't 'just accept anyone.' What does that mean? I mean… I walked in here with relative ease. It didn't seem like it was guarded or hidden."
The woman smiled faintly and tucked a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. "This mansion is known as The Garden of Commodity. To me and the others, we found it relatively easy to locate as well, just like you and your partner. But for most—those who aren't meant to be here—it's as if this place doesn't exist at all."
Silas frowned. "Doesn't exist? What's that supposed to mean?"
She tilted her head slightly, her expression serene. "Exactly what I said. The Garden of Commodity only reveals itself to those it accepts. The fact that you're standing here means you belong here. So… welcome."
Silas struggled to process her words. He glanced toward Warren, still unconscious by the fire, then back to her. "Wait. You said 'others.' Are there more people here?"
The woman nodded without hesitation. "Yes. There are five others, including myself. With you and your partner, that makes seven."
Seven people? The idea of more strangers lurking in this sprawling mansion didn't sit well with Silas. He folded his arms, trying to hide his unease. "And who exactly are these 'others'? What are they doing here?"
"They're like you," she replied simply. "People who were led here by circumstance. Each of us arrived with a purpose, though not all of us understood it at the time. Perhaps you'll discover yours soon."
Her cryptic response made Silas' stomach churn. He didn't trust the serenity of her tone or the certainty in her words. But the fire's warmth and the shelter of the mansion were undeniable comforts he desperately needed. For now, he decided to push his suspicions aside.
"Alright, then." Silas leaned back slightly, his tone hardening. "What's your name? If we're going to be sharing this place, I think it's fair I know who you are."
"Assuming you're staying here?" The woman tilted her head with a playful glint in her eye. "Kidding. Be my—our guest."
Without waiting for a response, she stepped forward and extended her hand. "Charlotte Greene, at your service," she said, her voice steady and calm, carrying a kind of humility that felt almost too perfect for the setting.
Silas hesitated for a moment before shaking her hand. The warmth of her touch caught him off guard, and he felt a faint blush rise to his cheeks. "Silas Grayson," he introduced himself, clearing his throat quickly, "and my partner over there is Warren Hale."
Lowering his voice as he leaned in slightly, he added with a hint of mischief, "Just… don't be startled when he wakes up. He's probably still in his rebellious phase."
Charlotte chuckled softly, her laugh light and genuine. "I see. Noted," she replied with a slight nod, as if she'd just been handed an important secret.
Suddenly, the quiet warmth of the room was interrupted by the sound of tossing and groaning. Charlotte gestured behind Silas with a calm expression. He turned to see Warren stirring by the fire.
"Warren!" Silas rushed to his side, crouching to help him sit up. "You're awake!" His voice cracked with a mix of relief and worry.
Warren groaned as he tried to sit upright, leaning heavily on Silas for support. "Oogh—" he mumbled, his voice hoarse and weak.
"You're okay!" Silas exclaimed, his eyes scanning Warren for any signs of serious injury. He looked around the room, the change of surroundings striking him again. "There's a lot to explain, so just bear with me—"
"No need," Warren interrupted, his voice more stable now. "I heard it all in my 'sleep.'"
Before Silas could respond, Warren pushed him away with surprising strength. "Damn you," he grumbled, standing shakily on his own. "I'm seventeen. Why in the hell would I still be rebellious?"
Silas stumbled back, almost losing his balance. "Hey, I was just trying to—"
But before he could finish, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from deeper within the mansion. Silas instinctively reached for his dagger, but Charlotte raised a hand, signaling there was no need for alarm.
The door to the living room swung open, and four figures entered. Leading them was a pale, white-haired boy with wide, bright blue eyes that practically sparkled with excitement. His clothes were loose and a bit tattered, and his face was lightly dotted with bandages that looked like remnants of recent mishaps.
"Ooo, new people!" he exclaimed, his grin warm and full of enthusiasm. He bounced slightly on his feet, his energy almost infectious. "Did you invite them, Goldilocks?" His tone was teasing, but there was no malice behind it—just genuine curiosity.
Charlotte smiled softly at the nickname, clearly accustomed to it. "Yes, they'll be staying with us."
"Goldilocks, huh?" Silas thought, raising an eyebrow. "That's… fitting, actually."
In the order of people standing before Silas, the first to catch his attention was an average-height man, his eyes framed by a pair of glasses that gleamed in the light. There was something familiar about him, though Silas couldn't quite place it. Maybe he had seen him in a magazine or some public forum.
Next was a tall, bulky man whose presence seemed almost overwhelming. His short hair and sharp eyes gave off an intense vibe, but Silas could tell by his posture and demeanor that he wasn't the type to pick fights. In fact, he had a warmth to him that felt reassuring. Silas, for example, often found himself mistaken for angry because of his default deadpan expression, but this man had an air of kindness despite his appearance.
The third was a woman with a smug smirk playing on her lips. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, and she wore a black coat trimmed with dark fur. There was something mischievous in her gaze, as if she was just waiting for the perfect moment to say something. The expression on her face reminded Silas of a child who had just received a new toy, eager to show it off.
Finally, there was the pale kid—his white hair making him stand out even more. The bandages covering his left eye and other parts of his face only added to his mysterious, slightly rebellious look. He gave off the vibe of a troublemaker, but there was something about him that told Silas he likely caused mischief for a good cause, or at least with good intentions.
The white-haired kid locked eyes with Silas and closed the distance between them at an unnatural speed, almost causing Silas to stumble back. "Hi there! I'm Ronan! Ronan Reed! And you are?" the kid said, his words tumbling out rapidly. Silas quickly learned his name.
"I-I'm Silas Grayson… This is Warren Hale." Silas glanced at Warren, who made brief eye contact with Ronan before looking away, a slight nervousness flickering across his face. Ronan, on the other hand, stared at Warren in awe, his mouth opening as if about to shout something—until the average-height man spoke up.
"Nice to meet you, Silas and Warren. I'm Lumian Chen."
Silas's eyes widened. He recognized the name immediately. "Lumian Chen… The model in the magazines!?"
Lumian was quite well-known, not only for his work as an amateur actor but also for his prominent modeling career with major companies. His looks certainly explained it.
"Please, don't bring up something so artificial," Lumian replied with a slight chuckle, but his tone carried a subtle hint of arrogance. Continue praising me, peasant seemed to be the unspoken message.
Lumian continued with introductions. "The tall guy is Calem Vale. The black-haired girl with the dopey smile is Seraphina Hart. Goldilocks, of course, is Charlotte Greene. I'm sure Ronan made a lasting impression on you. And I'm Lumian. Nice to have you."
Silas felt his brain spinning from the barrage of information in such a short amount of time, trying to keep up with the names and personalities of everyone in the room.
One thing caught Silas' attention—the way Ronan closed the gap between them so quickly. It made his mind overload with questions. How was it possible for someone to move that fast? Silas had to steady himself, but his voice remained calm. "Hey… so you all also used Soul Fragments… right?"
The room went silent. A tense atmosphere settled over them, and Silas instantly felt the weight of his words. Had he said something wrong? His heart skipped a beat as he awaited their reactions. To his surprise, Ronan was the first to speak.
"Indeed! That's why I closed the gap so fast. Pretty cool, right?" Ronan beamed up at him, his infectious energy cutting through the silence. Silas, still trying to process the situation, weakly nodded. "Uh… Yeah."
The silence lingered for a moment before Charlotte spoke up, her tone thoughtful as she placed a hand on her chin. "So there are others with this power… Interesting indeed. And here I thought it was a small handful."
Silas shook his head, trying to push down his growing unease. "Not even close. Ran into someone with the power of a Soul Fragment… not something I wanna do again."
His mind raced as he considered the implications. If these people, too, wielded the power of Soul Fragments, they could easily team up against him and Warren. The odds would be stacked against them, and Silas didn't know if they would survive that. He knew he'd be outmatched.
Ronan seemed to pick up on the tension and, with a casual smile, placed a hand on Silas' shoulder. "Are you worried? Don't be!"
Before Silas could respond, Ronan's hand disappeared in a blur, and suddenly, a punch landed squarely on Silas' cheek. It was so fast, Silas didn't even register it until the force made contact, but something was strange. The punch was light, almost like a pillow, despite its incredible speed. Silas staggered back, rubbing his face in confusion. For a punch that fast, it should've been far harder. This made no sense.
However, a strange, dripping sound caught his attention. Silas turned his head, only to find that Ronan's nose was bleeding profusely, as if he'd been struck. Blood poured from his nostrils like a fountain. It was almost comical, but Silas' mind was still reeling from what had just happened.
Ronan flashed a grin. "See? Causing harm to someone else only has it happen to you in The Garden of Commodity. Cool, right?"
The entire room sighed in annoyance as they were used to this since Ronan did the same thing to them. All eyes were on Ronan, who seemed completely unfazed by the situation. His bandages were soaked through with the blood dripping from his nose, but he didn't seem to care. Charlotte was the first to move, walking over to his side with a small sigh.
"Now, what did I say about startling guests… especially with such cruel outcomes that only harm you?" Charlotte's voice was firm but gentle. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping the blood from Ronan's face with practiced care.
Ronan, ever the optimist, simply smiled, his eyes still gleaming with that same mischievous energy.
Charlotte shook her head but couldn't suppress the small, affectionate smile that tugged at the corners of her lips.
Silas stood there, still processing the bizarre sequence of events. His brain was struggling to catch up, and his heartbeat was still racing from the unexpected punch and the strange rules of this place. If the Soul Fragments worked this way, it meant there were dangerous consequences for attacking or even causing harm in The Garden of Commodity, which added another layer of complexity to everything. But the fact that Ronan could act so carefree about it left Silas wondering just how much he was used to this strange, otherworldly place.
.
..
…
It was now 10 PM, and the mansion had fallen into a deep, serene silence. The warmth of the fire still lingered in the air as Silas sat alone in his room. He had been shown the way by Charlotte earlier in the evening, and now he found himself in this quiet space, pondering everything that had happened.
The room was simple, but it held a sense of comfort. A desk sat in the corner, alongside a few of his personal belongings scattered on it. The bed, large and inviting, had an almost angelic softness to it, a stark contrast to the cold and isolation Silas had endured before. The luxury of the bed was a reminder of how far he had come, but the greater sense of peace lay in the unexpected bond he had begun to form with the others. He had spent so many years locked in his thoughts, a prisoner of his own mind, unwilling to let anyone get too close. He had been too afraid to open up. But now, as he sat there in the quiet of his new room, he felt a strange sense of accomplishment, as if something had shifted within him.
For the first time in a long time, Silas felt a glimmer of hope. He allowed himself to trust, to grow with these people. It wasn't just the warmth of the bed or the mansion; it was the warmth of connection. A sense of relief washed over him, as though years of regret, years of isolation, had been slowly lifted away. He was no longer alone.
With that, Silas finally succumbed to sleep, the exhaustion of the day pulling him into a deep rest.
But twenty minutes later, he awoke, his mind racing, his heart pounding. Silas tossed and turned in bed, struggling to return to the dreamless slumber that had once felt so easy. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, sleep wouldn't come back to him. Finally, in frustration, he opened his eyes.
The first thing he noticed was the light—the sun shining brightly through the curtains, far too bright for the time of year. He squinted against it, confused. The last time he had checked, it was winter, and the days had been shorter, the sun much dimmer. The world outside had been covered in snow, the harsh cold of the season all around. But now, as Silas looked out the window, the snow had completely melted.
"What the hell?" he whispered under his breath. His pulse quickened as he jumped out of bed, his feet hitting the cold floor as panic started to rise within him. Something was wrong—something had shifted.
Without thinking, Silas bolted for the door, rushing to Warren's room. His heart pounded in his chest, each step heavier than the last. When he threw open the door, his breath caught. The room was empty—no sign of Warren, no bags, no clothes, nothing. It was as if Warren had never even been there. The bed was the same as it had been when they first arrived, untouched and pristine.
"W-What the—" Silas stammered, his voice catching in his throat. He could hardly believe his eyes. Where had Warren gone?
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the confusion, distant but unmistakable. The voice was something Silas had only heard once before, yet it was burned into his memory, deep and resonant. It was a voice that had spoken to him as he had gained his power—the voice of the blue aura, the mysterious presence that had granted him his Temporal Apex ability.
"No way… It can't be…" Silas muttered to himself, his heart racing. His thoughts were a blur, but he couldn't ignore the pull of that voice. The voice was too familiar.
Silas rushed down the hallway and out of the front door, barely registering the beautiful scenery around him. The mansion's courtyard had transformed. The once barren soil was now teeming with vibrant plants and flowers, the greenery filling the air with a soft, fragrant scent. But it wasn't the sight of the plants that made his breath catch—it was the voice, the unmistakable sound of the blue aura, echoing through the air once again.
His steps became unsteady as he walked through the garden, his body trembling. The cold morning air didn't seem to match the heat growing inside him as he approached the backyard. The voice called to him again, pulling him toward the table he could see in the distance, where several figures sat, chatting quietly.
As Silas drew closer, his eyes widened, and his breath hitched in his chest. Sitting at the table were seven individuals, each of them seeming impossibly out of place. His gaze locked onto a young boy sitting at the table—a boy with long, dark brown hair tied messily into a ponytail. He turned, and the moment their eyes met, Silas felt an odd mix of recognition and fear. There was something about this boy's gaze—his bright blue eyes—that was both welcoming and terrifying at the same time.
The boy smiled, a knowing look crossing his face as he spoke, his voice warm but eerily calm.
"Hello there. How embarrassing. You can see me when I'm not that floating blue aura."
The boy's words hit Silas like a punch to the gut. His breath caught in his throat, and his hands shook as he took a step back. The boy before him—the one sitting at the table, so human, so real—was impossible.
The boy had long black hair, a light brown skin complexion, and striking blue eyes—he was, unmistakably, the personification of the blue aura that had granted Silas his power.