Silas lay sprawled on the ground, staring up at the crimson sky above. The blood-red moon hung low, its surface teeming with strange, grotesque creatures that moved in unnerving ways.
To his left, a gate caught his attention—a complex structure leading to a towering castle, shrouded in a suffocating aura. But before Silas could take a closer look, something heavy and cold suddenly fell on top of him.
A corpse.
"Argh—!"
Silas jolted awake with a stifled scream, his body shooting upright as his breath came in ragged gasps. Cold sweat drenched his face as he frantically scanned his surroundings, only to realize he was back in his own room.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Silas covered his face with a trembling hand, trying to steady his racing heart.
"A dream… haha..." he muttered softly, a faint, bitter laugh escaping his lips.
After a few moments, he managed to calm himself. Rising from the bed, Silas walked over to the small table near the window. There, under the dim glow of sun light, lay the note he and Rudric had retrieved from Mansion Evoce.
He picked it up, his eyes scanning the faded writing once more:
The Ethereal Gate remains a mystery. It is unclear whether it refers to a tangible structure or merely serves as a metaphor.
Further investigation has been hindered by its location. Vars Valley... A place both unfamiliar and perilous.
Interestingly, it is the only region where tales of the Ethereal Gate align with local legends. However, there it is known by a different name—Kahnr.
Silas frowned, unease gnawing at his thoughts.
At the same time, a faint knocking sound came from outside his room, followed by a worried voice.
"Silas! Are you all right?" A girl's voice called anxiously.
It was Mia.
Silas rubbed his temples as he stumbled toward the door. Still groggy from waking up, he opened it with little strength.
Standing outside were Mia and Kael, their gazes fixed intently on him.
"What's with the shouting so early in the morning?" Kael asked, his tone tinged with annoyance.
Silas blinked, his mind still sluggish.
(Was my scream that loud…?)
"It was just a nightmare," he muttered, avoiding their eyes.
Mia and Kael studied his face for a moment longer before Mia finally spoke. "Get ready and come down. Breakfast is waiting."
Without waiting for a response, Mia turned and headed downstairs, with Kael following closely behind.
As Silas stepped out to follow them, Kael paused on the stairs, glancing back over his shoulder. "Make your bed first," he said, his tone teasing, before disappearing down the staircase with a chuckle.
that brat..
Returning to his room, Silas left the door slightly ajar, his movements sluggish as he began to tidy up his disheveled bed. The faint light filtering through the window painted the room in pale hues, highlighting the scattered books and papers on the desk.
Once finished, his eyes drifted toward Evoce's Notes lying atop a stack of worn-out tomes. He hesitated, the familiar pull of curiosity tugging at him. But with a sharp shake of his head, he dismissed the thought, turning away with a sigh. Not now.
As he descended the wooden stairs, the faint creak of each step seemed to echo louder in the stillness of the morning. Silas's mind wandered, his thoughts circling back to Vars Valley.
(Vars Valley… It's far—farther than I can manage for now. And even if I could, that place isn't somewhere I should approach lightly.)
The weight of the thought settled heavily on him, and he exhaled, resolving to let it go. For now, investigating Kanhr would have to wait.
(Besides… there's still the Church of the Flame. I can't afford distractions today.)
Reaching the dining room, Silas came to an abrupt halt. His heart skipped a beat.
In the chair that was almost always empty, an elderly woman sat motionless. Her face, lined with deep wrinkles, was expressionless, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular.
Silas hesitated, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine. He moved slowly to his seat, avoiding the woman's eyes. Sitting down, he kept his head bowed, pretending to focus on his plate.
Yet, no matter how much he tried, he couldn't resist glancing at her now and then. Her stillness was unnerving, her silence suffocating.
(Is she Silas and Mia Grandmother? not usually grandma came down to eat breakfast..)
Despite the oddness of the morning, Silas forced himself to eat.
After breakfast, he retreated to the bathroom for a cold, bracing bath. The icy water jolted him awake, washing away some of the tension clinging to his thoughts.
Dressing in the neatly prepared clothes he had laid out the night before, Silas felt a small semblance of order return to his morning. He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, ensuring every detail was in place before heading downstairs once more.
In the kitchen, Mia was bustling about, wiping down counters and organizing dishes with practiced efficiency. Her small frame moved quickly, her focus unwavering.
Silas leaned against the doorway, watching her for a moment before speaking.
"Where's Kael?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence.
Mia glanced at him over her shoulder, her hands still moving. "He went out to get bread for us," she said simply.
Silas nodded, lingering for a moment. "Ah… mm. I'll be heading to town again today," he added, his tone casual.
Mia stopped briefly, turning to face him fully. Her warm smile was like a balm against the morning's unease. "Take care, big brother~," she said softly.
Silas returned her smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course. Goodbye—"
Stepping outside, Silas paused at the threshold. He glanced back into the house, taking in the spotless rooms, the faint smell of freshly cleaned wood, and Mia's small figure diligently working in the kitchen.
The thought lingered in his mind as he closed the door softly behind him.
"Lucky you, (Silas)," he murmured under his breath, the words almost swallowed by the quiet rustle of leaves in the morning breeze..
Outside--
Silas stepped onto the cobbled path, the crisp morning air brushing his skin. The world beyond his door seemed to hum with quiet life—distant birdsong, the faint rustle of leaves, and the occasional clatter of hooves on stone as a cart passed by.
He walked down the cobblestone path, the soft click of his boots against the stone melding with the stillness of the morning. A thin veil of mist hung in the air, curling lazily around the towering trees that lined the road. Despite the beauty of the scene, his mind remained burdened with unanswered questions.
What was in the Contract?
As he thought about it a familiar sight of the carriage depot emerged from the mist. The place was alive with the bustle of merchants unloading goods and travelers preparing for their departures. Horses snorted and stamped their hooves, their breath rising in clouds in the crisp air.
Silas paused, his gaze drawn to a particular carriage stationed near the far corner of the depot. The same one he had taken to Harold Grant's office the day before.
The coachman, an older man with a face weathered by time and sharp eyes that missed little, was inspecting the wheels, muttering under his breath as he worked.
Silas hesitated before approaching, the sound of his boots on the cobblestones drawing the man's attention.
"Well, if it isn't the young master," the coachman greeted with a wry smile, straightening up. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon. What brings you here?"
Silas returned the smile faintly, his hands slipping into his coat pockets. "Just passing through," he replied casually. "But I was curious—how often do you make trips out to Vars Valley?"
The coachman's smile faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Silas. "Vars Valley?" he repeated, his tone cautious. "Not often, lad. Dangerous place, that. What's got you asking about it?"
Silas shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. "Just something I read about. It piqued my curiosity."
The older man snorted, shaking his head. "Curiosity's a dangerous thing, boy. Vars Valley's no place for the likes of us. Too many disappearances, too many tales of folks losing their sanity. If you've got any sense, you'll stay well clear of it."
Silas nodded, though a knot of unease tightened in his stomach. "Thanks for the advice. I'll keep that in mind. And... could you take me to the Church of the Flame?"
The coachman grunted in acknowledgment, turning back to his work. Silas lingered for a moment longer, his eyes drifting toward the carriage's interior. A flash of memory surfaced—his last journey in this very carriage, the unsettling sense of foreboding that had gripped him.
With a shake of his head, he turned away, putting the thoughts of Vars Valley and the Ethereal Gate aside—for now. There were other matters to attend to.
A short while later, Silas climbed into the old man's carriage, bound for the city of Tibur, which lay not far from the village.
(If I walk I will arrive in approximately 25 minutes but still, using a carriage will be faster)
As the carriage rumbled along the cobbled road, Silas peered out the small window, taking in the sights and sounds of a bustling city coming into view.
The rhythmic clatter of horse hooves and the creak of carriage wheels mingled with the lively chatter of traders haggling with customers. Along the streets, gas lamps stood like sentinels, their soft, yellowish glow piercing the thin veil of mist that lingered in the winter air.
The architecture was a display of grandeur—buildings with stately, classic facades loomed on either side, their exteriors adorned with intricately carved shop signs.
Gentlemen strolled by in top hats and long coats, while ladies glided gracefully across the pavements in lace-trimmed dresses, some twirling delicate parasols to match their attire. The air was rich with the mingled aromas of freshly baked bread, warm tea from nearby cafés, and the crisp scent of damp winter stone.
Silas leaned back in his seat, his mind whirring as he observed the scene. He had seen these images before, described in old history books tucked away in Damien family's library.
"The Victorian era..." he murmured, wonder lacing his voice.
This world bore an uncanny resemblance to the one recorded in those pages—a time of elegance, ambition, and secrets lurking in the shadows..
After gazing at the bustling cityscape of Tibur from the carriage window, Silas leaned back in his seat, intending to savor a brief moment of calm. Yet, just as his muscles began to relax, a peculiar unease crept over him. It was faint at first, a whisper in the back of his mind, but it quickly grew into something tangible—heavy, oppressive, and suffocating, filling the carriage with an inexplicable discomfort.
"Stop," he said abruptly, his voice low but edged with urgency.
The driver turned, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "Sorry? What do you mean, lad?"
Silas hesitated, drawing a deep breath as if to steady himself. He opened his mouth, but no reasonable explanation came forth. In truth, he wasn't certain why he had spoken. There was no clear threat, no logical reason for the dread pooling in his chest. And yet, he couldn't shake the sense that remaining in the carriage was the wrong choice—a pull, subtle yet undeniable, urging him elsewhere.
"I need some air," he said at last, his tone calm but resolute. "You continue ahead. I'll follow on foot."
The driver frowned, his brows knitting together in doubt. "Are you sure? You don't seem to know your way around here."
"It's okay, I'll be fine, I just need a little fresh air." Silas's gaze was steady, leaving no room for argument.
The driver muttered under his breath but complied, clicking his tongue to spur the horse onward. The carriage creaked into motion, its wheels rattling against the uneven cobblestones, leaving Silas alone on the deserted road.
As he took his first steps, the oppressive weight that had plagued him moments ago seemed to lift, leaving him strangely unburdened. Yet, there was something disconcerting about the sensation. It felt... unnatural. As though the decision to walk hadn't been entirely his own.
It was as if... something was forcing him to take this path.
...
Silas walked down the busy street, trying to convince himself he was imagining things. "You're imagining things," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the crunch of gravel beneath his boots.
And yet, the sensation persisted.
Somewhere up ahead, a faint sound broke through the stillness. A low hum, rhythmic and strange, resonated in the air. At first, it was barely noticeable, but with every step Silas took, the sound grew louder.
(What is that?)
The hum wasn't like anything Silas had ever heard. It wasn't mechanical, nor did it resemble the buzz of insects or the chirp of birds. It felt... alive.
As he rounded a bend in the path, the source of the sound came into view: a figure standing motionless in the side walk.
The figure was cloaked in shadow, its features obscured beneath a hooded robe that seemed to blend seamlessly with the surrounding morning mist. Its presence exuded an unnatural stillness, like a statue brought to life.
Silas froze, his breath catching in his throat.
The figure tilted its head slightly, as if acknowledging him. Then, without warning, it raised an arm and pointed directly at him.
A chill ran down Silas's spine. Instinctively, he stepped back, his boots scuffing against the ground.
"Who are you?" Silas demanded, his voice steady despite the unease coiling in his chest.
The figure didn't respond. Instead, it lowered its arm and turned away, its movements unnaturally fluid.
"Wait!" Silas called out, taking a cautious step forward. "I'm not looking for trouble—"
Before he could finish, the figure dissolved into the mist, vanishing as though it had never been there.
Silas stood frozen, his mind racing. The humming sound was gone now.
(What was that?)
As he hesitated, debating whether to follow the figure, something caught his eye. Lying on the ground where the figure had stood was a small metallic object.
Silas approached it warily, kneeling to pick it up. It was a pendant, its surface smooth and cold to the touch. The design was intricate, depicting an unfamiliar sigil—a circle enclosing an angular symbol, with lines radiating outward like the spokes of a wheel.
He turned the pendant over in his hand, studying it closely. The back was inscribed with a single word:
Serfeet..?
when Silas held the pendant, a soft, whispering voice began to echo in Silas's mind.
Crimson... red moon...
The voice was fleeting, fading as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind an unsettling silence.
Silas exhaled slowly, steadying himself as the chill that had settled in his chest began to subside. Pushing the strange encounter to the back of his mind, he resolved to continue his journey to the Flame Church.
He moved with purpose, asking questions of the locals along the way. Each inquiry brought him closer to his destination, though the responses were often accompanied by wary glances or hesitant tones.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Silas arrived at the imposing structure known as the Church of the Flame...