Chapter One: The Mysterious Message
In the city of Oriel, the streets bustled with activity, though everything seemed to move slowly under the dim glow of gas lamps. Horse-drawn carriages clattered over the cobblestone roads, merchants called out to passersby, and people in modest yet elegant attire wandered about, enveloped in the mingling scents of coal and freshly baked bread.
Amid this scene, Julian, a 17-year-old boy, walked alone with steady steps, holding an old book in his hands. His gray eyes were fixed intently on the worn pages as if trying to decipher some mysterious code. His thick black hair swayed with the cold night breeze, while the soft lamplight cast faint reflections on his pale face.
Julian disliked crowds, but necessity often forced him to wade through the city's intricate tapestry of life. At every step, he could feel the weight of strangers' gazes as they passed him by, yet he ignored them, resolutely continuing his path.
As he passed through a narrow alley, he stopped abruptly when loud shouting caught his attention. His curiosity urged him to cautiously approach the commotion. He saw a group of vagrants brawling violently in the shadows of crumbling walls. One of them, a burly man with a thick beard and tattered clothes, brandished a wooden stick, threatening the others, while they scrambled to defend themselves with whatever they could find.
Julian smirked bitterly and muttered to himself, "This filthy city never changes, does it?"
Suddenly, the burly man turned toward him, his eyes blazing with anger. He shouted in a gravelly voice,
"You there! What are you looking at? Are you asking for trouble?"
Julian's expression shifted, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Oh, sorry about that. Don't mind me. Enjoy your evening."
He quickly walked away, muttering under his breath, "Bunch of deranged fools…"
As he continued to roam through the city's alleys and bustling streets, the faint conversations of passersby and the creak of carriage wheels filled the air, blending with the rhythmic clatter of horse hooves. The flickering glow of gas lamps lent an eerie charm to the city, while the old brick buildings seemed to silently observe everyone who passed.
Passing by a small stall, Julian paused briefly, tempted by the sight of freshly baked bread and simple pastries. He bought a small loaf, then sat on a nearby curb, eating slowly as he warily observed the passersby.
Why do I feel so uneasy? he wondered, glancing at the cloud-laden sky. The atmosphere felt heavy, as though the city were hiding something sinister within its corners.
After some time wandering, Julian made his way to his usual destination: a small library tucked away between old buildings. The library seemed to belong to another era, with its weathered wooden doors and faded signs giving it a mysterious aura.
When he entered, the familiar jingle of a small bell greeted him, accompanied by the scent of aged paper and creaking wood. Behind the counter stood Adair, a young man in his twenties with dark hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. He was engrossed in a large book but looked up when Julian walked in.
Adair's face lit up with a faint smile as Julian placed the book on the counter. "Adair, here I am. I've returned the book. It was fascinating—filled with thought-provoking ideas."
Adair closed his book calmly and smiled. "Of course. That book is a treasure for anyone interested in the art of war."
Julian responded with a hint of sarcasm. "A treasure for warlords, sure. But for the likes of us? Just a hobby for the curious."
Adair chuckled. "Who knows? Maybe one day, you'll become one of those warlords."
Julian shook his head. "That's not my dream. You know that better than anyone."
Adair studied him quietly before offering a mysterious smile. "True. But no one knows what fate holds for them."
Julian didn't reply immediately but gave a faint smile. "Well, I'll leave you to your war books. See you later."
When Julian returned home, night had fully settled, and the city hummed with its usual nocturnal rhythm. He lit the single lamp in his living room, removed his shoes, and collapsed onto the couch. His eyes fixed on the ceiling as the sound of an old clock echoed in the stillness.
As he passed by his desk, something unusual caught his eye.
On the wooden table near the window lay an old piece of paper with yellowed edges, something that hadn't been there before. He froze in place, his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, he approached the table, as if the paper itself were pulling him closer.
The message was written in elegant, antiquated handwriting, sharp yet refined. The words were brief but striking:
"The world is changing."
Beside the phrase was a strange symbol—a circle with intricately woven lines, resembling a spider's web. The symbol felt familiar, though Julian couldn't place it where he had seen it before.
As he brushed his fingers over the paper, a strange chill ran up his spine, as though the air itself had turned icy. Then, before he could react, the paper vanished before his very eyes. It left no trace.
Julian sat down, stunned, trying to process what had just happened. The desk was now empty. He whispered to himself, "What's going on? Am I losing my mind?"
That night, Julian struggled to sleep as nightmares plagued him. He dreamed of walking down endless dark corridors, the walls cold and damp, and the ground vanishing beneath his feet. The strange symbol glowed in every corner, trapping him. From the shadows behind him, a faint voice called his name:
"Julian…"
He woke up gasping for air, his heart racing. Sitting up in his bed, he tried to calm himself, but an unsettling feeling crept over him as if someone—or something—was watching.
Julian moved toward the window, drawing back the curtains. Across the street, under the dim glow of a gas lamp, stood a man in a long black coat, staring directly at his window. His eyes glinted with a golden hue, and his face was obscured beneath the shadows of his hat.
Julian tried to move or shout, but his body refused to respond. The man stood there for a moment longer, then turned and disappeared into a dark alley.
The next morning, Julian made his way back to the library, his steps hurried and uneasy. When he entered, Adair was at the counter, reading yet another book.
Julian approached quickly. "Adair, I need your help. Something strange is happening."
Adair looked up, startled. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Julian sat down and recounted everything—the message, the symbol, the mysterious man. Adair listened intently, his brows furrowed in thought. When Julian finished, Adair spoke in a low voice:
"That symbol you described… I think I've seen it before."
Julian's eyes widened. "Where?"
Adair's expression turned serious. "In one of the old books I keep in the back.
Adair stood and headed toward a small room at the back of the library. Julian followed cautiously, sensing that whatever awaited him might mark the beginning of something he wasn't prepared for.