The sound of Noctis's shoes echoed softly against the wooden floor as he hurried back to his apartment. The night air was cool, and the streets were quiet, but his mind buzzed with questions. Pushing open the door to his humble apartment. he immediately walked towards his room, he stepped inside and immediately turned on the oil lamp, its warm glow filling the space.
Noctis's apartment was a modest yet charming space, The room was of decent size, with ceilings of normal height adorned with intricate crown molding and a single, large window framed by white curtains. The color of the walls is faded with age but is still acceptable to look at.
In one corner stood a sturdy wooden desk, its surface cluttered with parchment, ink bottles, and a quill pen. Not so far above desk hung a brass oil lamp, its warm glow casting flickering shadows across the room. Nearby, a tall cabinet with glass-paned doors displayed an assortment of books, trinkets, and curiosities.
The was also a small kitchenette, complete with a cast-iron stove and a sink. A set of copper pots and pans hung neatly above the stove. A wooden counter held a few jars of spices and herbs, some empty, their labels handwritten in elegant script.
A full-length body mirror stood in another corner. The mirror's surface was slightly tarnished, giving it an aged, almost interesting appearance. Beside it, a armchair upholstered in deep burgundy fabric invited relaxation, though it was rarely used. A small silver pocket watch was lying in its seat.
The room was filled with Victorian touches—a rug covered the wooden floor, its colors muted but rich. A small side table held a humble tea set.
Despite its modest size, the room felt interesting and lived-in, a sanctuary where Noctis could retreat from the academy. Yet, as he sat at his desk, the weathered scroll before him, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the secrets about to unfold.
Noctis made his way to the desk, the parchment clutched tightly in his hand. He placed it on the surface, his fingers brushing against the aged parchment as he stared at it. The deal had been clear, The artifact was his if Ori didn't come and visit by midnight. But she hadn't said anything about not opening it.
"Hah," he muttered under his breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm a curious person"
But as he reached for the parchment, Ori's words echoed in his mind, "Noctis." her voice soft with otherworldly calm, "The silence speaks for those who dare to listen."
He froze, his hand hovering over the relic. For a moment, the room seemed to grow colder, the shadows deeper. The weight of her words settled over him like a shroud, and he hesitated.
"Alright," he said finally, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "I need some rest."
***
With that, Noctis finally fell asleep after tossing and turning, his mind restless despite his exhaustion. His dreams, however, were anything but peaceful.
He found himself standing in a vast, dark hall with somewhat low visibility, its towering walls shrouded in shadows so deep they seemed to swallow the light. The only illumination came from thin slivers of moonlight seeping through cracks in the ancient stone ceiling, casting eerie beams that barely touched the ground. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, and the silence was deafening.
In the center of the hall stood seven seats—one in the middle, elevated slightly, and three on each side. The seats were carved from a dark, polished wood, their intricate designs hinting at a forgotten era of grandeur.
"What... what is this place?" Noctis muttered, his voice echoing faintly in the emptiness. There was no one to answer him. He looked down at his arms and froze.
His body was no longer his own. It was as though he had become an old porcelain doll, his skin smooth and pale but marred with fine cracks that spiderwebbed across his limbs. His hollow insides were faintly visible through the fractures, and his hands trembled as he touched his face, feeling the jagged lines that ran across it. He wore an elegant black tunic and a flowing cloak of the same color, the fabric shimmering faintly in the dim light. His eyes, pitch black with a faint glimmer of light at their centers, seemed to pierce through the darkness, as if they could see into the very soul of anyone who met his gaze. He looked almost... mystic.
Disoriented, Noctis stumbled forward, his porcelain limbs creaking faintly with each step. He checked his surroundings, his hollow eyes scanning the hall for any sign of life or explanation. After a few frantic moments, he forced himself to calm down and sat in the seat of honor, his cracked hands gripping the chilling black stone armrests tightly.
"Calm down... this must be a dream," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "I hid the scroll and tried to sleep. That's the last thing I did, right? This has to be a dream... it has to be..."
As his breathing steadied, his gaze drifted upward to the seat behind him. Above it, carved into the eerie dark stone, were strange characters he couldn't decipher. Yet, as he stared at them, the words seemed to form in his mind, as if whispered by an unseen force.
Harbinger of Night.
Before he could finish his words however, his porcelain body convulsed violently, the cracks spreading rapidly as a searing pain shot through his very being. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. The world around him blurred, and he collapsed into darkness.
***
Noctis woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. Sunlight streamed through the window, and he realized it was already noon. He sat up, his mind still reeling from the dream, and immediately reached under his bed where he had hidden the artifact.
But it was gone.
"Huh? It should be here... where is it?" he muttered, his voice tinged with panic. He searched frantically, pulling out drawers and rifling through his belongings, but the scroll was nowhere to be found. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt unnervingly empty, as if the artifact had never been there at all.