It had been an hour. I was still on the bench opposite the reception, sinking deeper into its stiff cushion with every passing minute. Mikael had said he'd be back soon, something about a meeting he couldn't postpone. I didn't ask what kind. I wasn't even sure I had the right to.
The morning had been a blur. Breakfast with him at that long marble table. A short tour through streets I didn't recognize, carried by a black carriage drawn by silver-coated horses that looked far too clean for this world. He had spoken softly during the ride, answering questions I hadn't asked, about roads, estates, and names that meant nothing to me. Then he left me here, in this vast building of polished floors and whispering air, telling me to wait.
At first, I didn't mind. The hall was quiet, the kind of quiet that hums in expensive places. The walls gleamed with pale light reflected off chandeliers. The air smelled faintly of something sterile, like polished wood and fading perfume. But after a while, the silence began to press on me.
There was no one else in the waiting area. Not a single person, not even a guard. Only the woman at the reception, who had been stealing glances at me for the past half hour. Her expression was careful, disguised politeness mixed with suspicion. The kind you give to someone who is clearly out of place but protected by someone important.
My clothes didn't help. A plain sweater and worn jeans, both provided by the Order after my awakening. They didn't belong here, not among men in tailored coats and women with faces as still as portraits. I had caught a glimpse of a few of them entering the halls earlier. None spared me a look, but they didn't need to. Their indifference was reminder enough.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the tiled floor. What am I even doing here?
A clock ticked faintly above the door. Each minute sounded longer than the last. I tried not to look at the receptionist again, but I could feel her eyes returning every so often, like a small blade of doubt pressing against the back of my neck.
Mikael had been gone too long. Whatever meeting he was in, it wasn't small. And from what I had seen of him this morning, his carriage, the way people bowed as he passed, he wasn't small either.
I sighed quietly and rubbed my palms together, trying to fight the cold crawling into my hands. He'd better come back soon, I thought. Before someone decides I don't belong here after all.
The soft sound of shoes clicking on marble made me lift my head. For a moment, I thought it was someone else, another official, maybe a servant, but when I saw him stepping out from the far hallway, I let out a slow breath I had not realized I had been holding.
Mikael looked different now. The warmth he carried earlier in the day had cooled into something distant. His expression was unreadable, his posture straight and deliberate, as though he had not just left me waiting an hour in someone else's hall. The people behind him, three men in dark coats and one woman with a folder tucked under her arm, walked a step behind, speaking quietly among themselves. None of them acknowledged me.
When Mikael finally reached the reception, the woman behind the desk straightened so quickly her chair creaked. He spoke a few words to her that I could not quite hear. She nodded quickly, eyes flicking to me before lowering them again. Then Mikael turned his gaze to me.
"Sorry for the wait," he said, voice calm but faintly tired. "I did not think it would take this long."
I shrugged, forcing a small smile. "It is fine. I was just enjoying the view."
That earned the slightest hint of amusement from him. He motioned for me to follow, and I rose, relieved to finally be leaving that chair. As we walked through the corridor, the sound of our footsteps echoed against the high ceiling. The air here was colder, sharper, filled with a faint metallic scent.
"What was that meeting about?" I asked after a moment.
He did not answer immediately. His eyes stayed ahead, focused on the doors at the end of the hall. "Business," he said finally. "Things that would not make much sense to explain."
"Right," I muttered. "You have quite the busy life."
He smiled at that, but it was faint, distant, almost forced. "I suppose I do."
We passed several closed doors on either side. From behind one, I could hear the murmur of voices, then the sound of something being signed or stamped. Whatever this place was, it felt alive in a quiet, heavy way, like a body breathing beneath thick layers of skin.
At one point, I caught our reflection in the polished glass of a side cabinet. Him in his dark suit, crisp and commanding, and me beside him, plain and small. The contrast was absurd enough that I looked away before I could think too much about it.
"You did not have to wait all that time," Mikael said suddenly. "You could have asked them to show you around."
"I did not think they would be too eager to help someone dressed like this," I replied.
He glanced at me, eyes briefly softening. "You might be surprised how far my name goes here."
I did not know how to respond to that, so I said nothing. We walked a little farther until we reached a large glass door leading out into a sunlit courtyard. The air outside felt fresher, filled with the faint scent of trimmed grass and the distant sound of fountains.
Mikael paused by the steps, looking over the space before us. "I had planned to show you the estate today," he said quietly, "but it seems I have already kept you long enough."
"I do not mind," I said. "You have already done more than enough."
He turned to me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That is good to hear."
For a moment, neither of us said anything. The quiet stretched between us, comfortable but heavy in some way I could not name. Then he started walking again, down the stone steps and across the courtyard. I followed, wondering again who he really was.
Because every time I thought I had started to understand Mikael, he shifted. Like a shadow that looked different each time the light changed.
The courtyard faded behind us as we moved back onto the streets, and I could not help but notice how sharply the world here contrasted with the corners of my old life. The streets were clean, almost unnaturally so, paved with smooth stone, lined with trimmed hedges and lampposts that glowed softly even under the sun. Shops stood on either side, their windows polished to a mirror shine, displaying fruits, vegetables, and goods I had no names for. People passed by briskly, polite nods exchanged, murmured greetings offered in tones that sounded rehearsed yet sincere. I stuck close to Mikael, trying to blend in, trying not to draw attention to the sweater and jeans that felt suddenly out of place amid the silent luxury of the city. Every few steps, I felt my hands twitching, fingers brushing against the pockets where my card rested quietly.
We passed fountains that glittered like molten silver, benches carved with delicate patterns, and storefronts that smelled faintly of fresh bread and exotic spices. I was acutely aware of every crack in the pavement, every unusual tile, every shadow that moved just a little differently. Mikael walked ahead, calm and unhurried, and I could not shake the feeling that everyone around us was aware of him in a way they were not aware of me. He had the aura of someone born to command attention, even in silence. I followed, quiet, observing. My stomach reminded me sharply that I had not eaten properly since dawn, but I could not bring myself to comment, embarrassed by the luxury that surrounded us.
By the time we reached a small bistro tucked between two taller buildings, the sun had passed its peak and lingered lazily past two in the afternoon. The place was quiet, tables spaced widely apart, a soft hum of conversation drifting between the clinking of utensils and the occasional ring of the cash register. We took a table by the window, where the sunlight streamed in just enough to make the polished wood glow. Mikael ordered for both of us with a calm certainty, and I found myself watching as plates of food arrived that looked more like art than sustenance. I poked at mine absentmindedly, unsure how to eat without seeming ignorant, while he ate with a quiet focus, methodical and precise, yet not without elegance. I wondered, briefly, if this was how he had always eaten, in places where luxury was expected, or if it was a learned performance.
Time passed in small, measured bites and sips of water, and I realized that the sunlight was shifting, throwing long shadows across the polished floor of the bistro. Mikael's fork paused midway to his mouth, and he finally looked at me with those dark, unreadable eyes. "Your name?" he asked, voice even, but there was a slight curve at the corner of his lips, as if he had deliberately waited all this time just to ask it. I blinked, surprised, uncertain if I had missed something in the long walk, the silent observations, the luxury I was barely keeping pace with. "I, Corben. Corben Hale," I said finally, and felt the words settle awkwardly on the table between us. He nodded, as if the name were a puzzle piece I had finally offered him, and returned to his meal without another word.
The last scraps of food were gone, plates pushed aside with quiet deliberation. The sunlight had softened, leaning toward the horizon, gilding the edges of the table and the courtyard beyond. Mikael rose without a word, his movements precise, deliberate, like he'd rehearsed them a thousand times. I followed, a knot tightening in my chest, my stomach twisting in the same nervous coil that had kept me alert all morning.
The carriage waited by the curb, polished wood gleaming faintly in the dying light. Horses shifted restlessly beneath their harnesses, and I felt a prickle of unease as I stepped closer. The door closed behind me with a soft thud, and suddenly the brightness of the world outside was gone. Inside, the carriage was a shadowed cocoon. Heavy drapes swallowed the edges of the interior, leaving only narrow slits where sunlight leaked in, faintly illuminating the polished wood and plush seats. Dust drifted lazily in the shafts of light, sparkling like tiny embers, mocking the rapid beat of my heart.
I sat down slowly, letting my fingers brush the edges of the seat as if it could anchor me. The carriage rocked faintly under the weight of the horses' first steps, and my pulse thrummed in my ears. I tried to steady myself, to find the courage, but the darkness pressed in from all sides, and my thoughts scrambled like birds trapped in a cage.
Finally, I let the words slip, shaky at first, barely audible. "I've been meaning to ask but-" Mikael just smiled with his head resting behind, eyes closed, as if he knew this was coming. "Who… who was the boy… yesterday?" I paused, my tongue faltering. The words felt clumsy, inadequate. My gaze darted to the slits of light, the shadows of the carriage, anything to break the tension suffocating me. My hands gripped the edges of the seat tighter. The rocking of the carriage, soft and measured, mirrored the tremor in my chest.
A breath. I drew it in, waited, as if forcing the courage to build slowly inside me. "…And…" I continued, my voice catching, "…and who… are you really?" Another pause. Longer this time. My pulse spiked, every shadow stretching closer, every sliver of light stabbing at my awareness. The air felt thick, heavy with expectation, as though the carriage itself waited for the answer.
I swallowed hard, my knuckles white against the leather. The horses clattered along the road outside, a steady rhythm that mocked my own restless heartbeat. I leaned slightly forward, squinting into the dim light, searching for any hint, any flicker, any movement from Mikael. The silence answered me first, pressing against my ears, before his presence did.
I repeated it, softer this time, almost as if whispering to the carriage itself, "I need… I need to know."
And the darkness waited, coiling around us, holding the answer just out of reach, until Mikael finally shifted, a subtle movement, a tilt of the head. The carriage continued, carrying us forward toward truths I wasn't sure I was ready to face, every step of the horses stretching the question longer, heavier, like a rope dangling over a cliff, waiting for me to grasp it.
I wasn't scared, at least, that's what I kept telling myself.
Not nervous either, not in the trembling, frantic kind of way. But the stillness inside me wasn't calm, it was something closer to numb acceptance, a quiet awareness that I was far from anything familiar. This world wasn't mine. Its air, its streets, its people, everything felt like an imitation, close enough to fool the senses but not the soul.
The boy had been the first human I'd spoken to since I arrived. Mikael, the second. Two faces cut from the same shape, like reflections cast by uneven mirrors. Yet their differences stood out like cracks in glass, height, build, the color of their hair, the look in their eyes. One carried the jittery playfulness of a street child. The other, a composure that came from years of control.
I needed to know who they were. What they were.
If they were both real, or if one of them wasn't at all.
The carriage rocked gently, and the silence between us grew heavier, like fog thickening around a lantern. I thought maybe, if I stayed close enough, long enough, I could find the answers without asking. That perhaps his words, his actions, or even the way he looked at the world would reveal something, anything, that made sense of the strangeness of it all.
But then, his voice broke through. Smooth, low, unhurried.
"Tell me, Hale."
My eyes twitched open. I hadn't realized I'd been staring at the faint glow leaking through the curtains.
"Have the Order," he continued, "or perhaps someone else, taught you about… runes?"
The word hung in the air, cutting clean through the hum of the carriage wheels.
Runes.
I turned toward him slowly. His gaze was fixed ahead, unreadable, almost detached, but something in his tone, something beneath the calm surface, told me the question wasn't casual. It was deliberate. Weighted.
For a moment, I couldn't speak. The silence stretched thin, taut, humming like a string pulled too tight.
He looked at me again, and in that dim light, his eyes caught the faint gold of the leaking sunlight, sharp and steady.
As if he already knew my answer.
"Datton, I may need you to cast a curtain around us," Mikael said, his voice calm, deliberate. I assumed he was speaking to the driver, the one guiding the carriage along the empty streets, though the words carried a weight that made it feel like they weren't meant just for him.
He brought his hand slowly in front of me, palm open, empty. "Look closely," he instructed.
At first, I thought he would show me something grand, something impossibly impossible. Magic, perhaps? A trick of light, illusions bending the air? I had been thrust into a body of a boy, younger than I had been in my previous life. I had seen so many strange things since waking in this world. But nothing prepared me for what was about to unfold.
Dust, or what I thought was dust, began to gather over his hand. At first, it was subtle, flickering in the dim light that leaked through the carriage curtains. I stared, frozen, barely breathing. And then I realized, it was not ordinary dust. It wasn't dust at all.
The particles glimmered golden, each one spinning and twisting with a life of its own. Light pooled in his palm, brightening without heat, illuminating the small confines of the carriage with a radiance that felt ancient, alive, and undeniably deliberate.
And then it happened. In an instant, with no warning, no buildup to brace my mind, the particles coalesced. They spun faster, forming a shape, solidifying from the golden haze.
A stone. But not just any stone. It glowed with an inner fire, sharp and pure. Its form twisted like a lightning bolt, intricate and jagged, yet undeniably deliberate. Every edge seemed alive, resonating with a power that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Mikael's lips moved, calm and sure: "This… is a rune."
The golden glow reflected off his face, and for a fraction of a second, the stern, unyielding master before me blurred and shifted. The light carved soft lines into his features, softened the sharpness of his gaze, and for an instant, I saw the boy I had met yesterday, the mischievous, curious child, wide-eyed and alive with wonder. His familiar innocence, the bright spark in his eyes, flickered in Mikael's stern face, gone in a heartbeat as the light dimmed, leaving only the weight and authority of the man he truly was.
I could not speak. I could not move. My thoughts were a jumble of disbelief, awe, and fear. The rune pulsed gently, and in that rhythm, I felt a current of history, power, and unspoken purpose flowing toward me.
"This…" I finally breathed, though no words left my mouth. Mikael's hand remained steady, the rune suspended, glowing with its own pulse, as though it were aware of my gaze. The carriage felt smaller, heavier, charged with an energy I had never encountered.
For a fleeting heartbeat, the boy was there again, laughing softly behind the golden light, and then he was gone, leaving only Mikael, the master, the wielder, the enigma, and the rune that promised more than I could comprehend.
With a flicker of his hand, the glowing stone vanished, evaporating into nothingness as though it had never existed. I sank forward, my head resting heavy over my thighs, hands clasped loosely on my lap. My chest heaved faintly, though I hadn't realized how tightly I had been holding it. The air still seemed thick with the echo of that golden light, as though it had pressed against my skin, my chest, and settled into my bones. My heartbeat had accelerated almost violently the instant the rune had appeared, and even now it thumped erratically in my ears, a reminder of the weight of what I had just witnessed.
I lifted my head slowly, feeling the carriage sway beneath us, the dim shafts of light brushing over Mikael's face. He looked calm, composed, but his presence carried a gravity that left me unsettled. His eyes met mine, piercing and steady, yet distant, as if he were already far beyond this small moment.
"I assume you have an appointment with the Order tomorrow," he said, his voice deliberate, measured, leaving no room for argument, but not harsh either.
"With the Order…" I echoed, testing the words in my mouth. My mind swirled with images of yesterday, the boy, the glowing rune, and now this stern version of him. Everything seemed too much, too fast, yet impossibly precise, as if I had been led here step by step, only to realize that every step was already mapped out.
Mikael's hand rested casually on his knee, but the weight of it was heavy with implication. I swallowed, my voice dry and hesitant. "Yes… tomorrow," I said finally, the words tasting foreign on my tongue. Every pulse of the carriage, every flicker of shadow along its walls, seemed to echo the enormity of what awaited me, and the unease in my chest did not diminish.
"Once you meet them," Mikael's voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a precision to it that made the words feel heavy. "They will ask you. They will present you with options. To either accept their quest, or-"
"Or die," I interjected, almost without thinking. The words tasted bitter on my tongue, yet they felt… expected. I had known the rules, the consequences, the inevitability of choice in this strange second life. The Order didn't waste time. They didn't leave things unresolved.
Mikael's lips curved faintly, just enough for me to notice. There was an edge to his amusement, subtle, but present, like he already knew the thoughts spinning inside my head. "With your perspective", I added, more as a thought to myself than a question, "I wouldn't be surprised if you knew of them already… or had some connection with the Order."
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering me with an almost clinical patience. "You may be under the assumption," he said slowly, letting each word land with weight, "that I could be one of them. That my knowledge, my possession of the rune, or even my actions suggest ties to the Order."
The air between us thickened. I felt it pressing down on me, that same weight I had learned to recognize from the old world, the weight of someone who could see straight through you, who could read hesitation, fear, uncertainty, and spin them into clarity.
A jolt of unease ran through me. This man, this boy-man who held power and knowledge far beyond my understanding, could perceive me in ways that made me question every small movement, every hidden thought. I swallowed hard.
"Fear not," Mikael continued, his tone levelling into a calm certainty. "I am not one of them. I have no affiliation, no allegiance. Just as you face the Order, I will face them too. Tomorrow."
The words sank deep, deeper than I expected. My mind scrambled to piece together the meaning, the implications. A man, or perhaps he was still the boy I had met, somehow grown into this commanding presence, stood before me, claiming he had a path parallel to mine. He was not a guardian, nor an enforcer. He was, like me, another player in this labyrinthine game.
I exhaled, slowly, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. My heartbeat was erratic, my chest tight with the weight of realization. Just a few hours remained until sunset. Just a few hours until my card expired, my temporary privileges dissolved, my fleeting safety gone. The urgency pressed against me like the walls of the carriage, dark and suffocating.
The boy yesterday had been a fleeting spark, a reminder that even in this place, life, or whatever life meant here, could still hold fragments of hope. Yet sitting across from Mikael now, with his stern black eyes and controlled movements, it was as if that spark had been snuffed out, leaving the raw reality in its place. He was not here to offer hope. He was here to show the weight of possibility, the cost of missteps.
I found my gaze drawn again to his hands. The way they rested lightly on his knees, the subtle control in his posture, the faintest quiver of light as the rune glowed in memory. That fleeting golden glow had transformed his face, just for a second, into the boy I had seen yesterday. That innocence, that small, defiant spark, had been swallowed by the weight of authority and presence now occupying the same body. I blinked, trying to reconcile the image in my mind.
"What…" I started, voice tight, trembling slightly, "what am I supposed to do?"
He didn't answer immediately, and the pause stretched longer than comfort allowed. It was not silence, it was expectation. A careful weighing of possibilities, a patient letting of the pressure to force my own reckoning. My thoughts raced, flitting between yesterday, the boy, and the weight of the reality Mikael now represented.
I remembered the boy's laughter, the small victories, the tiny sparks of life that had felt impossible to find in this world. And I realized how fragile that hope had been. How easily it could be crushed under the knowledge that this world, this life, and the people in it, did not bend to wishes or goodwill. Mikael was living proof of that. He was a force, immovable, calculating, and aware.
I pressed my palms to my face, rubbing at my temples as the carriage rocked slightly on the street. My mind clawed for clarity. There were just a few hours, just enough to decide: whether to step forward into the unknown, or to remain here, frozen by fear and indecision.
I had thought yesterday that I might not be alone, that the boy's presence had meant the world was not entirely cruel. But here, in this darkened carriage with Mikael, that notion crumbled. I was reminded that in the end, this world did not grant mercy to those unprepared. It only rewarded decisiveness, insight, and perhaps a willingness to understand the unexplainable.
I lifted my head slowly, and the dim streaks of light through the carriage curtains caught Mikael's profile. It was the boy, and it was not the boy. The glow of understanding, of power, and of the rune he held, the memory of it, etched itself into his features. For a brief instant, I could see both: the innocence, the mischief, the trust of yesterday's child, and the unyielding, disciplined mastery of the man he had become.
I swallowed hard, knowing I had only a moment to steel myself, to prepare for the questions I would face tomorrow, and to confront the weight of my own decisions. I exhaled slowly, realizing I was standing at the edge of a precipice, looking into both the past and the future, and the only thing I could hold onto was the raw, undeniable fact that the game had already begun.