When Van finally returned home, morning light had already spilled across the horizon. The house stood still, draped in silence, the kind that wrapped itself around him like a thin sheet of calm, fragile, almost too quiet. There was no one at the door to greet him, no sounds of movement or morning chatter.
He didn't bother with the knob. He didn't need to. He simply phased through the front door like a ghost returning to familiar ruins. The faint creak of wood beneath his shoes was the only response he received as he stepped inside.
He wandered through the hallway, saying nothing, doing nothing to disturb the stillness. Each room passed in silence, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Not a voice, not a shuffle, not even a ticking clock.
Eventually, he found it; the room that smelled like peace. Lavender and cotton. A soft mixture of sun-warmed sheets and something vaguely floral, like the memory of someone who used to be there.
Without a second thought, he slumped forward onto the bed, landing hard, but not caring. The mattress sank beneath his weight like it had been waiting for him. His breathing settled slowly, rhythmically. But the tension in his shoulders refused to loosen. Even now, after everything, he felt half-present, like a part of him hadn't come home yet.
But it wasn't just exhaustion that pinned him there, it was the storm building in his mind, spiraling faster with every passing second.
That old man… he wasn't just a stranger. No. I've seen him before again and again in the fragments of Master's memories that bleed into mine. Always standing in the same cold corridors. Always watching. He's the one who kept Master confined in that place they called the White Unit. A sterile prison masked as protection. A cage behind polished glass and emotionless walls.
Even now, the thought of that man's face sends a chill down my spine.
What does he want with Master now?
After all these years, after everything that's happened, why return?
Is it revenge? Regret? Or something darker?
The last time my Master was there… he destroyed the entire facility. Or at least, that's what I believed and that's what he believed
But what if some of it survived?
What if the walls still stood scarred and burned, but intact enough to hold whatever secrets they were hiding?
He tried to push the thoughts away, to bury them beneath the weight of exhaustion and silence. But they clung to him like wet cloth, suffocating and cold.
Images flickered behind his eyes, flashes of that place, of his Master's fury, of fire, of crumbling steel and screams swallowed by concrete.
What if the past wasn't finished with them yet?
---
Meanwhile, Grandma and I had gone into the city to shop.
But the city…
It wasn't the one I remembered.
It had grown taller, louder, more electric. The streets pulsed with unfamiliar rhythms, people moving like they belonged, vehicles sliding past like veins in a living thing. It was as if time had skipped me entirely and thrown me into a future I wasn't ready for.
While Grandma drifted off to handle furniture shopping, she left me to find what I needed. Mostly shirts. Most of mine were long gone, burned into ash and scraps from the burns of the seal on my back.
I was just about to cross the road when something strange caught my eye.
There, tucked deep between two high-rise buildings, was an alley that curved inward like a secret. And nestled inside it… a shop. Hidden, shy. Like it didn't want to be found.
Its sign was old wooden, cracked, the letters faded and barely readable. The kind of place you don't notice unless you're already looking for something you don't understand.
I paused.
Something about it pulled at me not loudly, but with a soft, invisible thread. Like a whisper brushing the back of my neck.
---
Inside, through the dusty windows, I saw glimpses of shields, blades, armor. Things that didn't belong in a city like Elaria. Not anymore. They felt wrong but not in a dangerous way, but like they belonged to someone else's story.
Just outside the entrance, a guy stood talking with the old man behind the counter. The guy looked my age, maybe a bit older but the way he moved felt precise, practiced. Like every gesture carried weight.
He was pointing at the armor sets, asking about colors and symbols his tone serious, his stance sharp. I couldn't hear the old man's voice from where I stood, but I didn't need to. Something about the moment felt paused, important, like a scene in a dream you know you'll remember when you wake up.
And then, he turned.
Swift. Too swift. Like he had felt my eyes on him.
Golden hair, short and bright, caught the morning light and glowed faintly like a crown.
Our eyes met.
And for a split second, I forgot how to move.
There was something in his gaze, something not entirely human, but not cruel either. Just… aware. Deeply aware. As if he was used to seeing through people instead of just looking at them.
---
I shook the feeling off. Or at least tried to.
I shouldn't think too much about it.
And then—thud!
A small body slammed into my side. A child. Her tiny hands clutching a half-melted ice cream cone that promptly splattered across my trousers. She giggled mid-run, not stopping, as if crashing into people was part of her game. The scent of strawberries hung in the air where she had been, sweet and sticky.
I sighed, brushing at the mess, even though it wouldn't help.
When I looked up again, I found myself facing a wall of glass.
Behind it was a pastel-lit shop, an ice cream and cake place with soft neon signage that glowed pink and mint green. Inside, the tubs of ice cream were lined up like gemstones behind frosted glass. Cakes spun gently on their trays, each one decorated like it belonged in a fairytale.
I stared.
Cinder puffs.
I used to love those.
The craving hit suddenly, but so did reality. I had no money. No phone. Miss Claire hadn't paid me yet. I didn't even know where her lab was the Castalis Invention Lab, or whatever fancy title it had. All I knew was that I was somewhere between errands and survival.
For a moment, I felt like an abandoned child. Just… floating.
---
A second later, another kid ran up. A boy, maybe the girl's friend. He stopped beside me and looked at the display too.
We didn't speak.
But for that brief moment, we shared something of an understanding. His eyes flicked from the cakes to my ruined trousers. Then to my face. He didn't laugh. Didn't judge. Just blinked once, soft and slow, like a quiet nod that said, Yeah, I get it.
And then he left. Without a word.
---
I looked back toward the alley, the strange shop with the golden-haired guy.
A part of me wanted to go back, to walk in, to know. To ask why it felt like I had already been there before, even though I hadn't.
But I didn't. Because if I did… he might think I was following him.
So I let the crowd carry me down another street.
---
Even then, I could feel it, eyes watching me from the shadows between buildings, from reflective surfaces, from corridor corners I didn't even step into.
Strange figures. Unfamiliar presences.
I had to be careful. I couldn't afford to step outside the city's borders now. I could feel it in my gut: my movements were being tracked.
Like I was some kind of fugitive.
The city didn't feel welcoming. It felt alive in the way a storm is alive, always shifting, always watching.
People wove through the streets like water splitting around stones. The pavements were thick with footsteps. Every step I took bumped against someone else's, every breath a collision with someone else's perfume or shoulder or word.
I kept my head low, mumbling apologies, weaving through like I didn't belong.
And then I looked up.
A mall stood before me vast and glassy, its polished walls towering like a sleeping titan. Sunlight bounced off its surface, almost blinding. I didn't think. I just walked in.
---
The air inside was cool, crisp. The scent of artificial calm: perfume, tile polish, and recycled air.
The mall stretched upward like a vertical city. Each floor was its own world. Electronics. Clothing. Kitchenware. A hotel at the top, probably.
I stepped onto the escalator, watching people blur past as I rose to the second level.
Music played softly overhead, mixing with the low hum of conversations and clicking heels. I followed the signs toward the clothing section.
---
The clothes were loud. Neon prints, oversized sleeves, sequins, layered chains, jackets that screamed for attention. Mannequins stood in poses too confident to imitate. I drifted between them, fingers brushing fabrics that looked too expensive and too uncomfortable.
Turning down another aisle, I accidentally bumped shoulders with two women.
They glanced back, one of them whispering something behind her hand. The other just looked at me a second too long.
Not anger. Not laughter.
Just… observation. And a judgment they didn't speak, but I felt anyway. Like static.
I slipped away, pretending not to notice.
---
I reached the shirt section.
Simple fabrics. Light. Breathable. Perfect for this weather. But the price tags stared at me like warnings.
Just then, one of the store attendants approached. She moved with intention, her heels sharp against the tile. She looked about twenty young but trained to spot people who didn't belong.
She stopped right in front of me, smile practiced and shallow.
"Are you from the city?" she asked, voice polite but too pointed.
I blinked.
Was it that obvious?
Did I really look that different?