A gray sun rose over the city of Eldrin, stealing its warmth before it could reach the streets. The fog still clung to the ground like a spider's web—hiding certain truths… or perhaps revealing them, to eyes trained to see.
Isaac walked to school as usual, his steps slow but steady, his uniform neat despite his usual pallor. The day looked the same on the outside—but inside… inside was a storm.
Eric (calmly, in his mind):"Do you notice it? That building to the right… the same person watches from the window every morning."
Isaac (eyes half-lidded):"I was going to say it's a nosy neighbor… but he never waves. Never even moves."
Eric:"Curious eyes blink."
It wasn't the first time they exchanged these small observations, but it was becoming a habit. Eric was forcing Isaac to see what he used to miss—to read faces, estimate time, calculate the distance between footsteps. As if the world had become a chessboard… and everyone on it a piece under scrutiny.
In class, Isaac sat in his usual seat. He wasn't liked, but he wasn't hated either. His silence gave him just enough space to be left alone. Teachers noted his brilliance; students labeled him the "quiet orphan who doesn't speak much."
But today, his mind wasn't on the lesson.
He was observing.
The teacher's gestures, classmates' reactions, their notebooks… even how they behaved when his parents' deaths were mentioned. Who still looked affected? Who looked like they'd been expecting it?
Eric:"The boy behind you—Miles—he's the only one who didn't look at you during the funeral. Didn't even attend."
Isaac:"True… even though his father worked in the neighborhood council. Odd."
Eric:"Sometimes, those who don't show up… know too much."
Though the day passed quickly, Isaac felt as though his eyes carried ten times their usual weight. On his way home, thoughts began to creep back into his mind—familiar ones… but painful.
Money.
The small monthly stipend his father left barely sufficed. No real inheritance—just books, study tools, and a legacy of silence.
He didn't weep over it. He calculated—how much was left, how many weeks it would stretch, when he'd need new clothes, or how he'd pay for heating when winter came.
At the corner, he passed the old library… the one he used to visit with his father as a child. Its facade was unchanged: dusty windows, slanted books, and the scent of old paper leaking from every crack.
He paused. His heart wavered between nostalgia and necessity.
Isaac (to himself):"Mr. Corvin… Dad's old friend. He always said I could come by anytime."
Eric:"And now he has what you need… work. And books."
Isaac smiled bitterly.Books… work… and a past that still breathed behind the shelves.
He decided he would go. Not today—but soon. Maybe tomorrow.
That evening, Isaac sat in his worn-out wooden chair by the window, staring at the flickering streetlamp outside like he was trying to read a book written on the fog.
The room was quiet, the silence heavy—but his inner voice was not.
Eric (in a thoughtful tone):"Have you ever wondered what makes Colaber… Colaber?"
Isaac (with a half-sarcastic smile):"Aside from being the land of crime and fog?"
Eric:"There's something deeper than fog. Invisible strings that control this world. Kingdoms built on the ashes of powers we still don't understand."
Isaac pulled out a small notebook and began doodling—arches and lines, as if searching for a shape within the chaos.
Eric:"Colaber isn't just one kingdom, like you think. It's a continent. Forgotten in official geography books, but divided into seven major kingdoms… and an eighth no one talks about."
Isaac's hand paused.
Isaac:"Seven? I've never heard that. We live in Eldrin, under the Gray King. That's all we know."
Eric:"Eldrin is just one kingdom, ruled by nobles who hide half the truth. Then there's Forsai in the north—frozen lands, strict laws… and Mirasel, city of glass and intellect… where forbidden experiments grow in every crack of science."
Isaac (with quiet surprise):"And these are all real?"
Eric:"Then there's Arlach, kingdom of hunters and fire—always at war. Darkyle, land of forgotten religions, where it's said some never die… Lussan, the sleeping kingdom beneath the sea… and Nevyara, kingdom of air and ancient legends."
Isaac:"And the eighth?"
Eric fell silent. Long enough for Isaac to feel an inexplicable weight in his chest.
Eric:"The eighth isn't a kingdom. It's a curse… a land never seen on maps, never mentioned in books. They call it only… The Still Shadow."
The streetlamp dimmed slightly, as if the name itself had bent reality.
Eric (softly):"The Still Shadow isn't a place… it's a concept. A cult. A presence. Something—or someone—who rules from behind the curtain."
Isaac:"And how do you know all this?"
Eric:"I don't know… I remember. Like something deep inside me is showing me echoes—forgotten images, pieces of a bigger map. It'll all make sense, in time."
Isaac grabbed another pen and began sketching a rough map in his notebook: circles for kingdoms, lines for borders, markings by each name. His eyes scanned the paper, but his mind was assembling a puzzle larger than anything he'd known.
Eric (in a low voice):"Understand the map, Isaac… before you decide where to go. Because if you walk blindly… you may already be inside the shadow—and not even know it."
The clock was approaching four in the afternoon, and the sky had begun to thicken with clouds, as if preparing for a light rain.Isaac walked at a steady pace—cautious, alert—making his way through the narrow alleys he knew well, despite the fog that, as usual, crept across the ground at this time of day.
Eric (with a slightly sarcastic tone):"We could've gone to the Market of Secrets, where answers are sold in exchange for memories… but fine, the library's a safe choice too."
Isaac (with a faint smile):"Safety is a rare thing these days."
He finally reached an old building made of dark stone, its facade decorated with half-faded carvings. A wooden sign above the door read:"Arnold's Library – Where words dwell and secrets breathe."
He pushed the heavy door open, and it gave off a faint rustle, as if the building itself was waking from a long nap. The scent of aged paper, leather-bound volumes, and melted wax greeted him like an old memory.
From between the shelves, a tall man appeared—mid-fifties, wearing a long brown coat and thick round glasses, his face marked by time and the cunning of someone who knew too much.It was Mr. Matthew Arnold, his father's old friend.
Matthew (with warm surprise):"Isaac? By the heavens… I didn't expect to see you."
Isaac:"Hello, Uncle Matthew. I thought I'd drop by… and maybe ask for a job, if you're still looking for help."
Matthew:"Always… but I didn't think I'd see you here after what happened to your family."
Isaac (with a strange calm):"I don't imagine much anymore."
The two sat at a side table. Matthew brewed two cups of black tea and pulled out an old notebook from a side cabinet, placing it gently in front of him.
Matthew:"This… belonged to your father. I kept it after the incident. I thought you'd come for it someday."
Isaac (softly):"I wasn't ready… until now."
He opened the notebook slowly. The pages were covered in overlapping handwriting and complex drawings—almost like codes or ritual circles—along with dates, book titles, and cryptic notes.
Eric (in a slightly sharp tone):"This isn't an ordinary notebook. It's a map of the mind… or the beginning of an inner doctrine."
Isaac (whispering mentally):"Inner doctrine? You mean like the rituals we talked about?"
Eric:"Exactly. Your father wasn't as simple as you thought."
Matthew (in a hushed tone, like a confession):"Your father… was searching for something. For truth beyond the world, beyond power, beyond what we call 'the Radiant Mind.' He once told me: 'Light isn't always a blessing… sometimes it reveals shadows we shouldn't see.'"
A silence fell.
Isaac:"Do you have any idea what he was looking for?"
Matthew:"Something about energy… about circles of awareness… something beyond chemistry books or philosophy."
Isaac left the library at sunset, notebook in hand. His hands trembled slightly—not from the cold, but from the feeling that a door had opened… and couldn't be closed again.
Eric (quietly):"The first step always seems small… but it's often the most important. Are you ready?"
Isaac:"No. But I'll walk it anyway."
The air was heavy that evening.
Isaac stepped out of the library with steady steps, though his heart was anything but. His hands were warmed by the old leather-bound notebook, which he held like a fragment of his father's body… a piece he hadn't even known existed until today.
"Why didn't he tell me? Why all this silence?"
The thoughts crowded his head like a small noise growing in the corner where Eric lived.
Eric (with sudden calm):"Sometimes, not everything is said. Not because we hide it… but because we know you wouldn't understand it before the time is right."
"Maybe… but he was my father. He could've hinted. Left a mark. Asked a question without an answer."
The streets were nearly empty. Old gas lamps began to glow softly along the cobbled path. Raindrops began to fall—slowly, as if watching him—and then suddenly stopped… as though something in the air had changed.
When he reached the gate of his old house, he sensed something… different.A faint smell… like smoke. Not quite fire—but unfamiliar. Maybe a candle left burning? Maybe something more.
He pushed the door open slowly and entered.The house was dark, except for a flickering light filtering in from a small window near the kitchen. He set the notebook on the table, took off his coat… then froze.
A sound.Very faint—but clear.
Like someone moving something upstairs.
"No one's here. I'm alone. I… I'm alone?"
He stepped onto the staircase, slowly. Each step echoed louder than it should. He stopped in front of his room and gently pushed the door open. It creaked in an unsettling silence.
The room was as he left it. Books, bed, windows. Nothing broken. Nothing stolen. But there was a feeling…Someone had stood here just moments ago.
He walked over to his desk and noticed a small piece of paper that hadn't been there in the morning.A torn page from a book, with words written in red ink:
"When you stare into the shadow… beware it doesn't stare back."
He stepped back.Stared at the note.His hands grew cold, despite the warmth of the room.
He opened the window quickly and looked into the alley. Nothing.
But his heart told him otherwise.
Eric (in a low voice):"They've started watching. This is a warning."
"Who? Who started? Who knows I opened the notebook?"
He sat in the wooden chair, the note in front of him, the notebook beside it. He closed his eyes for a moment.
"Calm down, Isaac. Think. Act like you're alone… even though you're not."
Eric:"Alright, quick analysis… This note isn't a direct threat—it's a warning. The handwriting is strange, slanted—like the symbols from the 'Eye of the Soul' society… I've seen this ink used in manuscripts involving early ritual practices. Blood ink… drawn from animals born under a solar eclipse."
"This is more than a note. It's a signature."
He opened the notebook again and flipped through the pages carefully. He found a similar symbol etched in the inner edge of one page, next to a single word:
"Flinmore."
"Flinmore… what is that? A name? A place? A code?"
Eric:"A city. Once a hub of knowledge in the kingdom of Graith. Destroyed fifty years ago during the Fourth Revolution. It was famous for the Academy of Shadows… yes, there are threads connecting here."
"Dad… were you ever there?"
He closed the notebook gently and looked again at the note.He wasn't afraid—he was burning with curiosity. And for the first time, the darkness didn't feel like an enemy… it felt like a guide.
"I'll need money… and time. And I'll need a plan."
Eric (with a sly smile):"We've been reborn, Isaac. This isn't a life—it's a mission. Welcome to the true beginning."