After a subdued dinner, Ren retreated to his room, yearning for the solace of silence to quell the relentless questions that plagued his mind. Yet, the haunting memory of the peculiar men—and the disquieting book penned by that enigmatic figure—remained etched in the recesses of his thoughts.
As he reclined, extinguishing the dim light with a flick of his hand, a faint creak resonated from the hallway. It was not loud, merely a whisper of movement. For a fleeting moment, his eyes fluttered open—then shut again. Just the wind, he reassured himself.
He surrendered to sleep, unaware that the sound would return each night—and soon, the quiet would shatter.
Morning arrived, as it always did, indifferent and distant. Ren sat up with a weary sigh. The day ahead appeared mundane, even tedious.
He prepared for school, blissfully unaware that today would mark the first ripple in the placid surface of his life—a day destined to leave a far deeper imprint than he could yet fathom.
***
To the north of Hemsworth, where the air was parched and the sun blazed with an unyielding intensity, lay the sprawling metropolis of Martha City, alive with the blare of flying vehicles and the relentless hum of machinery.
In one of the countless apartments, a girl toiled away at a contraption of her own design. The room was cloaked in gloom, with dimly hanging lamps, dust-laden tools, and gears, sunlight barely penetrating the confines. Yet, amidst the disarray, she moved with a familiarity that suggested an innate understanding of her craft.
Her raven hair was tied in a neat circle, protected by a transparent cap to shield against the dust. Her eyes, like polished obsidian, were calm, deep, and perceptive. Unlike an ordinary girl, she donned a pale green mechanic's suit, which suited her far better than any dress ever could. Surrounding her, wires coiled like serpents, engines and motors thrummed with life, and sparks occasionally erupted in defiance of the mundane.
A voice called to her from behind, soft and gentle, "Elara, dinner's ready!"
"Yes, Mom," she replied, her tone mirroring the softness yet infused with a quiet confidence.
Elara wiped her hands on a nearby cloth and made her way to the dining room adjoining the workshop.
At the table, they shared a warm, rich western-style curry. Between bites, her mother glanced up, attempting to sound casual.
"Have you decided where you want to study? You have only two months left."
Elara did not hesitate. Her voice was steady, almost rehearsed: "Ariella University of Artificial Magic."
The spoon clinked against the plate, and her mother stared, her face a portrait of shock.
"Why there? It's halfway across the country. We have better universities here, closer and more prestigious."
Elara's gaze remained unwavering.
"Because… that's where Dad studied."
The room fell into a tranquil silence. Nothing more needed to be said.
***
The day dragged on, but eventually, school yielded to the liberating embrace of evening. Ren, still restless, opted to wander, allowing the city's cacophony to distract him from his thoughts.
He traversed familiar corners, past flickering neon signs, until he encountered him again—the homeless man. The same figure from before, his crimson eyes seeming to beckon Ren closer.
Ren attempted to walk by, keeping his gaze fixed ahead, striving to steady his racing heart. The man turned slowly, "So, you've come back."
Ren hesitated. "I'm just passing through," he retorted, his voice taut.
The man chuckled. "Still in denial, are you? Accept it and move on." Something raw stirred within Ren at those words. He halted, locking eyes with the man's blood-red gaze.
"Forget? How can I possibly forget that day? How can you forget that man? The one who sacrificed everything to save this world? And now, you all sing songs for a madman, hailing that lunatic scientist as though he were a hero."
The man leaned slightly closer. "Then read it and discover," he said softly. "Or walk away. You can either live in the past and flee from it, or take a step forward and embrace it."
Ren stood frozen, a torrent of thoughts swirling in his mind. For nearly a dozen minutes, he remained silent, until at last, he reached out and grasped the book.
"I won't take it for free," he murmured, retrieving a folded note—a small fortune to many. He handed it over and turned to leave.
He could not quite comprehend why he had paid so much; it felt instinctive, as if he had acquired something truly invaluable.
***
The homeless man retreated to the dimly lit library nestled within an abandoned alley. He settled into a creaking chair beside an empty shelf, its wood chipped and grey.
Resting his hands gently on the armrests, he gazed at the space where the book had once rested. And then, softly, with a half-smile, he remarked:
"So, someone still seeks the unwanted, forgotten truth."
Dust danced lazily in the air, illuminated by the flickering glow of a lamp.
Outside, the city continued its relentless march, oblivious to the stirring of a story long buried, now unearthed once more.
***
Ren returned home in silence, his mind a cacophony of unanswered questions reminiscent of the previous day. He hastily consumed his lunch and made a beeline for his room, shutting the door behind him without uttering a single word.
"What's gotten into him?" his mother mused aloud, glancing at Ridge.
"Dunno," he replied, engrossed in the match before him.
Ren's face burned, not from heat but from a turmoil of thoughts he could not disentangle.
He stepped into the shower, where a panel embedded in the wall allowed him to adjust the water temperature to his liking.
After a cool rinse, his face appeared clearer, yet his mind remained a hive of chaotic thoughts.
He settled into a chair adjacent to his study desk, both floating in the air, as if suspended in time. Ren retrieved the book he had tucked beneath his shirt and placed it atop the desk.
Upon closer inspection, the book seemed shrouded in mystery, its half-torn leather cover adorned with metal caps, and its yellowed pages worn with age. He carefully turned the cover, discovering that several pages were missing.
"Did I get scammed?" he mused. Yet, his attention was soon drawn to the content of the intact pages, slightly hazy but legible.
[Experiment File: WR-1]
Ren's eyes narrowed. The title confronted him like a half-opened door.
"WR-1? Experiment File? What sort of experiment is this?" Ren muttered to himself.
He fought against spiraling thoughts, but the questions persisted. The term was unfamiliar, sounding classified, igniting his curiosity.
[Experimentation 7]
Status: Failed
Reason for failure: Human emotions submerged.
Project status: Destroyed
Date: 12th May 2035
Report: It failed again. The subject lost control. Lab destroyed in the impact. MAYDAY CODE RED initiated.
A chill ran down Ren's spine as he read, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"2035—that was the same year as the Calamity. Human emotions submerged? This is Experimentation 7; there must be six more before it. It appears those pages are also missing."
He flipped to the next page, only to find a torn edge, barely legible.
[Experimentation 8]
Status: Unknown
Project status: Overdriven
Date: 18th September 2035
"18th September!" He froze, his hand trembling as he clutched the book. "One day before the Calamity, status overridden; it must contain something of great significance." His chest tightened.
"If only I had the rest of those pages," he murmured to himself.
The sun had long set, and he had lost track of time, only realizing how swiftly it had passed when the faint violet hue of moonlight filtered into his room.
He had nearly read the entire book. It was not a narrative but a log—a manual chronicling the trails of experiments conducted, both public and clandestine.
Among the torn sketches of various inventions—Lev-Buses, adaptive Rev-Roads, bubble lifts, and other creations that had never seen the light of day—one particular note stood out, written on a small slip tucked at the back: [Elements Control execution code: CODE BLACK.]
Leaning back, he pondered aloud, "Artificial Magic, AM, the greatest invention that could save humankind."
He gazed at the bulb glowing within the table lamp as memories of AM washed over him. "By manipulating molecular familiarity and artificially simulated waves, one could control elements like fire, water, and others at will. Execution codes are designated for different elements—red for fire, blue for water—but black? I've never encountered that before."
On the back of the page, the content grew stranger still—scribbles, encrypted lines, and words written in an unfamiliar language. He had searched the internet for any trace of it, but found nothing.
"I cannot move forward until I uncover the truth behind this."
He placed the book in a small open section of the floorboard, careful to keep it away from the wires snaking around the room.
Falling back onto his bed, he stared at the ceiling, the same thought echoing in his mind, growing louder with each repetition.
"The Calamity. WR-1. Code Black."
They were not disparate subjects; they were interconnected, and the answer lay hidden within the cryptic notes.