Elias slowly lowered himself onto the cold stone floor, staring up into the empty darkness above. Only then did he realize the faint light creeping in from the distant windows.
Morning was close.
"…Great. I stayed up all night," he muttered. He knew he should sleep, yet another thought suddenly struck him:
Why can I understand their language?
Why can I speak it perfectly?
It wasn't English. It wasn't anything from Earth. But he communicated with them naturally, effortlessly.
The unease pushed him back onto his feet.
He wandered through the quiet library, the air chilly and still. Eventually, something caught his eye—
a locked room at the end of the hall.
Inside, through a small dusty window, he could barely make out the outline of a black book placed on a stand. The room was completely dark; not even dawn light reached it.
"What's… inside there?" Elias whispered, squinting.
He leaned in closer.
Then—
A voice spoke behind him.
"…Elias."
Elias jolted and spun around.
Veran stood there.
Don't touch that.
Don't look further.
Elias froze.
"…Ah. Sorry. I wasn't trying to break in or anything."
Veran let out a small sigh, not annoyed but cautious.
"It's fine. But that room isn't something you should investigate," he said, tone low and steady. "Not now."
His expression softened slightly.
"I'm heading back to my room. You should sleep too. Staying awake like this isn't good for you."
He gave a short nod—not quite a smile, but close enough—and turned away, footsteps quiet as he walked down the hallway.
Elias exhaled slowly.
"Right… sleeping sounds good."
He walked back to the spot he had been lying earlier, lowered himself onto the floor, and finally allowed his eyes to close.
And for the first time in this world—
He fell asleep peacefully.
No death.
No pain.
Just rest.
Elias lay still, but his eyes refused to close.
The image of Veran kept replaying in his mind like a looped scene he couldn't escape.
"He was warm and gentle this morning… but just now, he was completely different."
Elias remembered it clearly:
In the morning, Veran had smiled softly, his voice light and calm.
The way he placed a hand on Elias's shoulder felt natural and comforting—nothing dangerous at all.
But a few minutes ago…
Same person.
Same face.
Yet his eyes had turned cold.
Not angry.
Not hostile.
But distant.
As if Elias had stepped onto forbidden ground—into something Veran absolutely didn't want anyone to see.
"Yeah…" Elias murmured, shifting as he tried to get comfortable.
"…there really is a secret in that room."
That feeling was unmistakable.
Not the discomfort of being interrupted.
It was the reaction of someone hiding something important—maybe even dangerous.
Elias sighed.
"In the morning he was as gentle as an angel… but now he feels like a completely different person."
And yet, what bothered him even more was—
Why does Veran still treat me kindly?
If he had a secret to protect, if he didn't want Elias near that room… why didn't he get angry?
Why didn't he push him away or kick him out?
Instead, Veran had simply given a quiet warning, then walked off.
Elias buried his face in his arms, trying to coax himself to sleep.
"Veran… just what kind of person are you?"
But no answer came.
Only the faint sound of wind seeping through the cracks of the old tower walls…
and the growing sense that Veran carried far more mysteries than Elias could understand.
Elias slowly fell asleep.
When Elias woke with a dull ache in his head, still half–sleepy and confused.
He stretched, rubbed his eyes, and stepped out of the room—mind foggy, feet dragging.
But then—
A strange chill ran down his spine.
A whisper of instinct.
A pull.
A warning.
Before he even understood why, Elias found himself running through the corridor, heart pounding harder with each step.
He reached the locked room.
Except… it wasn't locked anymore.
The door stood open.
A faint light leaked out.
Elias swallowed hard and slowly peeked inside—
And froze.
Elias's breath quickened as he stared into the room, the scene stabbing straight into his mind like a nightmare made real.
The magic circle glowed with a sickly green light, its lines pulsing like veins under the skin of some living creature. The air inside the room felt heavy—thick enough to choke on. It vibrated softly, like the whole ritual was breathing.
And in the center of it all…
Veran.
Sitting perfectly still, back straight, hood lowered, his expression unreadable.
He didn't look gentle.
He didn't look warm.
He looked like a statue carved for the sole purpose of killing.
But Elias's gaze didn't stay on Veran for long.
It drifted—slowly, unwillingly—to the two collapsed figures near the circle's edge.
Daren…
Lyra…
Lifeless.
Their bodies lay in positions far too unnatural to be sleeping.
Their faces were pale, drained of all warmth.
Their chests didn't rise.
Their hands were limp.
Their bleeding
Elias's heart shattered.
"No… no—please…"
His voice came out as a whisper barely strong enough to leave his throat.
His breathing turned ragged.
His legs shook violently.
His mind screamed for him to look away, but he couldn't—he was trapped in the horror of the moment.
A part of him kept waiting for Daren to suddenly groan and wake up…
for Lyra to complain loudly and punch him for waking her…
Anything.
But nothing happened.
They didn't move.
The silence was absolute.
And then—
Veran opened his eyes.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like the movement of a predator who already knew its prey couldn't escape.
"Stop."
The word was quiet…
but it hit Elias's body like a spell.
His knees locked.
His spine stiffened.
His breath froze halfway in his chest.
Tears spilled down his cheeks without him noticing.
He was shaking so hard his teeth chattered.
His voice cracked, barely holding together:
"W-Why…? Why are you—"
His throat closed up.
He couldn't finish the sentence.
Veran did not answer.
He only stared at Elias with calm, empty eyes—eyes that seemed to peel apart every layer of him.
The pressure in the room grew heavier.
Elias felt it pressing against his ribs, squeezing the air from his lungs.
He gagged and clutched his chest, gasping.
His thoughts spun in panicked spirals:
I need to run.
He's going to kill me.
I can't die again—I can't—
Please, not again…
Then, suddenly—
The invisible weight pinning him vanished.
As if someone cut a string.
Elias stumbled backward, air rushing back into his lungs in a painful gasp.
His body regained control.
And instinct took over completely.
"RUN!"
He turned and sprinted down the hallway, feet pounding so hard the vibrations rattled up his legs.
His breathing was loud, broken, desperate.
Every shadow looked like Veran.
Every distant sound made him flinch.
Just get to the stairs—just get away—don't look back—don't think—run—RUN—!
He reached the stairwell—
And then he heard it.
A faint whistle.
A shift in the air behind him.
Before he could even begin to turn—
Something slammed into his head.
It wasn't like being hit.
It was like the world itself tilted and dropped on him.
White pain exploded across his vision.
The impact made his ears ring sharply, drowning out all thought.
His legs buckled instantly, and he collapsed forward, tumbling onto the stairs.
He didn't feel the steps.
Not individually.
It was just one long, rolling shock of pain as his body flipped, twisted, then finally hit the cold stone floor at the bottom.
His breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps.
He tried to lift a hand—but his fingers only twitched uselessly.
His vision blurred into smeared colors.
The world drifted in and out of focus, warping like ripples in water.
Warmth ran down the side of his face.
His heart thudded weakly—each beat slower than the last.
"It… hurts…"
The words escaped him in a trembling whisper.
He wasn't crying anymore.
He didn't have the strength.
His mind drifted in and out, grasping at fading thoughts:
Why does it still hurt this much…?
Will the clock turn…?
Will I get another chance…?
Or is this the one time… I won't come back…?
His vision darkened at the edges.
The last thing he saw—
Was Veran's silhouette at the top of the stairs, framed by the green glow of the ritual room…
Quiet.
Motionless.
Watching.
Then everything went black.
The world spun backward.
Colors bled into streaks.
Sound folded in on itself.
A deafening silence swallowed everything—then a single tick, like the first beat of a clock coming back to life, cracked through the void.
And Elias felt the pull.
The pull of being dragged—
back through time,
back through pain,
back through the moment before everything turned wrong.
The clock reversed with a violent snap—
And Elias opened his eyes.
He was back in the library.
Where he'd been reading only moments—no, hours—before his death.
His breath ripped out of him in a sharp gasp.
He jerked upward, spine stiff, eyes wide in terror.
His movement was too fast—his legs tangled—and he toppled from the chair, crashing hard onto the cold stone floor.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs.
He lay there for a second, shaking, staring at the ceiling.
"I'm back," he whispered.
His voice trembled, cracking at the edges.
"I'm… I'm back again."
He touched his head.
No wound.
No blood.
No pain from the axe.
But he could still feel it.
The phantom shock of the blade.
The sickening flip of his body down the stairs.
The darkness swallowing him.
His stomach twisted violently.
He forced himself to sit up, rubbing his arms, trying to stop the tremble.
"Veran…" he whispered through clenched teeth. "He's not kind. He's not gentle. He's not anything he pretends to be."
The warmth Veran showed earlier—gentle smiles, soft voice, protective gestures—
All of it felt like a mask now.
A perfect, crafted disguise.
Elias pushed himself to his feet.
He couldn't stay here.
He couldn't waste even a minute.
He had two people to save.
He sprinted out of the library.
But as he reached the hallway—
He froze.
He had to pass the weapons room.
The place Veran used.
The place where he sharpened the blade that killed Elias.
Despite wanting to run past it, his feet slowed.
The door was slightly ajar.
Light spilled out—silver light, soft and cold.
Moonlight.
Elias swallowed hard and peeked inside.
Veran stood with his back turned, hair glowing faintly under the moon.
He held a long, polished knife in one hand and a sharpening stone in the other.
The slow, rhythmic scraping filled the room—sharp enough to make Elias's skin crawl.
But it wasn't the knife that terrified him.
It was Veran's face reflected in the metal.
Calm.
Focused.
And somehow—
hungry.
His eyes carried an almost feverish gleam, thinly masked by that concentration.
A thrill.
A hunger for the ritual.
For killing.
Elias felt his chest tighten.
His breath hitched painfully.
Then—
His foot brushed a small stone on the floor.
Click.
The sound echoed like thunder in Elias's ears.
Veran stopped sharpening.
His entire body stiffened.
Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he began to turn his head.
"...Who's there?"
His voice wasn't gentle now.
It was sharp—edged like the blade he held.
Fear shot down Elias's spine.
He stepped backward, pressing himself flat against the wall beside the door, barely daring to breathe.
Veran stepped closer to the doorway, eyes narrowing.
A moment of silence.
Then he exhaled softly, shaking his head.
"…My imagination? I need sleep."
He walked back to the bench, continuing to sharpen the blade.
Elias didn't wait another second.
He slipped away, heart hammering so loudly he was sure Veran heard it anyway.
He darted around the corner, gasping for breath—
"Not yet… not yet… I can't die yet…"
Finally, he reached the staircase.
He grabbed the railing, pulling himself upward as quietly as possible.
Each step creaked under his feet.
Each creak felt like a scream.
At the top was a wooden door.
The guest room Veran gave them.
Elias reached for the handle, twisting it slowly.
The door opened with a small click.
Inside, the room was dimly lit by moonlight.
Daren slept on a mat near the wall—arms crossed over his chest.
Lyra snored softly on the opposite side, hair spread messily like a golden halo.
Relief crashed into Elias so hard he nearly collapsed.
They were alive.
Still alive.
He closed the door gently behind him.
"Daren…" Elias whispered urgently. "Daren, wake up."
The man's eyes snapped open—sharp, instantly alert.
Instinctively, he sat up and reached out, pressing a hand over Lyra's mouth before she could wake and yell.
He looked at Elias, eyebrows furrowed.
"What's wrong? You're pale."
Elias swallowed, barely able to speak.
"Veran," he whispered. "He's… he's not the person we think he is."
Daren studied his face.
The fear.
The tremble in his hands.
The urgency in his voice.
"Explain," Daren said quietly.
Elias inhaled deeply, forcing himself to speak without breaking.
"I saw him. Downstairs. He's sharpening knives. Not normal knives—these ones are made from the same green gem he showed us earlier. Dianol. He looks… wrong. Dangerous."
Daren's eyes hardened.
Before he could reply, Lyra stirred.
Daren removed his hand slowly, allowing her to sit up.
She yawned, rubbing her eyes.
"Why are you two whispering like a pair of nervous squirrels? I was trying to—"
Her gaze landed on Elias's face.
The fear in his eyes.
The tension in his shoulders.
She stopped talking immediately.
"…Okay," she said softly. "What's going on?"
Elias turned to her, hands shaking.
"Veran isn't safe. I'm telling you the truth. I saw him sharpening weapons downstairs, acting like… like he's preparing for something terrible."
Lyra blinked, looking between the two men.
Normally she'd shout or punch Elias for waking her up.
But not when he looked like this.
She crossed her arms, trying to appear calm.
"…Fine. I'll believe you for now. But this better not be one of your stupid misunderstandings, Elias. If it is—"
She raised her fist, her voice dropping.
"—I swear I'll set your hair on fire."
Elias nodded quickly, swallowing.
"I know. I know. But I'm serious. We need to stay awake. All of us."
Daren shifted, resting a hand on his chin.
"He has strange mana," Daren admitted quietly. "Earlier today, I sensed something off about him too."
Lyra snapped her head toward him.
"You sensed something and didn't tell us?!"
Daren sighed. "I wasn't sure. Now I am."
Elias exhaled shakily.
He wasn't insane.
He wasn't imagining it.
They believed him.
That alone steadied his heart.
He took another breath and whispered:
"We stay awake until morning. We watch for anything—any noise. Any movement. We don't let him get close to us."
Daren nodded slowly.
Lyra nodded too, though her fingers twitched nervously.
The three sat close together, backs against the wall, eyes fixed toward the door.
Moonlight glowed faintly across the floor.
The tower was silent.
But Elias could feel it—
a tension in the air.
Like the whole building held its breath.
Daren whispered, barely audible:
"If he comes… I'll protect you both."
Lyra muttered softly:
"If he comes, I'll fry him."
Elias didn't speak.
His heart still hammered painfully.
He wasn't thinking about fighting.
He was thinking about the last thing he saw before death—
Veran's silhouette at the top of the stairs.
Watching.
Waiting.
Preparing.
Elias clenched his fists.
I won't let it happen again.
The three waited.
Listening for footsteps.
For movement.
For the sound of a knife being drawn.
For the sound of Veran whispering a spell.
But the tower stayed silent.
Too silent.
The kind of silence that made Elias's skin crawl.
They didn't sleep.
They didn't blink.
They just waited—
for the moment morning would finally come.
For the moment they could escape.
Or for the moment Veran would open that door.
Whichever came first.