Ohh, Elionis…
The voice crept through the void like poison, cold and biting.
"How long are you going to keep delaying this? By the time he gets up here, you and that damn face of yours will have been dead for a long time!"
A mocking, distorted laugh.
"If I didn't have to keep creating new ones all the time, this would've already ended seventeen years ago!"
⸻
The old man closed the book with a dull thud.
A soft cracking sound from the spine echoed through the room.
Noen looked at him, still chained, his voice rough. "So that means I am—"
"They're all…"
The old man's words barely left his lips, thoughtful, confused.
"All bearers of this clothing… and Lum…" he murmured."… years ago…"
He stared at Noen for a moment with an empty gaze, then slowly knelt down.
He still held the book in his arms, but then let it slip. It hit the floor softly.
Without another word, he lay down on his back, staring at the ceiling, completely lost in thought.
Confused.
Shocked.
Lost.
But Noen didn't feel any better.
Still chained to the wall, he desperately tried to piece together everything he had just learned. Lum… sacred clothing...
His gaze was blank, overwhelmed.
Too many puzzle pieces. Too little sense.
In this brief, overloaded mind-fog, he began to speak.
"I mean, we can keep thinking about this, but—"
"Oh right, the chains!"
The old man snapped out of his thoughts, quickly got back up and walked over to Noen. With a short, practiced motion, he removed the heavy iron shackles from his wrists.
Metal clattered as they hit the floor.
Noen's arms immediately fell limply to his sides.
They were numb. No circulation. He could barely feel them, let alone move them.
As he rolled his shoulders, trying to get feeling back, he asked quietly, still dazed:
"May I… know your name?"
The old man had already drifted off into his thoughts again, staring into nothing — until the question pulled him back. He blinked once, then replied shortly:
"Rhuven."
He looked at Noen.
"And you?"
"Noen."