Chapter 8: The Lost Light and the Sobs Behind the Broken Door
"Where? Where? Where?"
This was the only word echoing in the boy's mind. It wasn't like a mantra, but like a scream heralding an approaching disaster.
He was careening from place to place inside that massive building woven from cold stones.
The corridors seemed infinite to him, and the doors like enemies.
All those damned doors looked alike, and all of them were hiding the most precious entity in the universe from him.
He threw another door open with fury. Inside, there were dozens of living things sitting in rows, scribbling something on the papers before them.
The old man standing at the front of the class froze the chalk in his hand in the air and looked at this uninvited guest at the door.
The boy's pitch-black eyes scanned all the faces in a short time.
She wasn't there. She wasn't here.
"Hey! Who are you? Get out immediately!" shouted the old teacher.
The boy did not answer. He didn't care about their surprise, fear, or anger.
He slammed the door in their faces and continued running.
The void in his chest, that crater which had been overflowing with peace just moments ago and was now brutally emptied, was growing larger with every passing second. An invisible black hole seemed to be eating him from the inside out.
Did she really abandon me?
This thought wrapped around the boy's self like a poisonous snake darting from the dark corners of his mind.
Why? What had he done? He had only come. She had summoned, and the boy had answered. He had seen her light and followed it. Was this a crime?
The boy opened another door. Foreign faces again. Those disgusting, blurred auras again. Disappointment again.
Panic was like icy fingers climbing up his throat.
If he couldn't find her, if he couldn't see those blue eyes one more time, he felt as if the fabric of his existence would unravel and he would return to that infinite nothingness he came from. And this time, returning would be a thousand times more painful than ceasing to exist.
Just then, a deafening metallic ringing sound was heard, shaking the walls of the building.
Ziiiing!
This sound was like a war horn. Suddenly, all the doors opened at the same time.
The corridors filled with a flood of people like the opening of a dam gate.
Hundreds, thousands of students... All talking, all laughing, all shouting.
The cacophony of sounds pierced through the boy's brain. Shoulders, bags, elbows... The boy was trapped in the crowd. He was being pushed from side to side.
"Get out of the way, runt!"
"Who is this kid?"
"Hey, isn't that the F Rank?"
Whispers, glares... They were all like tar sticking to him.
He felt nauseous. So much life energy, so much chaos... It was contrary to the silence of the place he came from.
The boy headed for the exit with a suffocating instinct. His only desire was to slip away from this pile of humans and reach an open space where he could breathe. It didn't matter where; just a calmer place, perhaps somewhere closer to her, would be enough.
He drifted along with the flow of the crowd and found himself in the garden a short while later.
The air filling his lungs changed suddenly. The smell of chalk dust and sweat inside gave way to the freshness of fresh grass and damp soil. The loud hums and muffled conversations from a moment ago had ceased, replaced by a deep tranquility.
The sun was shining with ruthless splendor right at the top of the sky. This light was too bright, too real for the boy's eyes accustomed to darkness.
He dropped himself onto the grass in a secluded corner of the well-kept garden, surrounded by roses taller than a human. When his back met the hard soil, he fixed his gaze on the sky. Blue... A color completely different from her eyes. This blue in the sky was cold, distant.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"She doesn't want me. She abandoned me."
However, that familiar light was still shining in the dark corridors of his mind. As he thought of that light, the ache in his heart multiplied, the desire to see her again became unbearable. No matter what, he had to be by her side. This desperate acceptance settled on his chest like a physical blow.
The boy lay motionless on the grass, letting the sun sear his skin. Perhaps he should just stay here, wither away. He should wait until he turned into a pile of dust to be scattered in the wind.
"What are you doing here, little gentleman?"
Suddenly, a woman's voice cut through the desperate thoughts in the boy's mind like a knife. The voice was soft but authoritative; not the rustle of the wind, but the voice of a flesh-and-blood human.
The boy did not open his eyes. He just wanted to be left alone.
"I asked you a question."
The voice approached. The woman's shadow fell over the boy, cutting off the scorching effect of the sun. The boy reluctantly opened his eyes.
A tall woman stood at his bedside. She appeared to be in her early thirties. The fine lines on her face added deep wisdom rather than age. Behind her thin-rimmed glasses, hazel eyes scanned the boy as if trying to solve a complex riddle. Her robes were clean, her posture upright. But she didn't have that arrogance felt in the others. Her aura was calmer; flowing like a gray river.
The boy did not sit up. "I am looking for her," he said. His voice came out raspy and weak.
The woman frowned slightly. "Who?"
"Her."
The woman smiled slightly at the inadequacy of this answer, but it wasn't a mocking smile. She crouched down on the grass beside him and leaned in slightly.
" The Academy is quite a big place, son. And the pronoun 'Her' could cover thousands of people here. Can you describe 'Her' to me? Maybe I can help you."
The boy fixed his gaze on the woman's hazel eyes. When he looked at her with his pitch-black, bottomless pupils, he felt the woman startle slightly, but she did not pull back. She was brave.
"Describe?" whispered the boy. That image came to life in his mind. "Crimson..." he said, the word spilling from his lips like a prayer. "She is very... bright."
He took a deep breath, as if he could catch her scent from here.
The woman remained silent for a while. The analytical expression in her eyes slowly dissolved, replaced by deep sadness and compassion.
Professor Elara Vance did not dwell much on the boy's strange method of description because what he said was enough for her. Only one name would come to the mind of anyone hearing that definition. After all, there weren't many people fitting that description at Aethelgard Academy.
Professor Elara swallowed as she looked at this strange boy before her. So the rumors were true. This was the "F Rank" entity Alicia had summoned.
Elara knew Alicia. Not just as a student; she knew her as the daughter of that mighty Witch to whom she owed her life in that cursed dungeon years ago when she was still a novice mage. Alicia had her mother's eyes. And unfortunately, the weight of her mother's fate too...
She knew how much hope Alicia had pinned on this summoning ceremony. It was her last chance to clear her family's tarnished name. And the result... Was this frail boy with strange energy standing before her. But this loyalty in the boy, this pure and unconditional adoration made Elara's heart ache. Perhaps what Alicia needed wasn't power, but exactly this.
"I know her," Professor Elara said, her voice softer than usual.
These words were like the first rain drops falling on dead soil. The boy, who had been lying like a lifeless corpse until that moment, shot up rapidly. The darkness in his eyes rippled.
"Where?"
"Would you like me to take you to her?"
He didn't even need to answer. That hunger in his gaze, that silent plea was enough. He stood up immediately, snapping to attention beside the woman without even bothering to brush off the dust on him.
Elara nodded slightly at this sudden change in the boy's energy. "Follow me."
They began to walk together. Elara in front, the boy right behind her... When students saw the Professor, they stepped aside, casting curious and disgusted glances at the boy, but the Professor's presence forced them to remain silent.
They passed between buildings and arrived in front of a quieter, elegant structure covered in ivy: The Girls' Dormitory. This place smelled different from other places, of lavender and jasmine.
They climbed the stairs. With every step, the boy's heart—or that ball of energy in his chest—beat faster. He was getting closer. He could feel her light.
At the end of a long corridor, they stopped in front of a door made of dark oak.
There was a silver plate on the door: A. Emberlune. The name meant nothing to the boy, but that vibration leaking from behind the door... It was her. She was there.
Professor Elara raised her hand and knocked gently on the door. Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Alicia?" No sound. Seconds felt like centuries.
"Alicia, honey. It's me, Professor Elara. I know you're inside." Silence again. But this wasn't an empty silence; it was a silence where the air grew heavy, where pain became tangible.
The Professor cast a brief glance at the boy, clouds of worry gathering in her eyes. "Please open the door, Alicia. You are not alone. We can talk."
A very faint, muffled sound came from inside. was it a sob, or the sound of something dragging on the floor? Elara's face grew serious. The possibility that Alicia might have harmed herself in her room froze her blood.
"Alicia, I am coming in," said Elara. Her voice was no longer requesting, but commanding with compassion. She reached for the door handle. It was locked.
Elara took a deep breath. She placed her index finger on the lock. A blue spark of mana flashed at the tip of her finger. She whispered: "Aperio."
A shrill click came from the lock mechanism, and the door fell slightly ajar. The Professor pushed the door open slowly.
The inside of the room was pitch black. The curtains were drawn tight, not a single beam of light leaked inside. It was stuffy. Grief had permeated the room like a fog.
The boy slipped past the Professor and stuck his head inside. His eyes were accustomed to the dark; darkness was his home.
And there, on the bed in the corner of the room, he saw that small, trembling pile. She had pulled the quilt over herself, curled up as if wanting to hide from the rest of the world.
Only a few strands of that crimson hair spilled out from under the quilt.
And those tremors... Those jagged, muffled sobs breaking the silence of the room...
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