All I saw the moment I opened my eyes was emptiness. I closed my eyes again then opened them once more but nothing changed. I raised my hand and tried to touch anything but it was useless. Then I gasped, trying to break the silence surrounding the place and muttered:
"Where am I?"
But my words didn't echo, didn't bounce back, I couldn't even hear them. Could it be that I lost my sight? But no, I could still see what was in front of me, albeit faintly. Could it be... could it be that I'm dead?! No... I don't want to die!
There's still so much I want to do, so much I want to see. I can't die! I have to live! (But... if I think about it? The truth is I didn't have many things worth living for). But anyway, who am I? Who was I? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember. I tried to gather my thoughts but my mind was swimming in fog. I had no clear memories, no name, no past.
I couldn't even feel time itself but every second felt like it stretched into eternity. Then, without warning, a light appeared out of nowhere. A few seconds passed, then just as it came, the light vanished. And when I opened my eyes again, I found myself in a strange, abandoned room.
I looked around cautiously, examining the place. Beside me was a bookshelf filled with old books. To my right was a small, extremely worn bed that looked like it hadn't been used in years. In the corner, there was an old wooden desk with a pile of scrolls on top and above them, a thick leather bound book.
But what really drew me was the mirror. It was massive, with a luxurious gothic frame engraved with strange symbols I had never seen before. I lifted my hand from the desk and approached the mirror, then stood in front of it and stared at my reflection.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror but I couldn't recognize the face staring back at me. Deep crimson eyes and messy brown hair scattered around my face. I extended my hand and touched the cold glass surface. Then I stepped back while my thoughts were in complete disarray. After that, I reached out and picked up one of the old scrolls from the table.
I tried to read the inscribed words, but the letters the words were written in were unfamiliar. I tried to focus, closed my eyes. But the symbols remained obscure, resistant to understanding. All I felt afterward was a deep sense of disappointment. I sighed bitterly then returned the scroll to its place carefully. After that, with heavy steps, I headed toward the rickety bed in the corner of the room. I sat on it, and the wood creaked with a faint sound, as if complaining about my weight. I rested my elbows on my knees and passed my hand over my face in a desperate attempt to gather myself.
I muttered:
"I wish I could understand those scrolls, maybe they hold some answers..."
No sooner had I finished my sentence than I was struck by sudden pain. Then my chest violently contracted. I gasped and my body arched involuntarily, my limbs stiffened and my nails dug into the ragged mattress. I felt its roughness scraping my skin. I tried to scream, but it was no use. Then the world around me began to fade. Little by little, everything in front of me disappeared.
***
The clock read four in the afternoon.
The Imperial Capital seemed calm as it always did, but that calm was nothing more than a false mask. At its heart stood the towering building of the Public Investigation Office, its ancient stone facade and tall towers giving it the appearance of an unbreachable fortress. Inside, the place was bustling with movement, but not the usual liveliness. On the upper floor, far from the noise, in an isolated office, sat the investigator known as "The Shadow".
His real name wasn't a secret but no one dared ask him about it. He didn't need strength or threats to impose his presence. His appearance anywhere was enough to instill fear and dread. The rumors about him had no beginning and no end. Some said he knew secrets no one should ever know. Others claimed that every case he handled ended in disaster. But everyone agreed on one thing. "The Shadow" was no ordinary investigator.
...
He sat behind his old wooden desk, his elbows resting on its surface and his fingers interlocked before him. His shadow stretched along the wall due to the dim light from an oil lamp, and his dark eyes were staring at the scattered papers in front of him without truly seeing them. His mind was elsewhere.
He wasn't like other investigators. He didn't care about strict laws, and he found no joy in the routine cases others ran after. In the past few months, he had been feeling extreme boredom nothing was catching his interest anymore. Every case he had been assigned felt like a child's toy. He looked at the wall clock. Its hands pointed to four-thirty. He exhaled then pulled a silver pocket watch from his coat pocket, stared at it for a moment before running his hand across his face in exhaustion, muttering with a voice heavy with boredom:
"I wish something exciting would show up, something worth the attention."
And as soon as he uttered those words, the watch glowed in golden light. Then in a firm tone, he muttered:
"Miracle Maker."
After that, he stood from his chair and approached the large window that overlooked the city. He reached out and his fingers touched the cold glass as his eyes took in the horizon stretching before him. The glowing lights filling the streets appeared to him like stars floating in the sky. Below, carriages crawled through the roads, people walked without raising their heads, towering buildings stood firm. Everything looked normal.
He raised his hand then closed his eyes and as if speaking to the city, he said:
"Let the show begin."
***
I opened my eyes. The last thing I remembered was that strange room and the gothic-framed mirror that reflected a face that wasn't mine. But now I wasn't there, nor in any familiar place. The bed beneath me was sturdier than that ragged one in the strange room, but it wasn't my old bed either.
"Where am I?"
I got out of bed and raised my hand to my forehead, trying to make sense of the strange heaviness that had taken over my head. It felt like waking up from a deep dream or a deep nightmare. I forced myself to explore the place around me, and my eyes moved cautiously, scanning the room.
On the opposite side, there was a narrow, rectangular window with an old stone frame. Its glass was very thick and covered in a layer of dust that blocked the outside view. A heavy, dark linen curtain hung from a simple rope, swaying slowly with the cold breeze.
The furniture was extremely simple: a small wooden table with a rough surface stood next to a high-backed chair. Beside the bed was an old wooden chest, its metal locks corroded by time, yet somehow still holding together. And on the opposite wall hung a mirror with a simple metal frame.
"What is going on here?"
"Was I dreaming just now?"
But that dream. (If it was a dream?) It felt so real it disturbed me. I stared at the walls, then at the ceiling that looked like it could collapse on me at any moment.
"This isn't my room. What is this place?"
Something pulled me toward the mirror. I approached it and my reflection began to appear gradually. But what I saw in the mirror wasn't the face I knew. It was another face familiar in a way that unsettled me, and strange at the same time. I had messy brown hair and sharp facial features. But what drew me the most were the eyes they were crimson.
The scene grew even stranger when I noticed what I was wearing. I wore a crisp white shirt under a dark brown vest and a long gray coat draped lightly over my shoulders. This wasn't my usual outfit.
I had never seen these clothes before yet they felt familiar. And around my neck hung a simple silver pendant. I hesitantly reached toward the mirror, the tips of my fingers touching the cold glass.
"These features? I saw them before in that room!"
"What's going on here? Could it be that I... that I've been transported to another world?"
"No, that's madness" I tried to convince myself of that, but deep down I was certain I wasn't in my world anymore. I pulled myself together with difficulty, trying to stay composed in the face of this strange situation.
"What do I do now? Do I leave this room? But where to?"
I heard knocking on the door and before I could take any steps, a louder sound echoed. The sound of the lock breaking and the door being violently pushed open to reveal a man standing on the threshold.
He was of medium height, with gray hair falling gently along the sides of his face, and his eyes were as blue as a raging sea. He wore a long black hat and a black coat that reached his knees, while his leather shoes gleamed under the room's dim light.