The fall lasted longer than he expected. He'd pictured a single blink, a rush, then nothing. Instead, time stretched. Memories spilled into the thin air: the warmth of a fire, the curve of a smile, the smell of rain on dry soil. The rock face tumbled beside him, rough and indifferent, while the sky spun away.
There was time enough to understand his helplessness — and to resent the cruelty of that knowledge.
Then the world seemed to bend, as if he'd grabbed a loose seam and tugged. The landscape shifted; a manor bloomed beneath him where moments before there had been only void.
"Oh God," he thought, the height roaring in his chest. I'm not going to make it. I'm not going to make it, he kept telling himself, as if the mantra might dull the impact.
He hit the ground hard, rolled, and kept rolling like a thrown rag — then found himself suddenly whole. He touched his body, searching for broken bones or torn skin; there were none. The earth had not smashed him. It had received him like a mother gathering a frightened child — impossible, and yet true.
Here, impossibility felt ordinary..
Wow…" Solved's eyes widened as the manor came into view. It loomed, vast and elegant, stone walls gleaming with a cold, impossible grace. But he wasn't here for sightseeing.
"Gotta go," he muttered, shaking the awe from his voice.
He moved with care, sleek and deliberate, every step chosen to make no sound, to leave no trace. His gaze swept the grounds, searching for patterns in shadows, for eyes that might already be watching. This place breathed secrets, and he had walked straight into its lungs
The manor loomed, but it was silent. Too silent.
No guards. No hounds. No servants bustling at dawn. A house this size should breathe with life — but it didn't. It just watched.
Solved froze, scanning the grounds. The grass bent in one direction, though no wind touched his face. A lantern on the wall still burned, though the oil inside was dry. The silence wasn't absence. It was suppression.
His detective mind clicked. Something was here, unseen, pressing down on every sound. Not natural. Not human.
He crouched, brushing his fingers against the soil. Warm. As if the ground itself remembered footsteps that weren't there anymore.
[Truth Sight: Active]
[Emotion Scan: Null. Void. Silence.]
[Conclusion: Presence without Witness]
Solved exhaled slowly.
"This house isn't empty… it's hiding."
---
The door creaked as Solved pushed inside. The manor swallowed him in silence.
No dust on the chairs. The center table gleamed faintly.
He froze at a cup of water — rim wet, droplets still clinging. "Someone's here… still close."
He pressed forward, each step echoing louder than it should have. The silence was oppressive, as though the house itself demanded he listen.
At the heart of the manor, a vast rug sprawled beneath his boots. Above, a balcony wrapped the upper floor, shadow pooling where the railings broke the light.
He looked up. His gaze caught on an artwork dominating the wall — a woman with a scepter raised high, light radiating outward. That light struck the crowd around her, and the people in the painting wielded power — flame, frost, shadow, and forces that bent without name.
Solved stood rooted, staring. The Plasma…
His hand lifted almost unconsciously, tracing along the painted surface. Then his fingers brushed something else — grooves carved into the wall itself. He stopped.
Eyes narrowing, he followed the etching with his touch. Letters formed, one by one, cold against his fingertips.
T. H. E. P. L. A. S. M. A. V. E. S. S. E. L.
"The Plasma Vessel…" Solved's breath caught. He stepped back, gaze darting between the inscription and the glowing woman in the art.
And then it struck him.
A miller's daughter —from shadow to crown's obsession.
"Now I see why she matters." He smiled grimly at the art. "The Plasma Vessel… so that's why she's worth kingdoms."
Solved let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding—
Then a scream tore through the silence.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
His head snapped toward the sound. What the—? Instinct screamed to sprint, but he held himself back. He hadn't figured this place out yet. Jumping blind could be suicide.
"Help me!" The same voice. Younger now. Pleading.
His legs refused to move. Trap. It could be a trap. The silence that followed was suffocating, his ears still ringing with the echo.
"Horror movies ain't doing me good right now…" he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to step forward. Step. Step. Each one heavier, echoing against the suffocating quiet. His heartbeat felt louder than his footsteps.
A suit of armor loomed at the corner. Sword in its hand. Solved snatched it without hesitation. "Better than nothing…" he whispered, gripping the hilt too tightly.
Ahead, a door creaked open. Light spilled into the hallway like a spotlight, beckoning. He pressed against the wall, muscles coiled, ready to swing.
Sobbing. A little girl's sobbing.
Elera… or an illusion. His jaw tightened. He hated how his mind wanted to believe it.
"One… two…" He swung into the room.
It was ordinary. Too ordinary. Windows open, curtains stirring in the draft. A simple bed. And on it, a girl auburn hair. Dress torn. Skin scarred. Shackles and whips littered the floor like discarded nightmares.
A chill ran down Solved's spine. Rage followed.
"How dare they." He whispered
The girl kept her head low, shoulders trembling.
Solved sheathed the sword behind him. "Hey…" His voice softened. He stepped forward slowly.
Her head jerked up, eyes wide in terror. She scrambled back against the wall.
"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands. "Your father sent me."
Her lips trembled. "…Pa?"
Relief surged in his chest. "Yes. I'm here to save you."
Her eyes flooded with tears. She choked back a sob, then hurled herself forward, clutching him tight. Solved froze, then slowly wrapped his arms around her, draping his coat over her shoulders.
"Come on," he whispered. "We leave before anyone comes back."
She held onto him tighter. Too tight.
For a flicker of a moment, he let himself believe. He thought of Tokyo. Of the girl he hadn't saved. Of second chances.
So this is what being the hero feels like…
But then—
The mirror across the room.
A shadow in the doorway. Grinning. Patient. Predator.
His chest clenched. Too careless. He started to push her away.
Her eyes lifted. Crimson. The tears were gone. The wounds too. The mask dropped.
"Shit—"
Her breath rushed against his face as she blew glittering dust from her palm. It burned his lungs. His body went limp, tumbling from the bed.
The world blurred. His thoughts cracked like glass. Above him, two figures loomed. One with that cruel smile. The other, the girl—no, not the girl—eyes glowing with wicked light.
"Checkmate, FOOL..." a voice whispered.
Darkness closed in.