Skkrrreeeeekkk….
The sound split the air as Kael slowly pushed the old teakwood door open.
Its creak shrieked—hoarse and jagged—scraping against his ears, crawling down his spine as if it were enough to raise every hair on his body.
Tap… tap…
Kael's steps crossed the threshold—between the raging cold storm outside and the unfamiliar emptiness waiting within. Each footfall felt like the marking of a world shift, leaving behind the whispers of frozen wind to enter a space sealed tight by time itself.
He glanced back for a brief moment, then pushed the door shut.
KREEP… BWUHHHSCH.
The sound of wood echoed briefly, followed by a final gust of wind that forced its way inside—then vanished, abruptly halted. Within the room, only the soft scent of aged fibers remained, along with the door's dying creak fading into small wooden clicks, almost like a calming whisper.
Krakk… tikk…
Silence descended. It was so dense it felt sacred, as if the room itself refused to be touched by the clamor of the outside world.
Krakk… tikk…
Kael turned slowly. His eyes narrowed, his breathing staggered and heavy.
Haaahhhuhhh….
The breath escaped him without his noticing, blooming white in the warm air. Thin. Fragile. Like a shy wisp of fog that appeared only to dissolve back into stillness.
"The cold out there is too cruel…" he murmured softly. His voice was hoarse, breaking at the edges. "Cruel… for someone who's only just begun to understand a pain he never fully chose."
Yet his gaze remained fixed ahead, unwavering.
"But this house… its warmth makes me feel calm."
Kael stepped forward, one pace at a time, toward the center of the room.
Tap…
Tap…
Each step drew a quiet groan from the wood beneath him, protesting under his weight. The floor creaked as though welcoming its master home—or perhaps lamenting, rejecting the presence of a stranger who was no longer the same.
"And also… somehow…" he whispered again. His voice trembled, as thin as a breath held for too long.
His eyes swept across the room. The movement was slow, hesitant, as though he feared every detail might be nothing more than a trick of his own mind. But the longer he looked, the more certain his heart became.
The main room stretched out before him. Simple, medieval-modern in style. Yet something about it felt… alive. Like memories once shattered, now painstakingly woven back together.
The ceiling rose high overhead, supported by old wooden beams that curved gently, creating the illusion of standing within the belly of time itself. At the center hung an antique chandelier, motionless, casting a soft yellow glow. Its light spilled onto the teakwood floor below, which still reflected a faint sheen—as though it had once been cared for by gentle hands.
The floor extended straight ahead, leading to a stone hearth embedded in the wall. A small fire danced there in reddish-orange hues, breathing life into a space nearly forgotten. Beside the hearth, a round metal mirror hung on the left, catching the firelight and scattering it across the ceiling and gray brick walls, making the room breathe with a fragile warmth.
On the right side of the hearth, a low wooden rack stood, filled with dry logs and faintly blackened ash. Remnants of nights long past—proof that this fireplace had never truly gone out. It had only slept, waiting… waiting for its owner to return and breathe life into it once more.
Not far from there stood a round table, draped in a yellowed white cloth. Time had failed to tear it apart. Simple wooden chairs surrounded it, waiting for warm conversations that would never come again. Atop the table, a ceramic vase guarded artificial flower petals that still stood upright—their colors holding firm, defying the passage of time. As if whispering that not everything false was fragile.
Kael swallowed. His chest clenched in pain.
"Now… my heart feels so heavy…" he whispered, his voice nearly breaking.
That word—heavy—ripped at him from the inside. He couldn't even remember the last time he had felt it. This was no longer a place of return, no longer a shelter. Now it was only a wound—a festering wound, filled with memories that refused to be buried.
His gaze moved again. In the corner of the room, near the window, a bookshelf still stood tall despite the ravages of time. Old volumes crowded its shelves, silent, unreadable, yet stubbornly enduring.
"This is more than real…" Kael drew a trembling breath. "My eyes can't be lying. Neither can my deepest instincts. This isn't just a house. This is… exact. Exactly like my home after the last time I ever saw it."
Tap…
Tap…
His steps drew closer, heavy, burdened by something unseen. The floor groaned again beneath him, accompanied by the soft breathing crackle of fire.
Krekk… krak… tikk…
The dry pinewood popped, igniting faint whispers—of old nights, of stories that would never return. The warmth was real, seeping into his skin, yet something felt incomplete. There was a gap. Something missing. Something waiting to be found.
"But—"
"Nox… veil…"
The words slipped from his lips softly, almost like a trembling mantra on the verge of being forgotten. And yet—he remembered it. He could still speak it.
"This city should have been destroyed long ago… since 2067. That era ended here."
His hand lifted, hesitant, then brushed against the brick wall beside the hearth. His fingers traced its surface slowly, following rough grooves and fine cracks, as if trying to read every wound carved into the stone.
His body trembled. Not from the cold. But from the impact of that touch.
It struck him—hard—slapping against fragments of memory he had once buried by force.
"Why… does it still feel the same?" he whispered. "Did I… really return to the past through this memory?"
He fell silent. His heart thundered, yet his eyes were suddenly drawn elsewhere.
Near the hearth, a small shelf stood—something he hadn't noticed until now.
Kael stepped closer. His breath hitched. His gaze locked onto the objects resting there.
There… a small wolf figurine. Its paint faded, slightly tilted, yet still standing. Beside it, a glasses case wrapped in dark red cloth, neatly folded, as though it had never been touched.
And between them—a photo frame.
Still. Silent. Yet the firelight dancing in the hearth made it seem alive, as if it pulsed with memories trying to escape.
The frame itself was intact. Its structure remained sturdy, the old wood still holding a faint sheen despite the passage of time. But the glass at its front… was clouded. Clouded like a stubborn morning fog that refused to lift, no matter how light brushed across it. Not ordinary dust—rather, a hazy veil that seemed deliberately placed, as though something behind it was meant to remain hidden.
Kael held his breath for a moment before reaching out. Fingers trembling slightly, he touched the surface of the glass—cold, hard, offering not the slightest warmth. A strange sensation crawled across his skin, freezing him in place for a fraction of a second. Slowly, he grasped the frame and lifted it to eye level.
"…This photo—" his voice broke, caught in hesitation. "It's buried in dust."
He brought it closer to his lips and blew gently across the glass.
Fuuuuhhh…
The breath was soft—but the dust did not fade. Did not thin. Did not move. As if defying logic, as if the object itself had been made to never be cleaned. Or worse… as if something was deliberately refusing to be revealed.
"Huh…? Why won't the dust—" Kael narrowed his eyes and tried again, this time with a stronger breath.
Huuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—!
Still nothing. The glass remained clouded. The dust refused to lift, unmoved no matter how hard he tried.
"What…? How is that possible…" he whispered in disbelief.
He pressed his palm against the glass, rubbing it firmly, slowly but with conviction. Again and again—certain this time. But...
Nothing. Only vague shadows. No faces. No shapes. Not a single line his eyes could grasp.
"…I can't clean it at all."
His body stiffened instantly. Something tightened deep within him, squeezing his chest from the inside. The room—once warm—suddenly felt too quiet. The fire in the hearth, which had been dancing softly, seemed to shrink, its light dimming, as though it too were holding its breath.
"Could it be... this photo?" he murmured, almost like a frightened prayer.
And suddenly—
Mom! Mom!
Do you want to see something?!
A voice rang out behind him.
A child's voice. Bright. Clear. Sharp. So sudden that Kael's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. And worse—terrifyingly so—it sounded unbearably familiar.
It was his own voice.
The voice he had when he was still a child.
Kael froze. His head trembled faintly. His breath caught, stuck in his throat.
And when he stiffly began to turn—
She appeared.
A woman.
The one presence that had never been replaced in his life, no matter how many times the world collapsed and was reborn into different forms.
Lhuna Vieron.
The final legacy of Vieron blood—the ancient lineage that carried the breath of the Architect's soul, guardian of PRISMA's deepest secrets.
In the records of legend, her name was etched as The Veil of Dawn—a woman who walked the boundary between destruction and rebirth. The weaver of hope from ruins, a fragile light that endured even when crushed beneath endless darkness.
Her simple green dress, her hair—like silver washed in dew during a dying season. Soft, flowing down her back, faintly gleaming even when light itself had dwindled to almost nothing. Her eyes were green, calm as emeralds, capable of soothing any heart that met her gaze—even one already torn apart, even a soul long since lost.
Lhuna's body was not that of a warrior. She was not as strong as knights, nor as hardened as those who drew blades. But her resolve… pierced steel. Her faith was sharper than any weapon.
She always carried a gentle aura—warm, calming, protective. An aura that could dull hatred, ease pain, and erase fear itself.
Just like a mother—who would still embrace her child, even when the entire world around them was burning.
***