Marcus stood in the middle of the room, now submerged in shadow. The light hadn't completely vanished. It was still there, thin and muted, like a layer of darkness had wrapped itself around it, dulling every corner of the room.
Julian leaned against the wall, one leg slightly raised, his expression relaxed as if this were nothing more than an ordinary morning conversation.
Raka stood near the door. His back felt stiff. Not out of fear, but because he understood something clearly.
The two men in front of him were not ordinary people.
Marcus spoke first.
"Before we discuss anything," he said calmly, "I need to know one thing."
His gaze locked onto Raka.
"What's your name?"
Raka swallowed.
His real name felt wrong in this world—too modern, too misplaced.
Another name surfaced in his mind, one that had been lingering there, waiting.
"Leonard," he said after a brief pause.
"Hawthorne."
The name felt unfamiliar on his tongue, but safer. A mask. A new identity. One he could survive with.
Julian lifted a brow. "Huh. Not bad."
Marcus gave a small nod. "Leonard Hawthorne," he repeated, as if confirming it in his memory. "Do you live alone in this house?"
Leonard shook his head slightly. "I… don't know. I woke up here this morning. I haven't seen anyone else."
Marcus didn't respond immediately. He studied Leonard in silence, weighing something unseen.
Julian broke the quiet. "An honest answer," he said lightly, "or a poorly rehearsed one."
He glanced at Marcus. "This one sounds honest."
Marcus nodded once.
"Good."
Julian finally pushed himself off the wall and walked toward the small table beside the bed. His steps were quiet. His eyes settled on the old dark-covered book resting there.
He stopped.
A few seconds passed.
Then he reached for it.
His fingers touched the cover.
Nothing happened.
No explosion. No glow. No dramatic reaction.
Julian lifted the book, weighed it slightly, then opened to the first page.
Thick paper. Slightly yellowed.
Blank.
He flipped another page.
Blank.
And another.
Still blank.
He exhaled softly and glanced at Marcus. "This grimoire…"
He flicked the edge of a page. "It's empty."
Marcus narrowed his eyes. "Completely?"
Julian nodded. "No active symbols. No residual magic."
He closed the book slowly. "If this really is a grimoire, then it's either never been used… or someone erased it."
Their eyes met. Not sharp.Not hostile. But deep enough to make Leonard uncomfortable again.
"Have you ever studied magic?" Julian asked casually.
Too casually.
For Leonard, the word magic felt distant—and entirely foreign.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then shook his head.
"No. At least… not that I remember."
Julian tilted his head slightly. "Then let's get to the point."
He gave Marcus a brief glance before continuing.
"We're hunting a criminal organization."
His tone remained light, but something colder lurked beneath it.
"For the past year," Marcus added, "they've been involved in kidnappings, illegal experiments, and human trafficking."
Leonard froze.
"One of their patterns," Julian said, tapping the grimoire lightly, "is leaving victims in remote locations alongside magical artifacts."
Marcus looked at Leonard directly. "When we traced their latest lead, it pointed here."
Julian gave a faint smirk. "So for now, we assumed you were an abandoned victim."
"I don't know anything about that," Leonard said quietly.
"That's why we're asking."
Marcus raised his hands and clapped twice.
Tap.
Tap.
The air in front of him rippled faintly. A book appeared in his hand.
Leonard watched carefully. Marcus hadn't been carrying anything before, so the clap wasn't random. It was a trigger.
And he already knew what the book was called.
A grimoire.
Marcus lowered it to his side. "You should start learning magic."
Leonard blinked slightly.
"Dealing with those who use magic is never simple," Marcus continued calmly. "Most of them are cunning. And if you remain ignorant, you'll be an easy target."
Leonard fell silent—not hesitant, just absorbing reality.
"I want to learn," he said quietly. "I just don't know where to begin."
Julian sighed softly. "Then join us."
Leonard looked up.
"Our organization has people who can teach you. From the basics," Julian continued. "You won't have to search alone."
"It's reasonable," Marcus added. "You're not part of the group we're investigating. And so far, there's no sign you're connected to them. For now, you're relatively safe."
A brief pause.
"Joining us allows us to keep an eye on you and ensures you don't become prey."
"Mutually beneficial," Julian added.
Marcus reached into his coat and pulled out a thin black card. A simple emblem was printed on its surface—unassuming, yet official.
"This is from our organization," Marcus said. "Silent Night."
Leonard hesitated before taking it.
"If you decide to join," Marcus continued, "this will serve as your temporary identification."
"Think of it as an entry pass," Julian said lightly.
Marcus took out a pen and wrote something on the back before handing it over again.
"Blackthorn Road. Northern District."
"If you choose to come, that's the address."
Julian gave a faint shrug. "No ceremony. No welcome speech. Just a door you'll have to open yourself."
Leonard slipped the card into his pocket. "I'll think about it."
"Don't take too long," Marcus replied.
They turned to leave.
The air shifted. A faint cracking sound echoed, like thin glass breaking. Invisible. Formless. But Leonard felt it.
The pressure that had filled the room slowly faded.
"The zone is released," Julian muttered.
"No interference," Marcus confirmed.
He gave Leonard one last look. "Don't speak about us carelessly."
"I understand."
Julian stopped at the doorway. Without turning back, he said, "Take care of yourself, Leonard Hawthorne."
Then they left.
The door closed.
Light slipped back into the room. Thin. Pale. The same morning as before.
Leonard let out a long breath. Only now did his chest feel truly light.
He had just woken up—and already faced two men talking about criminal organizations, magic, and forbidden artifacts.
No one would believe this.
He touched the black card in his pocket. Cold. Thin. Yet impossibly heavy.
Not a dream.
This was real.
He pulled it out again.
"Silent Night…"
The name lingered in the air. More than just a title. Something deeper.
Fragments of the conversation replayed in his mind—Marcus. Julian. Grimoire. Blackthorn Road.
Too much. Too fast. For a single morning.
His gaze shifted to the old book on the table. The grimoire lay there silently. Empty, yet powerful enough to change his life.
He hesitated before approaching it.
Then stopped.
"Not yet…"
At the window, the city had begun to stir. Normal. Peaceful.
"If I pretend none of this happened," he whispered, "maybe I could live normally."
Silence.
Then he shook his head.
"But I wouldn't be safe."
His fingers tightened around the card.
Blackthorn Road.
One address.
He closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them again, there was no certainty. No courage yet.
But somewhere deep inside, something had begun to take shape.