After hours had passed
I found myself sitting alone on the room's balcony, breathing the cold air that gently touched my face. Celia had left the room a short while ago, leaving behind a calm that filled the place.
But despite this stillness, the memories of her conversation still echoed in my ears. Celia… she talked a lot, to the point that I began to feel I needed to scream at her. If I hadn't held myself back…
But, despite everything, I can't deny that what she said was meaningful. Her words carried weight, depth, maybe even a painful honesty. And yet… I wasn't interested. For no reason, except that I already knew all of that. I've known it since the very first moment the owner of this body was born, from his first cry until that moment when those black-masked men kidnapped him, appearing like a nightmare on a silent night.
I sighed slowly, as if my breath was weighed down by memories that refused to leave, then I murmured…
"I have to go to sleep now."
I got up from the wooden chair that had become cold beneath my body, my stiff limbs stretching. And before I turned to go back inside, I glimpsed a shadow… the shadow of a girl, a girl with blue hair-the only thing I could make out from her unclear features-standing in the garden, right in front of my window. I stopped, my eyebrow rising in instinctive confusion, my gaze fixed on that shadow that seemed like the remnants of an incomplete dream.
I muttered in a barely audible voice:
"Who's that?"
Then I shook my head and continued in a faintly annoyed tone:
"Damn it, what do I care?"
And without seeking an answer, I entered the room, closed the door behind me silently, as if trying to leave those shadows outside… with all the questions I didn't want to ask now.
I threw myself onto the large velvet bed, as if finally surrendering my body to its only refuge after a long day. The pillows rebounded softly beneath me, and I raised my eyes toward the ceiling, staring at the gray void above my head. The silence filled the room, but my head was not silent.
I closed my eyes, trying to sleep, to drown in a temporary darkness that would relieve me of everything, but sleep was treacherous that night. Every time I tried to relax, my mother's face returned to my mind. Her image, her voice, even her absence, filled my heart.
And with her, all the moments of the past two days returned. Everything I went through, everything I saw, what I felt, what I lost, and what I discovered… as if my memory didn't want to let me escape, even in my most exhausted moments.
"Damn… why is this happening?"
I muttered in a hoarse voice, barely escaping my lips, as I placed the back of my hand on my forehead, as if trying to stop the torrent of thoughts pouring inside me mercilessly. The heat was rising in my head, not from fever, but from the weight of memories, from a struggle not yet settled between forgetting and clinging to what was.
My hand remained on my forehead, still, as if trying to extinguish a fire unseen… a fire that no one but me understands.
I sat up straight on the edge of the bed, as if a hidden decision had risen with me from confusion and fatigue. I then got up with heavy steps and walked toward the desk in the corner of the room, where the papers awaited me as if they knew I would turn to them.
I sat there and pulled out some white papers, pristine as if they were new pages of life. I held the pen in a trembling hand, not from the cold, but from the weight of what I was about to write.
I began to write the words of a letter… a letter for my mother. Not to send, but to remember. To preserve her image from being lost, and to keep her voice alive between the lines.
I wrote so I wouldn't forget. So the coming days wouldn't swallow me…
I sat writing and writing, as if the words had been waiting for this moment to pour out from inside me without permission or order. Every letter carried something of her, her smile, her eyes, the warmth of her embrace that still lives within me despite everything. Moments passed, but they seemed like an eternity, as if time had stopped to listen.
And when I finally finished, I felt something inside me calm a little. I slowly put the pen down on the desk. I looked at the paper in front of me, and I didn't see words… I saw my mother's face, smiling at me from between the lines.
"That's enough… I have to sleep now, I still have work unfinished in this world."
I murmured the words as if signing the end of a chapter, then slowly pushed the chair back, standing up from my place.
I turned toward the bed again, as if preparing for a new battle that would begin with the first moment of sleep.
I looked at the room for a moment, then turned off the light, leaving everything behind me in the shadows, except my belief that something still awaits me there, in this world whose doors have not yet closed.
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
A new morning dawned, and the light shyly crept in from behind the curtains, scattering its golden threads throughout the room, gently waking the eyes of the sleepers with a persistence that was not without insistence. The air carried with it the scent of a different beginning, unlike those before.
In the kitchen, a woman in a simple dress stood, moving lightly among the servants, chopping, stirring, whispering instructions, as if the place was part of her. She was… Celia Estorait, the lady of the manor. Her presence there seemed like a breach of the rules, as if something big had changed.
The servants stood frozen, holding cooking utensils without starting, watching her with wary looks, whispering among themselves in low voices mixed with the sound of pots.
"Today, the lord's behavior is a bit strange…"
One of them said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
"Yes, don't you know? The young lord… he was found last night."
Another whispered in surprise, her eyes following Celia as if she carried a secret bigger than they could comprehend.
"In fact… Lady Estorait deserves to be happy."
The voice came from behind them, calm but carrying a tone not without gravity, as if every word in it had a deeper meaning than it appeared. The servants all turned at once to find a man standing at the kitchen entrance, his features sharp, his dark clothes blending with the early morning shadows. The man was none other than the head butler of the Estorait family.
He slowly took his cigarette from his lips, exhaled a cloud of smoke that hovered in the air before dissipating. His eyes were fixed on Celia, without saying more. He seemed to know something no one else did, something yet unsaid.
Celia looked at him with eyes sparking with anger, and without stopping her stirring, she said in an angry voice enough to silence the whole room:
"Andrew… how many times have I said smoking is forbidden inside the manor?"
Andrew paused for a moment, then smiled a forced smile, not without challenge, as if part of him longed to hear this scolding. He threw the cigarette to the ground, crushed it lightly with his shoe, then raised his head and said in a mocking tone not without respect:
"Sorry… my lady."
Andrew approached with calm steps, his hand touching the edge of the table as if declaring innocent intent, then said in a sarcastic tone hiding some seriousness:
"Does my lady need help with the cooking?"
Celia stopped stirring for a moment, as if trying to suppress what was rising inside her, then replied in a voice carrying suppressed anger…
"No, I don't need help."
Then she gave him a sharp look and continued:
"You know, if you weren't good at managing the manor's affairs… you would have been fired long ago."
Andrew smiled, that smile he knew annoyed her, but he didn't comment. He just stood there, watching her work, as if there was more between them than words… and more than small disputes.
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
Elsewhere, a boy with white hair sat on the edge of a large velvet bed, his red eyes shining in the dim light. He wore calm sleepwear that matched the surrounding atmosphere. The room was dark, except for the faint light coming from the system screen that suddenly appeared before him.
On the screen, the player's stats appeared, recording his details clearly:
Name: Kyle Estorait
Type: Human
Level: 5 «2
Mana Points: 2,000,000
Rank: E-
Class: Hunter
Ability: Temporary Immortality
(The player can grant himself or others temporary immortality according to his level and mana. This ability makes him feel no pain and not die for a limited time. But as soon as its effect ends… he feels the full pain all at once.)
I read the words in silence, my eyes slowly moving over the glowing system screen.
I had gained a class and an ability,
and the level had increased, yes. The stats appeared before me complete, clear, without distortion. I expected half-information or distorted abilities as happened before, but everything seemed complete… this time.
What surprised me more was that the mana points-which I had consumed some of in the last confrontation-had returned as they were, full, as if the system itself was rearranging the rules of the game. For a moment, I felt as if something was being prepared for me in secret, something bigger than just a new level or an exceptional ability.
Suddenly, without warning, the system window shook before me and new information appeared, its lines faint red surrounded by a yellow aura, as if warning of something serious. I read intently, as if my eyes refused to let any detail pass without understanding:
"Missions the player must complete, or else he will be punished.
The punishments are of various types, and may be physical, mental, or system-related.
If completed, he will be rewarded according to performance level."
Below this warning, a short but terrifying list appeared:
Run 10 kilometers.
Push-ups: 300 consecutive times.
Survive the Araks Islands.
I stared at the third mission for a long time… Araks Islands? The name alone is enough to make the blood freeze in the veins. It's not just a physical task, but a battle for survival in a place from which few return alive.
A sarcastic smile appeared on my face, half fatigue and half challenge, and I whispered:
"It seems the system is no longer satisfied with just transferring me to a punishment zone…"