After hours had passed
I found myself sitting alone on the balcony of the room, 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 talk were still echoing in my ears. Celia... she had spoken a lot, to the point where I started to feel like I needed to scream in her face. If I hadn't held myself back...
But, despite everything, I cannot deny that what she said had meaning. Her words carried weight, depth, perhaps even a painful honesty. And yet... I wasn't interested. Not for any reason, except that I already knew all of that. I've known it since the first moment the owner of this body was born, since his first scream and until that moment when those black-masked ones kidnapped him, who appeared like a nightmare in a mute night.
I sighed slowly, as if my breaths were burdened with memories that didn't want to leave, then I murmured.. "I need to go to sleep now."
I stood up from the wooden chair that had become cold beneath my body, and my stiff limbs stretched. And before I turned back inside, I glimpsed a shadow... the shadow of a girl, a girl with blue hair—the only thing I could see from her unclear features—she was standing in the garden, exactly in front of my room's window. I stopped, my eyebrow raised with instinctive confusion, and my gaze stuck to that shadow that looked like the remnants of an incomplete dream.
I murmured in a barely audible voice: "Who is that?" Then I shook my head and continued with faint annoyance: "Damn it, what do I care?"
And without looking for an answer, I entered the room, closed the door behind me in silence, as if I was trying to leave those shadows outside... along with all the questions I didn't want to ask now.
I threw myself onto the large velvety bed, as if I was finally surrendering my body to its only refuge after a long day. The pillows bounced gently beneath me, and I raised my eyes toward the ceiling, staring into the gray emptiness above my head. The room was filled with silence, but my head was not silent.
I closed my eyes, trying to sleep, to sink into a temporary darkness that would relieve me of everything, but sleep was a traitor tonight. Every time I tried to relax, my mother's face returned to my mind. Her image, her voice, and even her absence, filled my heart.
And with her, all the moments of the past two days came back. Everything I went through, everything I saw, what I felt, what I lost, and what I discovered... as if my memory did not want to let me escape, even in my most exhausted moments.
"Damn it... why is this happening?"
I murmured in a hoarse voice, barely escaping from between my lips, as I placed the back of my hand on my forehead, as if trying to stop the flood of thoughts pouring inside me mercilessly. The heat was rising in my head, not from fever, but from the weight of memories, from a battle yet to be resolved between forgetting and clinging to what once was.
My hand remained on my forehead, still, as if trying to extinguish an unseen fire... a fire no one understands but me.
I sat upright on the edge of the bed, as if a hidden decision had risen with me from between confusion and exhaustion. I then stood with heavy steps and walked toward the desk nestled 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 sheets, pristine as if they were the pages of a new life. I held the pen with a trembling hand, not from cold, but from the weight of what I was about to write.
I began to trace 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 was writing 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 arrangement. Every letter carried something of her—of her smile, of her eyes, of the warmth of her embrace that still lives within me despite everything.
Moments passed, but they felt like an eternity, as if time had stopped to listen.
And when I was finally done, I felt that something inside me had calmed a little. I slowly placed the pen on the surface of the desk. I looked at the paper in front of me, and I didn't see words… but I saw my mother's face, smiling at me from between the lines.
"That's enough... I need to sleep now, I still have unfinished work in this world."
I murmured the words like someone signing the end of a chapter, then slowly pushed the chair, standing up from my place.
I turned toward the bed again, as if I were 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 shadow, except for my belief that something still awaits me there, in this world that hasn't closed its doors yet.
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
A new morning arrived, and light crept shyly from behind the curtains, scattering its golden threads across the room, waking the eyes of the sleepers with a gentleness not without insistence. The air carried with it the scent of a different beginning, unlike those before it.
In the kitchen, a woman stood in a simple dress, moving lightly among the servants, cutting, flipping, whispering instructions, as if the place were part of her. It was her… Celia Astorite, the lady of the mansion. Her presence there seemed like a breach of the rules, as if something big had changed.
The servants stood frozen, holding cooking tools without starting, watching her with wary glances, whispering among themselves, in low voices mixed with the sound of utensils.
"Today, the lord's behavior is a bit strange..."
Said one of them as he looked at her from the corner of his eye.
"Yes, don't you know? The young lord... he was found yesterday."
Another whispered in surprise, her eyes following Celia as if she carried a secret greater than their ability to comprehend.
"Actually... Lady Astorite deserves to be happy."
The voice came from behind them, calm but carrying a tone not without weight, as if every word held a deeper meaning than it appeared. The servants turned all at once, to find a man standing at the kitchen entrance, his features sharp, his clothes dark, blending with the shadows of the early morning. The man was none other than the head butler of the Astorite family.
He slowly pulled his cigarette from between his lips and exhaled a cloud of smoke that swayed in the air before fading. His eyes were fixed on Celia, without saying more. He seemed as if he knew something no one else did, something that hadn't been spoken yet.
Celia looked at him with eyes sparking with fire, and without stopping stirring what was in the pan, she said in an angry voice enough to silence the entire room:
"Andrew... how many times have I said that smoking is forbidden inside the mansion?"
Andrew paused for a moment, then smiled a forced smile, not without defiance, as if part of him longed to hear that scolding. He threw the cigarette to the ground and crushed it lightly under his shoe, then raised his head and said in a mocking tone that did not lack respect:
"Sorry... my lady."
Andrew approached with calm steps, his hand touching the edge of the table as if declaring an innocent intent, then said in a sarcastic tone hiding behind it 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 looked at him with a sharp gaze and continued:
"You know, if you weren't good at managing the affairs of the mansion... you would've been fired a long time 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... more than petty quarrels...
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
In another place, a boy with white hair was sitting on the edge of a large velvety bed, his red eyes shining in the dim light. He was wearing calm sleepwear that matched the surrounding atmosphere. The room was dark, except for the faint glow coming from the system screen that suddenly appeared before him.
On the screen, the player's stats appeared, clearly recording his details:
Name: Kyle Astorite
Race: 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 depending on his level and mana. The ability makes him feel no pain and prevents death for a limited time. But once its effect ends… the full pain is felt all at once.)
I read the words in silence, my eyes slowly moving across the glowing system screen.
I had acquired a class and an ability.
And the level had increased, yes. The stats appeared before me completely, clearly, without distortion. I was expecting half-information or blurred abilities as had 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 game's rules.
For a moment, I felt as though 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 in front of me and new information appeared, its lines outlined in faint red, surrounded by a yellow aura, as if warning of something serious.
I read carefully, as if my eyes refused to let any detail pass without understanding:
"Missions the player must complete, or else punishment will be applied.
Punishments vary and may be physical, mental, or system-related.
If completed, the player will be rewarded according to the level of performance."
Beneath this warning, a short but terrifying list appeared:
1. Run 10 kilometers.
2. Push-ups: 300 continuous reps.
3. Survive the Arax Islands.
I stared at the third mission for a long time... Arax Islands?
The name alone is enough to freeze the blood in one's veins. It's not just a physical task, but a battle for survival in a place from which few return alive.
A sarcastic smile formed on my fa
ce, half fatigue and half challenge, and I whispered:
"Looks like the system is no longer content with just sending me to a punishment zone..."