Lorien woke up gasping, as if he had just escaped deep waters. His body was cold with sweat, and every image from the dream still burned vividly in his mind.

  The sunlight slipping through the attic window felt strangely dull, as though the dream had drained all color from the world.

  “And I thought I’d grown out of nightmares…” he muttered as he got out of bed.

  Morning was meant to bring solace to his exhaustion, yet he felt only tired and uneasy. The memory of the demon’s face, the ominous warning from his other self, and the question about changing the world all lingered. Even the sensation of the white lightning refused to fade, blending in his thoughts with the events of the previous day.

  It all spun like a headache, but there was little he could do about it. The mechanism waiting on the table still demanded his attention.

  He removed his white linen shirt and walked to the small washroom, splashing cold water over his face in hopes of calming his mind. However, when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, the question from his other self resurfaced inevitably.

  Lorien was not a believer in the supernatural, and reconciling the recent events proved difficult. Beyond that, echoes lingered—half-muttered thoughts, fractured memories, unfamiliar sensations. Though he could not fully make sense of them, he felt them steadily growing stronger, pressing against his mind with increasing weight.

  “To grant an audience to the unheard and unwanted.”

  He stumbled into the nearby wall, eyes closed, struggling to steady himself as he waited for the invisible storm to pass. After several long seconds of suppressing the echoes, the noise finally ebbed, leaving him dizzy but slowly regaining his breath.

  By then, he could only wonder if he had fallen ill with some strange disease. Still, routine could not be postponed.

  This is going to be tough…

  Dressed anew, he packed the prototype from his workstation into his bag, only for his gaze to drift toward the cubic artifact resting beside it. He stood blank and silent for a moment, staring at the object with growing hesitation.

  In the end, he chose to leave it behind, shutting the wooden-framed door with haste.

  Once more, Lorien descended into the sewage tunnels, making his way toward the underground slums. His secret route was not the only entrance, but it spared him from the checkpoints at the official passageways dividing the upper and lower worlds.

  The police, often abrasive and cynical, were known to harass underworld inhabitants—always suspecting smuggling or stolen goods. His prototype, built from abandoned and sold scraps, would likely attract unwanted attention, even if he no longer belonged to the lower district.

  On the streets, he shielded his eyes with his hand, blending into the crowd that shuffled along narrow alleys and scaffold bridges. Street vendors pushed through the masses in search of profit. The homeless lingered at corners—some begging for alloy coins or food, others curled in resignation, exposed to the world’s indifference.

  Amid that chaos, Lorien found Aristarchus once more, standing calmly before his rusted temple of scrap. Confusion flickered across the man’s face upon seeing him, quickly replaced by his usual confident irony.

  “Interesting… Looking for a refund?”

  “Not really…” the boy answered wearily as he passed the taller figure.

  He stepped into the store, drawing the mechanism from his bag as though unveiling a treasure. “I finally got it working, though I’m not sure if—”

  The vendor’s instincts flared before he could finish. Heavy hands seized the device, turning it over beneath sharp eyes. Aristarchus traced each intact piece before muttering with dry amusement, “From what kind of junk pile did this come out?”

  On occasion, upper-world elites discarded fully functional devices, though such finds were rare even for scrappers. Aristarchus weighed the mechanism in his hand, eyes gleaming with calculation.

  “Very well, boy. Name your price already.”

  Lorien shook his head eagerly.

  “It’s not for sale… I actually made this for you.”

  Realization dawned slowly as the man recognized several pieces he had once sold—now reborn through careful craft.

  “I had to eyeball the measurements, but I think it will work… or at least I hope so,” Lorien admitted, rubbing at his tired eyes, confidence clearly lacking.

  The red-maned vendor straightened and nodded once in approval. His movements carried the foresight of habit as he dragged a rusted chair closer and lowered himself onto it. Slowly, he began unfastening the wooden prosthesis, its surface carved and splintered from years of wear.

  When he pulled it free, Lorien saw the pale, scarred stump wrapped in worn cloth. He remained silent as Aristarchus reached for the new mechanism. The man’s broad fingers grew unexpectedly delicate as he examined it. With a deep breath, he aligned the base against his leg and pressed it into place. The join hissed faintly as it locked in, metal plates shifting while the suspension distributed the weight evenly across the frame.

  In that moment, clear relief crossed Aristarchus’ face.

  To think I had forgotten this feeling… light as a feather…

  Lorien moved instinctively to assist him but halted midway as the man rose on his own. Aristarchus stood tall, steadying himself with practiced ease—as though he had always been prepared for that moment. The boy watched his balance and dignity return in full. For the first time in years, the vendor seemed larger than life, framed by a quiet and newfound vitality.

  “You said this is mine to keep, but you paid for every piece yourself.”

  “There is no need to pay me back. This is something I had to do anyway.”

  The seller crossed his arms, unconvinced. “You are young, but you ought to know—kindness like this is a rare sight in this city.”

  Lorien exhaled and lifted his head. The struggles, the division between people—he wanted to change the rift between the upper and lower cities. “If there is a chance for me to do something about it… then it may be worth trying.”

  Despite the gesture, Aristarchus still questioned the source of such resolve.

  For years, he had lived dismantling broken parts, judging only their utility while ignoring their stories. In many ways, that was the identity forced upon the underworld—everything reduced to function, stripped of meaning.

  His long-standing pain had never resided solely in the stump, but in knowing he could no longer walk or work as others did—a fear of becoming like discarded scrap, unmoving and forgotten.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Now, someone not only saw value in those remnants but restored them with purpose. Though Lorien was no commanding figure, the change he embodied carried quiet strength, and that strength invited others to change alongside him.

  “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t repay the favor? You have talent for this. Come here whenever you want. Take whatever pieces you need for free—at least until I decide what to do with this place…”

  For one last moment, Lorien’s gaze lingered on the restored steadiness of the vendor’s leg. Despite his weariness, he softened, offering a faint smile.

  “I should get going,” he said quietly as he stepped back. “But I suppose I’ll be back soon.”

  Scrap vendor Aristarchus nodded slowly, watching him return to the streets. Though Lorien had successfully delivered his invention, he felt no true peace. Instead, the ominous echoes stirred again—along with the lingering sensation that something, somewhere, was watching him.

  “In the collapse of the Hitsuzen Empire, the capital, Selluvis, underwent several waves of cultural, social, and political change. In time, it rose again as the center of our Republic. The foundation of other important population centers, like the skyport of New Liceas, followed as part of the Republic's expansion during what our society calls the ‘Exploration Age’.”

  Chalk scraped across the board as the history professor spoke.

  “On that note,” he continued, “can anyone recall the important figure credited with leading that era? Any volunteers?”

  The question, seemingly a trap meant to expose inattentive students, prompted nearly everyone except Lorien to raise a hand in unison.

  “Of course it was Liceas’Kun, second saint of the Church of Possibilities—from which our city took its name,” he concluded, stealing any chance to participate and prompting the class to lower their hands.

  Only then did the silver-eyed teenager raise his own.

  “Why is it called ‘New’ tho?”

  The professor turned briefly, glanced at him, then returned to writing on the chalkboard.

  “It is called ‘New’ because the ‘Old’ Liceas was severely destroyed in a conflict after the Exploration Age. Unfortunately, there is more material we must cover today, so we shall skip a couple of centuries forward.”

  As the seminar ended, Lorien maintained a composed expression while packing his materials into his bag.

  Though history was not the center of his academic focus, he was aware of how little he knew about the world compared to many of his classmates—a result of their privileged upbringing and his own circumstances.

  Even so, he knew things most of them either ignored or never cared to question.

  ‘New’ Liceas this, ‘Old’ Liceas that—but what about ‘Low’ Liceas?

  He already understood the quiet agreement to keep the affairs of the surface separate from those below. Within the halls of the prestigious New Liceas University, it was easier to forget what lay beneath.

  Below ground, most workers, machinists, and vendors cared little for history or rulers who claimed authority over their lives—religion being the notable exception.

  After class, Lorien crossed the sunlit corridors toward the adjoining building. Inside the workshop, Professor Zenith stood proudly at his station, waiting for the hiss of soldering to subside.

  After a moment, the boy lifted his protective visor and met the man’s expectant gaze.

  “Well—how did it go?”

  Lorien arranged his tools and cleared space on the cluttered table before leaning against it.

  “It seemed to work fine. I’m glad…”

  A proud grin crept across Arin’s face. “Most projects from this class end up scrapped or shoved into storage, so it’s rare to see one actually put to use. Keep up the good work.”

  The boy lowered his eyes and nodded. “That’s one of many to go. But at least now I feel confident enough to present my other ideas to the mechanics and engineering board.”

  “You still have time to refine those. Considering your age, you’re already ahead of most inventors. There’s no need to rush.”

  Despite the reassurance, Lorien felt it was time to produce something that would illuminate his path forward.

  Yet as he began thinking about the future, the relentless echoes stirred again. Zenith immediately noticed his discomfort.

  “It’s fine—just accumulated exhaustion, I think… In any case,” Lorien muttered, shifting the conversation, “there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

  Earlier, upon arriving on campus, he had noticed men in white uniforms. At first, he assumed they were there for him. However, the police had been taking statements from students and faculty alike.

  Zenith’s tone shifted as he adjusted his long moustache. “They are most likely investigating yesterday’s robbery.”

  “Yesterday?” The word slipped out before he could stop it.

  “There was a break-in at a private exposition on campus,” the mentor explained. “Several historical and archaeological artifacts of considerable importance were stolen—items of great value. It likely happened shortly after you left. I only caught a brief glimpse of the aftermath, but it seems the thief managed to elude the police in the end. Impressive, in its own way…”

  As Zenith spoke, Lorien began connecting the pieces—realizing what he had unknowingly taken with him.

  “I didn’t know the university hosted private expositions,” he said carefully, the memory of the cube brushing uneasily against his thoughts.

  “Hence why they are private,” Zenith replied with a shrug. “Still, I would have liked to see the collection before it vanished…”

  Lorien swallowed.

  “Me too…”

  He rode the gondola back in complete silence. For once, he feared being recognized by someone from the previous day—feared they might speak to the men in white uniforms. Now that the investigation had begun, it would only be a matter of time before they noticed the missing artifact and traced its absence.

  His youthful procrastination had failed to anticipate such consequences. Now, he was determined to return the cube before matters escalated.

  Yet the visions, the echoes, and the artifact’s sudden arrival aligned too precisely to dismiss as coincidence.

  Back at the inn, he bypassed the crowded dining hall and the frantic heat of the kitchen, heading straight for the attic. His gaze locked onto the motionless brass cube resting on his desk. He grabbed it and examined it one final time.

  As he saw his distorted reflection along its carved surface, he drew a steady breath, ready to let go.

  “Are you really sure about what you want to do? Even after such a heartfelt encounter?”

  The taunting voice did not rise from thought but from something that had manifested. A cold sensation crawled up his spine as he sensed a presence too close. Yet when he turned, his bedroom lay silent and undisturbed.

  Did I… just imagine that…?

  Before doubt could settle, the air thickened. A dark miasma gathered behind him, shaping itself into a figure barely resembling a man.

  It rose—tall and slender—unfolding from the floorboards as though the shadows themselves had chosen to stand. A feral, angular face crowned with two vertical horns curling faintly forward bore a malevolent grin. Hollow eyes yawned like bottomless wells, swallowing light layer by layer.

  Time seemed to slow as Lorien turned fully, caught in the pull of that downward grin.

  The shock forced him two steps back, barely maintaining his balance. Yet after several seconds, recognition dawned.

  “You were in that vision… but you’re here too…”

  His knees trembled, but awe burned within his eyes. After everything he had witnessed, fear had dulled into something quieter—almost numb.

  “A vision,” the shadow echoed, lowering its head slightly while one claw tapped rhythmically against its jaw. “Call it what you wish—but we both know there was more to it than that.”

  The darkness clinging to the floor began to spread outward, tendrils gliding around him like drifting smoke. They did not touch him directly but circled, tracing the room’s boundaries.

  As the figure rose higher, its shape sharpened—intense, engulfing, undeniably real. “What about now?” it asked, tilting its head with unreadable intent. “Do you still think this is merely another vision?”

  The shift in presence stole Lorien’s breath. His instincts warned him that one second too long of eye contact would cost him something irretrievable.

  Sensing his paralysis, the figure softened once more, returning to the composed and almost playful demeanor it had worn earlier. “I suppose I’m not helping my case by frightening you,” the shadow said lightly. “But I cannot resist amusing myself from time to time.”

  Despite the provocation, Lorien recognized the truth within the question. Regardless of what he believed possible, he could not ignore what stood before him.

  Without turning his back, he set the cube carefully onto the table.

  “Whatever you are, you seem… very eager to talk…”

  He gathered his courage to appear composed, though his eyebrows rose in surprise when the figure merely shrugged, adopting an almost casual posture.

  “I am here to deliver knowledge regarding yourself—and your future. That being said, isn’t it time you begin asking the important questions?”