We walked down the hallway in complete silence.
So silent, in fact, that even our footsteps echoed in my ears like drumbeats in an empty hall.
The annex corridor was long, gray, and a bit dusty — the kind of place where no parade had been held for at least a hundred years… or maybe ever.
The walls pressed in with their emptiness, and the glowing stones in the sconces flickered faintly, as if they, too, were ready to fall asleep.
Evelyn walked beside me — straight-backed, calm steps, an expression that was, as always, a perfect blend of "I'm above all this" and "I couldn't care less."
Meanwhile, my brain was hosting an internal karaoke battle: the suffocating silence versus my burning urge to blurt something out — anything — just to break the tension.
"Um… you're… not mad, right?" I finally asked, shattering the thick quiet.
"At what exactly?" Evelyn replied without breaking stride.
"Well… what happened in Miss Glitz's office. And in the garden. And… everything, really." I waved my hands in a way that could be interpreted either as "sorry" or "the tomatoes weren't my idea, I swear!"
She glanced at me for a second, assessing my impromptu performance, and then gave a barely noticeable shrug.
"I saw what happened. There's no reason to be mad at you."
Just like that? No lectures, no "you've embarrassed us all," no "I expected better from you"?
"Huh… well… that's good," I mumbled to myself, feeling a wave of relief.
We walked a few more steps in the same syrupy silence before coming to a halt.
My eyes landed on a squat, old chest of drawers covered in dusty books.
It stood there proudly on carved legs, with worn handles, clearly having outlived several generations of maids.
The old rivets still held it together, but I had the distinct feeling that with enough persistence, it could spill every bit of gossip this hallway had ever heard.
"What's that?" I pointed at it.
"A chest with old books," Evelyn replied dryly.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious. I meant…" I circled it, peering at the gaps, "what if there's… you know, a skeleton or two hiding in there?"
A click.
A moment later, with a soft grinding sound, the side panel of the chest began to slide open, revealing a narrow, dark passage.
Cool air drifted out, carrying the scent of something… old. Like an attic that hadn't been opened in a hundred years.
"Ta-da," Evelyn said flatly, gesturing to the opening.
I froze, staring at this marvel of paranoid architecture.
"You're telling me we've been living in a building with secret freaking doors this whole time, and no one thought to mention it? That's just cruel!"
"I didn't think it was important," she said calmly, stepping into the darkness first.
I stood there for a moment, quietly seething.
Secret passages! And not a word! Just my luck — I'm always the last to hear anything interesting around here, I grumbled inwardly, hurrying after her.
The passage was narrow and dark, so I was practically nose-to-back with her.
The scent of old wood and dust hit my nose like a reminder that cleaning crews hadn't been here in… well, ever.
A few steps later, the corridor widened abruptly, we climbed a spiral staircase, and I froze in place.
In front of me stretched… well, I don't even know how to describe it.
Imagine a library built by someone who was both an obsessive astronomer and an antique hoarder.
The ceiling was adorned with various constellations, their "stars" made of sparkling gems.
Instead of regular bookshelves, there were massive chests of drawers with dozens of compartments, each marked with a burned-in image of a star or entire constellation.
The walls and ceiling were draped in deep navy cloth embroidered with golden thread, forming sprawling star maps.
Tiny glowing stones shimmered under the ceiling, creating the illusion of a night sky.
And the floor? Scattered with piles of old — no, ancient — books. Their covers were worn, their pages yellowed with age.
"Wow…" I breathed, turning in place. "You've got your own mini planetarium — without the boring uncle giving lectures."
"This is the Room of Constellations," Evelyn said, walking past me toward a distant chest.
"It holds chronicles, histories, and ancient tomes. Some are so old they crumble at the touch."
I brushed my fingers over the carved lid of the nearest chest. The star etched into the wood felt almost warm.
"And you read all this?"
"For the past few days — yes." She pulled a hefty tome from a drawer, a cloud of dust immediately swirling around her hands.
"I've been looking for any mention of cases… like yours."
"Cases like mine?" I blinked.
"You mean… information about people from other worlds?"
"Other worlds? Possibly," she said, flipping through a few pages, her brow furrowing.
"I found mentions of temporary possession or spiritual confusion. But nothing… exactly like you."
"Hm…" I leaned against the chest. "Well, maybe that's because I'm not just a soul — I'm a soul with baggage."
She gave me a look of mild confusion.
Baggage from the 21st century, I thought. Knowledge, perspective, sarcasm, history — all packed into my internal archive. And trust me, it's heavy luggage.
Her gaze flickered with something between incomprehension and mild fatigue.
"Perhaps," she said simply, turning back to her book.
While she was busy, I carefully slid open a small drawer marked with the image of Leo.
Inside were neatly stacked, yellowed scrolls tied with red cords.
And of course, I couldn't read a single one. Why didn't I get the cheat code for "Universal Language Reading"?
"What is it?" Evelyn asked, noticing my face.
"I just… hoped there'd be something about magic," I admitted, "but, you know… I can't read a thing in this world."
She set the book aside slightly, as if deciding it was time to explain.
"Since you've told me about your world, I suppose I should tell you about mine — or rather, about the magic you keep asking about."
My eyes lit up, and I plopped down on the floor, completely forgetting about dust and germs.
"Our magic comes from the stars. Everyone is born under their own constellation, and it determines everything — from your strength to the spells you can use."
"When we cast, a projection of our constellation appears around us, but only the star of the ability we're using shines brightly. The rest… wait their turn, or rest after being used."
I blinked.
"So magic is like… your personal toolbox, but painted in the sky?"
She gave a faint smile and stood.
"If you wish to call it that. My constellation is the Chameleon — from the Mirage school. It's tied to illusions and sensory deception."
Before I could fully process that, the air shimmered, and above her palm appeared the faint, color-shifting outline of a constellation, its stars glimmering. One star burned brighter than the rest.
And before me… I saw myself. Or rather, Mira — the body I now inhabited.
She looked different.
Her eyes were softer, but held the wary depth of someone who'd been burned too many times to let anyone close.
Her posture was straight, but not confident — more like a learned habit to hide any hint of weakness.
She looked more like a living doll than a person with genuine emotions or self-worth.
"That's what you looked like, Mira," Evelyn said quietly, "before you took over her body."
I touched my cheek instinctively — it felt foreign, like looking at an old photograph of someone who used to be me… but wasn't.
"Yeah… and that girl clearly didn't know what a real smile was."
Evelyn only shook her head, though something warm flickered briefly in her eyes — as if she saw value in both versions of me.
But then… something clicked in my head. Like someone turning on a flashlight in a dusty attic of my memory.
Star magic.
You know that feeling when there's a mosquito in the room? You can't see it, but you know it's there?
Right now, that mosquito was a memory.
"Evelyn… what's the name of the country I'm in right now?" I asked, a bad feeling creeping up my spine.
A cold shiver ran through me as Evelyn sighed and replied with deliberate calm, clearly expecting a bigger reaction to her magic explanation.
"We live in the Astean Empire, on the lands of Duke Fargun."
And then — the bite of realization. I remembered where I'd heard that name, both the magic and the empire.
It was from a book I'd once started on a friend's recommendation… and abandoned halfway because it got too dark.
"Twilight of the Empire and Rise of Eternity."
It had started as solid epic fantasy: grand cities, deep worldbuilding, a well-crafted magic system, heroes on a quest.
Everything looked like a classic adventure… until about halfway through, when the tone took a hard turn.
The story plunged into dark political intrigue, tangled imperial governance, and a growing sense of horror — where the enemy wasn't lurking in dark forests, but behind the imperial throne.
It became horror without monsters — just people. Power, fear, and betrayal became the main weapons.
The heroes were betrayed, broken, and sacrificed in the name of "higher goals" and "purifying the bloodline."
Ice ran down my spine. My heart hammered in my throat.
I slowly looked up at Evelyn, trying not to let my growing dread show.
No… No way. I can't be in that story — the one where they fall in love with you first and then "accidentally" sacrifice you during the purification ritual?!
"You've gone pale," Evelyn observed, her gaze sharpening.
"What, did the empire's name scare you?"
"No… I just… suddenly realized what kind of… mess I've gotten myself into," I muttered, eyes darting back to the chest marked with Leo.
"Really?" she arched a brow. "It sounds like it's more than just a 'mess.'"
"Yes! Wonderful! Fantastic! I'm thrilled!" I blurted, far too quickly and unconvincingly.
She raised an eyebrow higher.
"You sound like someone who's been told they're being executed tomorrow and insists it's just a trip to the hot springs."
I gave a nervous laugh, my knees trembling.
"Yeah. And then they throw you in boiling water and ask 'With salt or without?'"
Evelyn shook her head, something like surprised understanding in her eyes.
"You really aren't from this world."
Yep. And from the looks of it, this world is on a fast track to disaster… with me along for the ride.