Chapter 9: Whispers of the Past
The air was thick with smoke, hot and sharp in Liam's lungs.
"Move! Liam, get down!"
The voice came from somewhere ahead, muffled under the roar of collapsing stone.
He turned the corner just in time to see what was left of a street—buildings caved in on themselves like dying giants, flames licking at their remains. A sky once blue was now a churning sea of ash.
And then, in the distance... a blinding flare of a bomb.
The world tilted. The shockwave came first as a soundless punch, then the scream of metal and glass. Dust swallowed everything.
"Liam! Don't stop!"
Boots pounded on broken pavement. The chaos swallowed the voice.
Another blast—closer this time.
His ears rang, his vision wavered. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he was moving forward or just falling. A shadow passed overhead, a machine of war blotting out what little light remained.
Then—blackness.
Liam's eyes snapped open.
.....
The training ground was gone.
Instead, there was the faint scent of antiseptic herbs and the cool touch of linen beneath him. The distant clanging of weapons had faded into muffled footsteps and the soft rustle of cloth.
Leo stirred, but the world stayed black.
His hand twitched toward his face, only to brush against a strip of rough fabric wrapped over his eyes. Bandages.
"You're awake," a voice said from somewhere near his head—calm, edged with curiosity.
He swallowed, throat dry. "Where... am I?"
"Infirmary," the voice replied. "You collapsed during the final trial. You've been out for hours."
His breathing was sharp, his shirt clung to him even in stillness. Sweat trickled down his temple, though the air was cool here.
It was just a memory. But in that memory... the air had felt the same.
Somewhere, beneath the quiet hum of the infirmary, the weight of that dagger's presence lingered in his mind—the crushing force, the whisper that had called his name, the red haze before everything went black.
And behind it all, the ghost of a world that was no longer his.
....
The door creaked open. Heavy steps entered—familiar ones.
"You look like hell," Jack muttered.
Leo turned his head slightly under the bandages. "Thanks for the encouragement."
"You scared half the candidates," Ralph said from the foot of the bed. "The other half just looked... afraid."
Jack gave a humorless snort. "They'll get over it. The instructors, though... kept whispering after they carried you off."
Leo stayed silent, feeling their words settle in his chest. He could imagine those whispers—speculation, suspicion.
Jack's boots scuffed the floor. "The exam's over. Results are out tomorrow."
Leo sat up slowly, ignoring the faint pull of pain behind his eyes. "Tomorrow," he repeated.
The sun was already sinking when they left the infirmary, its orange light spilling across the emptying training grounds. Most candidates had dispersed—some limping, others speaking in hushed voices that died away when Leo passed. Near the central arena, two instructors compared sealed envelopes, glancing quickly up and back down.
By the time the dormitory lamps dimmed, the sky outside was black and heavy with stars. Leo sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, the faint scent of sand and steel still clinging to him. His mind replayed those final moments again and again.
"Don't say a word to my sister about this," he said quietly. His voice was more command than request.
Jack raised a brow. "We wouldn't."
Ralph nodded. "Not a word."
Leo followed Jack's gaze toward the open doorway. At the far edge of the grounds, just beyond the wrought-iron gates, a lone figure stood. The fading light framed her in gold, and even at this distance he could see the stillness in her stance—not calm, but deliberate.
Mira.
She didn't move toward them. She was simply... waiting.
And somehow, that was worse.
Ralph let out a low whistle. "You think she's been standing there long?"
Jack shrugged. "Long enough."
Leo's chest tightened—not from the dagger's memory, but from the weight of what that look might mean. Mira's eyes found his across the distance. No wave. No smile. Just the steady, unreadable stare of someone who had counted every breath he'd taken from the moment he fell.
The sun lowered, shadows stretching like long, reaching fingers.
Leo exhaled. "I guess we should go."
Mira's voice rang out over the courtyard. "You two," she called to Jack and Ralph, "come with us. The mansion isn't a place you can find alone in the dark, and Leo... you're not in shape to navigate it by yourself."
Jack and Ralph exchanged a look and fell into step beside her without hesitation.
The four of them walked across the courtyard, twilight gathering in the hedgerows, carrying the clean, damp scent of watered gravel and the faint sweetness of jasmine climbing the garden walls. Two Draxler guards by the outer arch exchanged a brief look as they passed—curiosity quickly hidden under stoic professionalism. One guard's knuckles were raw, hastily bandaged, as if the day had required more than standing watch.
The mansion rose ahead, all high windows and pale stone. The nearest windows glowed with lamplight—warm, but watchful. The wind shifted, and the ironwork of the front gate answered with a slow, metallic sigh.
As they mounted the steps, Leo's eyes flicked to the upper balcony. For a heartbeat, a curtain stirred. A silhouette? A trick of the dying light? The fabric fell still.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of cedar chests and spent candle wax. The entrance hall was all polished wood and pale marble, the vast chandelier scattering tired flecks of light over the floor. A hearth yawned, long and low, laid with fresh logs but unlit—as if the house itself was holding its breath.
Mira paused, hands lightly resting at her sides. The gold thread at the seam of her cloak winked once and went still. Leo followed, the unease in his gut coiling like living rope.
"After supper, we'll talk," she said gently. "Or not. But you'll eat."
He nodded.
The mansion's hush seemed to swallow them whole. Their steps sounded too loud; the spaces between sounded louder. Leo became aware of his own body—the ache behind his eyes, the pulsing heat of remembered dangers, the rhythm of his own heartbeat echoing unnervingly in the marble corridors.
They passed a side corridor. A door at the far end stood barely ajar, a ribbon of lamplight spilling onto the floor. Voices murmured inside—too soft to catch words, only cadence. Leo's gaze lingered, sensing the mind behind each step, each hesitation.
Mira noticed the look he gave it and said nothing.
At the base of the staircase, she stopped and turned to him. Her eyes searched his face—not the way a commander assessed a soldier, but the way a sister counted the costs a brother wouldn't admit.
"You scared me," she said softly.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be sorry. Be careful."
He nodded, the weight of the day settling into his chest like stones.
A draft slid along the corridor, brushing the edge of a tapestry. Somewhere above, a balcony door creaked open and shut. Leo paused, sensing a presence he couldn't see. A shadow, perhaps—but it lingered too long in the corner of his mind.
Mira glanced at him, reading the unease. "Don't worry. Not tonight."
But Leo's gaze stayed on the faint movement above, the faint trace of something watching—an uninvited observer waiting for them in the quiet.
...
The evening had settled like a heavy blanket over the Draxler Mansion. The four of them—Leo, Mira, Jack, and Ralph—walked the corridors in near silence, the soft click of their boots against polished stone mingling with the distant hum of the mansion's subtle life: the whisper of servants moving unseen, the faint rustle of curtains in a breeze that wandered through the open windows.
Jack leaned slightly toward Ralph, his voice low. "Never thought I'd see Leo dragged into that mess. Man, he looked like he'd been through a storm that could tear the earth apart."
Ralph chuckled quietly. "Yeah... but you've got to admit, he didn't exactly panic. Kept moving. Even bleeding like that, he... I dunno, looked focused. Terrifyingly calm."
Leo's ears twitched at their words, though he kept his gaze forward. "Thanks for the concern, guys," he muttered dryly, eliciting a grin from Jack and a slight smirk from Ralph.
Mira glanced over her shoulder, her expression softening at the rare moment of levity. "We'll get you some rest soon," she said gently. "But first, eat. You need it."
The group arrived at the dining hall, the long wooden table lined with plates and warm, steaming dishes. Candles flickered in sconces along the walls, their glow reflecting off the polished floor and throwing soft shadows that danced along the carved wainscoting. Mira gestured for them to sit, and Jack and Ralph practically fell into place beside Leo.
As they ate, conversation flowed lightly—mostly Jack and Ralph teasing each other, Mira interjecting with quiet corrections or gentle reminders to pace themselves. But Leo felt only a dull, simmering tension beneath it all, the memory of the dagger's presence and the day's chaos refusing to fade. Each bite of bread and sip of soup was mechanical, his mind wandering, circling like a hawk around some unseen prey.
After supper, the group rose, and the servants retreated, leaving them to their private corridors.
Mira led them down the hall, stopping only to point to the respective doors where Jack and Ralph would rest. The two men waved and disappeared into their rooms, the soft click of door latches marking their departure.
Leo lingered a moment, the hallway emptying, a silence settling in that was heavier than the soft candlelight suggested. Mira's gaze followed him, then softened. "Rest a little while. I'll make sure you're not disturbed."
He nodded, but once she left, he found sleep would not come. The bed beneath him felt too firm, too small, too ordinary. His thoughts churned: the dagger, the blast, the whisper, Mira's knowing eyes... He needed to clear his mind, to step into a place where thought could move freely.
The library.
It had always been a sanctuary for him, a place where whispers of knowledge mingled with the smell of old parchment and wood polish. And... perhaps, he admitted quietly to himself, he wanted to see Eliza. Not for the familiarity of friendship or flirtation, but to gauge what she knew about this world past.
He slipped from his room, careful not to awaken the household. The corridors were dark, lit only by the occasional candle or the faint moonlight spilling in through tall windows. Each step echoed faintly, the sound bouncing along walls adorned with ancestral portraits that seemed to watch him pass.
At the library door, Leo paused. His hand hovered above the brass handle, breath catching slightly as he sensed the quiet within. Then, he slowly pushed the door open.
A familiar figure rose from the shadows, her outline sharp against the glow of the lanterns on the tables. Eliza. She looked up, and her gaze met his almost immediately, eyes bright, piercing, yet measured.
"Why don't you rest tonight?" she asked softly, her voice carrying across the hush of the library. "I saw you bleeding."
Leo gave a small chuckle, more to steady himself than out of amusement. "It was nothing," he said lightly.
Her eyes softened slightly, and she exhaled, a faint sigh escaping her lips. "And what are you searching for today?" she asked, a hint of curiosity and caution intertwined.
He walked toward her, the distance closing slowly. "Do you know anything about the ruins... or anything about that place? Its origin? Whose does it belong to?" His voice was quieter now, almost confessional.
"I heard about that place from my father... but I don't know much beyond that," she said.
Eliza's head tilted slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "Why are you searching for that? Are you planning to go there?" There was suspicion there, but also something deeper—a quiet probe that made him uneasy.
A shiver ran down his spine at the intensity of her gaze. It was as if her eyes could pierce through the carefully constructed layers of his words, his emotions, even the smallest flicker of hesitation. And then, almost imperceptibly, her eyes began to glow, the light bright but contained, almost ethereal.
Leo's heart skipped. The longer he looked, the more he felt stripped bare, each lie, each half-truth, laid open before her. His breath caught, a sudden tightness in his chest.
A small noise, a chuckle, escaped her. "Sorry... I didn't mean to do that," she said apologetically. "My eyes are... special. They can see through lies and notice subtle emotional changes."
Leo stood frozen for a moment, the weight of her gaze pressing in on him. "D... do you read mine as well?" he asked cautiously.
A playful glance met his. "I think it's best to keep that with me," she said lightly, almost teasing, though the warmth in her tone tempered the tension in the room.
He felt both embraced by the moment and wary at the same time. His mind raced, imagining all the thoughts and secrets she might have uncovered. A chill ran down his spine at the thought of her discovering the truth: that he was a transmigrator, a man out of his own time and world.
Eliza's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. "Don't worry. I didn't see anything. That's why I keep looking at you... it's like some barrier blocks it, prevents me from seeing certain things."
Relief flooded through him silently. He exhaled, a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. That barrier... it was almost like a gift, a safeguard against exposure.
She leaned back slightly, her eyes dimming to their normal brilliance but still holding that piercing quality. "But..." she said, with a faint smile, "you intrigue me. I like to watch. To understand."
Leo allowed himself a small, wry smile. "I suppose that's fair. You've always been... observant."
Her eyes sparkled briefly, amused, then settled back into their careful measurement. "And you," she said quietly, "always carry more than you let on. It suits you, in a strange way."
He felt an unexpected warmth at her words, a fleeting sense of connection amidst the tension of the night. Yet even as he felt it, the weight of secrets still pressed at him. And somewhere beneath the comfort, he sensed that Eliza's curiosity was relentless. Patient. Piercing.
The room remained silent for a moment, the soft crackle of the lanterns the only sound. Leo's gaze wandered across the library, the shelves heavy with history, secrets, and knowledge of ages past. And yet, no amount of books could shield him from the intensity of her presence, the quiet unearthing of truths he wasn't ready to confront.
Finally, he spoke again, voice low. "I'll... keep looking. I just... want to understand."
Eliza nodded slowly, her expression unreadable but not unkind. "Be careful," she said simply, almost as a warning, almost as advice. "The past you chase may not want to be found. And some truths... are better approached cautiously."
Leo absorbed her words, letting the weight settle around him, a mixture of relief, tension, and unspoken understanding. Tonight, the library had become more than a sanctuary—it was a place of revelation, of connection, of quiet, dangerous truths.
He lingered for a moment longer, feeling the air of the room, the glow of the lanterns, the soft presence of Eliza beside him. Then, slowly, he rose. "Thank you," he murmured.
Eliza gave him a small, enigmatic smile. "You're welcome... Leo."
He stepped back into the corridor, the shadows of the mansion swallowing him as he made his way to his room. The weight of the night pressed on his shoulders, but for the first time since the trials, there was a flicker of understanding, of clarity, of unspoken alliance.
And even as he lay down in his bed, sleep still eluded him. The memory of her gaze, the faint glow of her eyes, and the half-truths he carried kept him awake. Outside, the mansion was silent, but inside, the night was far from over.