>> Chapter 06: Voices In The Silence
The sound of the door closing broke the silence for a brief instant. After that, only the weak crackling of the fireplace and the whistle of the wind beating outside remained.
Radan stayed there still for a few seconds, looking at the wooden door that Nightingale had just passed through. Then he let out a long sigh and walked to the window.
The snow fell in slow flakes, illuminated by the orange light of the street torches. From that height, he could see the roofs covered in white and a few people still moving through the village, probably militia guards.
He pushed the window, and the cold night air entered like a cutting blade. The wind brought the smell of burned wood and snow.
Radan frowned and, instinctively, extended his hand. A light vibration ran through the air in front of him... And then a thin invisible barrier formed in the opening, completely blocking the cold.
The wind continued blowing outside, but inside the room the air remained warm, mixing with the heat of the nearby fireplace.
Radan observed the world beyond the window. For a moment, he stayed there still, just listening to the distant sound of the wind and the rustling of the torches. The barrier shimmered lightly in front of him, almost imperceptible, as if made of pure will.
Between the soft warmth of the room and the cutting cold outside, he felt suspended between two worlds.
For a few seconds, he just observed the wind carrying the snow, in silence. Then he thought, with a slight tired smile:
"It's only been two days since I arrived in this world… and I've already discovered things that defy any logic."
He closed his eyes a bit, letting the sound of the wind fill the room. The first shock he discovered in this world was the existence of magic
Something so absurd and at the same time fascinating.
Powers capable of igniting the air, moving objects with thought or disappearing before the eyes… all this simply broke the laws of physics that he knew before.
"Magic… or perhaps a form of energy that I still don't understand."
He looked at the invisible barrier he had created in front of the window. The air seemed to vibrate lightly at that point, almost imperceptible.
Driven by curiosity, he extended his hand and touched the empty space.
The sensation was strange.
There was a resistance there — as if touching a thin layer of flexible glass. When he pressed a little more, he felt a subtle vibration, a pulse that reacted to his will.
"So that's how it works…" he murmured, trying to analyze the phenomenon. "It's as if my mind were molding the space. But… what exactly is being molded?"
He tried to concentrate, seeking any pattern, any indication of physical reaction. No visible deformation, no variation in the air. Nothing.
It was as if the barrier simply existed... It was a wall created by the pure will of his mind.
After a few seconds, he gave up, withdrawing his hand and breathing lightly.
"No scientific basis. No physical principle. It just… happens."
Turning, he looked at the small table beside the bed. There was a lit candle there, melting slowly on the metal holder. Radan approached, extinguished the flame with his fingers and observed the wisp of smoke rising in the air.
Then, he extended his hand, concentrating.
The air around the wick began to spin in invisible spirals. A small whirlwind, almost imperceptible, took shape. He increased the rotation, making the air move faster. In seconds, the friction created a spark… and the flame reignited with a soft snap.
Radan smiled lightly. "It seems easier this time…"
He remembered when he had done that for the first time — in an extremely clumsy way, forcing the air to move with pure mental force, missing the rhythm several times. Now, it seemed natural, almost instinctive.
"So, the more I use it, the easier it gets…" he thought.
Decided to test the limits, he took the small pouch with coins on the table and opened it with a gesture. The coins floated slowly, spinning around themselves. Each one shimmered in the light of the fireplace, forming a golden circle in front of him.
For an instant, he felt in absolute control — each coin responded to a precise command, as if his will were an extension of reality.
But when he tried to increase the number of objects, the sensation changed. The control began to fail, the coins trembled and one of them fell with a metallic tinkling.
Radan breathed deeply, his forehead lightly damp with sweat.
"So… there's a concentration limit. Maybe each object needs a minimum amount of focus… or energy."
He collected the coins, thoughtful.
"If this is mental energy… maybe I can train it. Like a muscle."
He collected the coins, thoughtful.
"If this is mental energy… maybe I can train it. Like a muscle."
Radan breathed deeply and closed his eyes, decided to test another aspect of his power — his "telekinetic" sense.
In a few seconds, the silence of the room seemed to expand. He heard nothing but the distant sound of the fireplace and his own heart beating. Then, a subtle sensation began to spread — like waves of heat running through the air.
It was hard to describe that in words. It wasn't vision, nor hearing. It was something different… as if every particle of air, every piece of wood and every movement around sent an invisible echo straight to his mind.
He could "see" everything — the bed behind him, the irregular shape of the floorboards, the light movement of the candle flame, even the snowflakes falling outside.
It was like a living radar, pulsing in his mind.
And the more he concentrated, the farther the reach expanded.
Little by little, he began to perceive beyond the walls of the inn. He could feel the heavy steps of the guards patrolling the street, the tremor of other houses' windows with the wind, and even the muffled sound of someone coughing in a nearby room.
"Impressive…" he murmured softly. "I can feel at least… ten percent of the entire village without much effort."
He frowned, deepening the concentration. The flow of information increased in an almost overwhelming way. It was as if every shape, every vibration and every particle tried to communicate at the same time.
For an instant, he felt overloaded — as if his brain hadn't been made to process so much.
He quickly reduced the focus, breathing deeply, and the "mental" world shrank back to the size of the room.
"So this sense… is similar to a bat's echolocation." he thought. "But instead of sound waves, I send something different… maybe mental waves, or some kind of energy field."
He stayed silent for a few seconds, reflecting.
"But there's more to it… if I concentrate enough, I feel like I can go beyond. As if I could see not just shapes, but also their structure… the matter itself, maybe even the energies that compose them."
A light shiver ran down his neck.
"But that must require an absurd amount of magical power. Maybe even more than I can control now."
Radan opened his eyes slowly, returning to see the real room in front of him. The candle flame flickered again, casting soft shadows on the walls.
He passed his hand over his face and smiled lightly.
"So that's how it works… the power to perceive the world. A living radar. If I master this… maybe I can anticipate attacks, read movements, even understand the flow of magic."
Radan stayed silent for a few minutes, observing the snow falling outside.
The wind whistled through the window cracks, and he caught himself thinking about how that world was… brutal.
Most people lived the day just to not die of hunger. Winter was a sentence, and disease, a constant. A simple cut could rot and lead someone to death.
He remembered everything Nightingale had told about the witches — and, in a way, understood people's fear.
In a place where medicine was primitive, where religion ruled more than reason, anything that escaped the common would be seen as a curse.
"Living here is a daily punishment…" he murmured, crossing his arms. "And even so, these people still find time to hate each other."
In his past life, diseases had cures, machines did the heavy work and fire could be lit with a simple click.
Now, he was in a world where a bonfire was synonymous with survival and where the simple act of boiling water was a luxury for few.
But it was only when he thought about the most "basic" part of survival that he really felt the weight of the difference.
If he wanted to do his necessities, he would have to use a bucket — literally. And, according to the inn owner, the "traditional" way to clean oneself was with… a corn cob.
Radan breathed deeply and made a face.
"Zero technology, minus ten comfort…" he grumbled, looking suspiciously at the bucket in the corner of the room. "And they still say the Middle Ages were romantic."
He shook his head and let out a short, almost ironic laugh.
"If I survive this without getting an infection, it'll already be a miracle."
His mind began to wander.
"Maybe that's why magic scares so much… Because it represents everything people don't have: control. While the rest live at the mercy of the weather and luck, a witch can change the environment with a gesture."
He rested his elbow on the window and looked at the dark sky, where the clouds hid the stars.
"But also… it's unfair. Being hunted just for being born different."
The memory of Nightingale's explanation returned to his mind — the awakening, the pain of the devil's torture, the horrible deaths.
He closed his eyes, feeling a weight in his chest.
"A world where being born with power is almost a death sentence… and they still call this divine justice."
A small silence settled. The fireplace crackled behind him, casting a warm glow through the room.
Radan rested his chin on his hand, thoughtful.
If he really had to live in this world, then he needed to do something. He couldn't bear a life like this — surrounded by ignorance, cold and fear.
But this village… was different. Small, away from the capital and almost forgotten by the church. A discreet place, where changes could begin without drawing attention.
"If someone wants to build a new world, this is the best starting point."
A light smile appeared on his face.
"By the time they realize what's happening here, it'll already be too late."
The name Roland Wimbledon echoed in his mind. The mysterious prince who, according to Nightingale, protected witches and created machines that no one understood.
He leaned back in the chair, looking at the fire.
"A prince who uses a witch's power to make a steam engine… that doesn't sound like something someone from this world would do."
That idea hammered in his head.
What if Roland was like him?
Someone who also came from another place… someone from Earth?
The coincidence was too great to be ignored.
The inventions, the way of thinking, the curiosity for things that people in this world didn't even know to name. All this seemed like someone who had lived in a more advanced time.
"If it's true…" he murmured, "then he's already started the same as I would."
Modernize. Organize. Create a future amid the darkness of ignorance.
And if that was the case, then maybe he wasn't alone in this world.
"An engineer and a prince reborn in the same world…" he thought, arching his eyebrow. "Fate really has a sense of humor."
Radan let out a brief, tired laugh, and passed his hand through his hair.
But soon his gaze became serious again.
If Roland really was someone like him, then he needed to be careful.
A modern mind with power and influence could be a blessing — or a threat.
"Depending on who he is… I can help him with his plans. Or I'll have to stop him."
The fireplace fire danced in Radan's eyes, reflecting a determined gleam.
"One way or another, this world will change."
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