Eight years later...
The corridor stretched endlessly before him—dark, damp, and cloaked in a heavy gloom. The only sound was the steady echo of his own footsteps, tapping hollowly against the stone as he moved forward into the unknown.
The walls were built of crumbling brick, worn by time and neglect. The floor glistened with moisture, slick underfoot. The air was thick with humidity and choked with dust so dense it clung to his throat, making it hard to breathe.
Cesar couldn't see the end of the passage. It felt infinite, as if it bent reality itself. Then, from deep within that suffocating darkness, a sudden flash of light broke through—so bright it forced him to shut his eyes.
"A... light...?"
With each step, the glow grew stronger, pulsing with unnatural intensity. He pressed onward, drawn to it, until—
Without warning, the corridor vanished.
In its place, a vast room unfolded around him—silent, unfamiliar. His vision was clouded, blurred beyond clarity, as if a veil had fallen over his eyes. He struggled to make out the details, but only one thing stood out.
A rectangular stone, similar to a tablet.
It was mounted on the far wall, distant but distinct. He couldn't read the inscriptions carved into that stone. He took a cautious step forward.
But before he could draw near, a strange sound echoed through the room—sharp, unnatural.
Everything began to dissolve. The blur overtook his vision completely, swallowing the space around him.
The next thing he saw was the ceiling of his bedroom.
The alarm buzzed beside him: 7:00 AM.
Groggy and disoriented, he sat up and shut it off.
"Again... that dream..." he muttered, his face creased with the weight of interrupted sleep.
"Why... why do I keep having the same dream? And why does it always end at the same point...?" he whispered, frustration tightening his voice as he lay there, staring at the ceiling.
He had grown used to the dream—that strange vision that had haunted him for so many years. It no longer startled him. It lingered, like a whisper echoing in the corners of his mind.
It was only after a few moments of hesitation that he finally rose from bed. He moved through his routine without a word, wrapped in the quiet melancholy that had become so familiar. The house was still, the silence thick—not oppressive, but weighted with memory.
He sat down for his usual breakfast, though he barely tasted it. His thoughts were elsewhere, drifting through fragments of a dream that refused to fade.
Eight long years had passed—years steeped in silence, solitude, and the slow ache of melancholy. Yet the house remained unchanged. Cesar had refused to move a single object, alter a single corner. Every shadow, every speck of dust was a monument to the memory of Oldgure, now believed dead, even by Yuusaba.
Still, the hope of his return lingered, a flickering ember in Cesar's heart—dimmed, perhaps, but not yet extinguished.
There was something strangely comforting about the stillness. The familiarity of the home, untouched since Oldgure last walked its halls, offered solace to his restless spirit. Even the routine had not changed. Cesar trained daily, though he had never truly understood the purpose of those exercises. Yet the repetition steadied him. In every movement, he could almost hear Oldgure's voice—firm, patient—urging him onward, telling him to push harder, go further.
And still, day after day, Cesar's eyes were drawn to the same place—the castle. That cursed silhouette on the horizon, ever watching. It was that cursed castle—the very source of those strange dreams. He was more certain than ever: his grandfather had gone there... and never returned. And some unseen force within him pressed insistently, driving him to enter that castle.
It was Yuusaba's words that had planted the seed of that conviction. Long after Oldgure's disappearance, Yuusaba had finally spoken, revealing what he believed to be the truth: On the day he vanished, Oldgure had told Yuusaba he intended to enter the castle.
The village authorities had long forbidden anyone from setting foot inside those walls. But Oldgure had always been driven by a quiet, insatiable curiosity. And though Yuusaba never fully understood his reasons, he believed him. He always had.
But the truth—the real truth—remained lost.
[•••]
Despite his grandfather's strict warnings, Cesar had begun to make his way to Yuusaba for some time now. No longer content to view the village from his window, he wanted to see it again with his own eyes.
Little had changed.
The villagers were older now—eight years older—but their memories remained intact. They hadn't forgotten Oldgure, not by a long shot. And Cesar, who bore an uncanny resemblance to him, was impossible to overlook.
The same bitter words once hurled at his grandfather now found a new target.
"Still hanging around, huh? Yeah, that's the grandson of that mad old fool... Remember him?"
"He actually shows his face here? Disgraceful. I'm embarrassed for him."
Cesar had long since grown used to the whispers, the looks, the barely concealed scorn. He kept walking, head high, pretending not to hear.
"Hey, you!" called a boy slouched against a wall, surrounded by his gang of smug companions. "You know what your grandfather did was illegal, right?"
Cesar didn't even glance at them. His mind was fixed on one place: Yuusaba's house.
On the way, he passed the old stage—the same worn platform where Oldgure once spun his wild stories to anyone who'd listen.
Every time Cesar walked by it, he couldn't help but picture the scene: his grandfather, standing tall, animated in his storytelling, only to be dragged away by the village guards yet again. He always imagined the same final cry, shouted at the retreating crowd:
"One day, you'll all believe me!"
It was just a fantasy, a reconstruction of something that might never have happened. But still, each time he passed that stage, he could almost hear the echo of that defiant voice carried on the wind.