Chapter Three — The First Night
Karl stood silently near the doorway, his hands clasped lightly in front of him. The soft hum of the city beyond the windows did nothing to distract him. Every sense in his body was alert, every muscle tense. He didn't know why, but his instincts screamed that tonight, the ordinary rules of life would bend for him.
The door creaked, and Ara entered. Her presence filled the room with an effortless elegance. She paused when she saw him standing there, eyes fixed, immovable.
"Karl?" she asked softly, almost in disbelief.
Karl turned toward her, drawing in a slow, deliberate breath. His eyes held an intensity that made Ara hesitate. For a moment, she wondered if he even belonged in this world of light and warmth.
"Karl, are you okay?" she pressed, her voice laced with concern.
Karl did not answer immediately. He only stared at her, studying her movements, the gentle sway of her hair, the tilt of her head. Something about her radiated a calm authority that made the air itself still. Ara caught him looking, and her lips twitched into a fleeting, almost imperceptible smile, before she tore her gaze away.
She walked toward the dining table, the soft tap of her sandals on the floor echoing slightly. Then, without looking back, she called over her shoulder, "Karl… where is the dish?"
Karl stiffened. He had been watching, waiting, learning. He raised his hands instinctively, only to hesitate, unsure whether to present the dishes he had prepared. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowered his hands and murmured, "Okay… let me get it."
He moved with an awkward urgency, as if every step toward the kitchen was both thrilling and perilous. The dishes he had conjured in the magical rhythm of his abilities—something he still barely understood—were stacked neatly on a tray. The aroma of sizzling noodles, steaming vegetables, and rich broth filled the air as he returned to the dining table.
Ara's eyes widened slightly, betraying a flicker of surprise. She turned to him, inspecting the spread. "Karl… why so many dishes?"
He hesitated, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I… I thought… one dish might not be enough."
Ara shook her head lightly, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "I only asked for ramen."
Karl's shoulders sagged minutely, a shadow of guilt passing over his pale face.
But Ara did not scold him. She stepped closer, gently placing her hands on the dishes. A warm glow seemed to radiate from her touch, and Karl felt, rather than saw, a subtle hum of life through the plates. Her fingers lingered over the food as she smiled.
"This is really good, Karl," she said softly. "At least… it will do for tonight."
Karl immediately dropped his gaze, unable to hold her stare. His body felt tense, aware that something powerful lingered in her calm presence.
"Have you eaten?" Ara asked, her voice casual, yet tinged with curiosity.
Karl's eyes flicked up briefly. "Yes… some, long ago."
Ara's gaze traveled from his head to his feet, her expression contemplative. "You're still wearing the same dress from this morning. Have you taken your bath?"
Karl froze. Bath? His mind hesitated, memory clashing with instinct.
"Yes… I think," he said slowly, uncertainty lacing his tone.
Ara raised an eyebrow but did not push. Her smile softened, almost imperceptibly.
"You can go, Karl," she said, turning slightly to indicate the stairs.
He moved toward the door, pausing as her voice stopped him. "And… where are you going?"
"I mean… go to the room I showed you this morning," she added.
Karl stopped. His mind whirled with questions he did not yet know how to ask. Slowly, he turned back, and with careful, silent steps, he ascended the stairs to the room that had become his sanctuary.
Ara sat at the table, her plate before her. She picked up her chopsticks and ate slowly, deliberately, savoring the flavors. A small smile played on her lips as she watched Karl disappear upstairs. There was a grace to his movements, awkward yet purposeful, that made her heart skip in a way she could not explain.
Upstairs, Karl sat on the edge of the bed. His hands trembled slightly, though he did not understand why. The dishes he had created were not just food—they were extensions of himself, woven from instinct, from the mysterious energy that had transformed him from shadow into flesh. He could feel it pulsing in his veins, humming in the air around him, as though the very room waited for him to master it.
He closed his eyes, focusing. The energy within him responded, subtle ripples brushing the corners of the ceiling, brushing the walls. He lifted his hands, imagining a simple plate, noodles, broth… something human, comforting. It appeared before him with a soft sizzle, steam curling like tiny serpents.
Karl inhaled sharply. Each act of creation felt heavier, more real. He was learning what it meant to be human—both the gift and the burden. Hunger, warmth, the tension of muscle and bone. And yet, through it all, there was an unshakable command in his mind: find the girl. Protect. Watch. Obey.
Below, Ara continued eating. She hummed softly, unaware of the strange currents flowing through the house, the quiet shadows that seemed to ripple with anticipation. She had a feeling—vague, intangible—that Karl was no ordinary chef. Something about the way he moved, the intensity behind his quiet eyes, spoke of secrets buried deep beneath his calm.
Karl rose from the bed, moving toward the window. The city sprawled endlessly beneath him, a maze of lights and sounds. Humans moving, unaware of the invisible threads weaving between them. He inhaled the night air, tasting the subtle flavors of smoke and rain, metal and flesh.
The mission the Master had given him was clear. Yet, for the first time, Karl felt a strange weight in his chest—not fear, but anticipation. Something stirred within him at the thought of Ara, her voice, her presence, her faint smile that had lingered in his memory since she had spoken.
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Flesh, blood, bones. He was learning the fragility and beauty of this form. And somewhere beneath that, the shadow—the part of him that had always existed beyond time—waited, patient, watching.
Suddenly, a soft knock came at the door. Karl stiffened. He had not expected anyone, not at this hour.
"Karl?" Ara's voice, tentative yet familiar, reached him.
He opened the door slowly. She stood there, hands folded, her eyes gentle but piercing. "I wanted to see… if everything is okay," she said softly.
Karl's mouth opened, but no words came. His body froze, a mix of instinct and awe rooting him to the spot.
Ara stepped closer. The light from the hallway brushed her face, softening her features, highlighting the warmth in her eyes. "You've made a lot of dishes… and they smell amazing," she said, almost whispering.
Karl nodded slightly, unable to speak. His lips trembled with the effort to form words. He wanted to say: I am not like them. I am not like you.
Ara seemed to sense his tension. She smiled, small and encouraging. "It's okay. You did well, Karl. I trust you."
Something deep within him stirred at that simple statement. Trust. He had never felt it. He had never been given it. And yet… he could not let it go.
"I… will do my best," he whispered finally.
Ara nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now… rest. Tomorrow will be another day."
Karl watched as she turned to leave, the soft swish of her gown echoing in the quiet room. Once she was gone, he pressed a hand to his chest again. Heartbeat steady. Breath steady. Mind alert.
He was human now. But he was still a shadow in disguise.
he would have to walk the line between both worlds—the one of flesh, and the one of ancient darkness that had created him.