The light in the room was steady.
The curtains were drawn halfway.
Fabric fell straight down.
No movement in the folds.
Light from outside filtered in—
softened,
diffused.
No direct glare.
The desk was illuminated.
Light spread evenly across its surface.
But there was no harsh reflection.
The air was still.
No wind.
The curtains did not move.
No faint vibration at the edge of the table.
Time felt fixed within this layer of light.
Only a faint smell of paper lingered.
Dry.
Thin.
Like something left untouched for a long time.
Mixed with the scent of wooden furniture.
Aged, but not decayed.
Carrying the emptiness of warmth long gone.
Iosef sat behind the desk.
His posture remained straight.
His back did not fully touch the chair.
A small gap remained.
His spine held a stable angle.
Shoulders naturally lowered.
No excess tension.
His breathing was light.
Minimal movement in his chest.
Steady rhythm.
Not controlled—
yet always consistent.
A row of photographs lay on the desk.
Neatly arranged.
Edges aligned.
Angles identical.
None tilted.
As if measured.
Each photo was pressed over a sheet of simple information.
The paper was slightly yellowed.
Edges flattened.
No curling.
Indentations faint.
Uniform.
Different people appeared in the photos.
Different clothing.
Different postures.
But one thing in common—
young.
Every face carried a carefully arranged composure.
Hair neat.
No disorder.
Expressions appropriate.
The corners of their lips held at controlled angles.
Eyes steady.
Most gazes looked directly at the camera.
No avoidance.
No aggression.
As if trained to hold.
Some tilted their heads slightly.
Some lifted their chins.
Some softened their gaze.
But none appeared casual.
These were daughters of various families and conglomerates.
The room made no sound.
No page turning.
No paper friction.
No fingers sliding.
Iosef's fingers rested lightly on the desk.
Pads touching the wooden surface.
No tapping.
No rhythm.
Just still.
The surface felt slightly cool.
Dry.
His gaze moved across the photos.
Not fast.
One by one.
No skipping.
Each glance held for nearly the same duration.
As if confirming.
Or eliminating.
Until one.
His gaze stopped.
A single photo placed at the center.
Not buried at the bottom.
Not pushed aside.
Naturally positioned—
yet distinct.
The figure in the photo was familiar.
Elena Neroth.
White background.
Clean lighting.
No shadows pressing against her face.
She stood there.
Body slightly angled.
Weight naturally settled.
Her hair fell along her shoulders.
Soft lines.
No deliberate styling.
Yet neat.
Her expression was quiet.
No forced smile.
No restraint.
Her gaze did not confront the camera.
Nor avoid it.
Just—
looking forward.
Iosef's eyes stayed on the photo.
Unmoving.
Beside it, the data sheet displayed her name.
Elena Neroth.
The handwriting was neat.
Clear strokes.
No haste.
Below—
a brief description.
Daughter of Silas Neroth.
Awakened through the White Swan Program.
A marker of humanity's evolutionary potential.
The words on paper were cold.
No excess description.
No emotion.
His gaze shifted from the image to the text.
Paused.
Then returned to the photo.
The room remained silent.
No interruption.
The name—
Silas Neroth.
It had appeared in files many times.
Iosef had read it.
More than once.
Dr. Silas's theory—
ability awakening is an inevitability in human evolution.
More people will gain abilities in the future.
The lines on paper were orderly.
No emphasis.
Yet no ambiguity.
His research direction—
various forms of "training."
To develop abilities.
Iosef's finger moved slightly.
The pad slid a short distance across the desk.
Stopped.
"Training?"
His voice was low.
Almost without fluctuation.
Like repeating a word.
"Highly suspicious."
Flat tone.
No emotion displayed.
The air in the room did not change.
The document remained where it was.
But the fact remained—
the formation of ability-based military units
had accelerated because of these studies.
Iosef's gaze returned to the photo.
The courtyard scene surfaced in his mind.
Sunlight.
Wind.
Children's footsteps.
The sound did not fully return.
But the rhythm did.
She stood at the center.
Surrounded.
The image held.
His breathing shifted slightly.
Slower.
No increase in depth.
He did not look away.
"Silence."
The word fell.
No echo.
No disturbance.
The next moment—
the shadow in the corner changed.
Not movement.
Density.
As if empty space
had been filled.
No footsteps.
No fabric sound.
First, an outline.
Then form.
A boy stood there.
As if he had always been present.
Only now visible.
Not tall.
Posture stable.
Feet placed precisely.
No deviation.
His breathing was nearly imperceptible.
No visible rise in his chest.
His gaze fixed on Iosef.
No drift.
"What is your order, Master."
His voice was low.
Pressed into the air.
No extra inflection.
Iosef looked at him.
No surprise.
"Investigate Elena."
Flat tone.
The boy nodded.
Minimal movement.
"Understood."
He stepped back.
Without turning.
Footsteps almost silent.
Just as he was about to retreat into shadow—
"And."
The voice came again.
The boy stopped.
A slight pause.
Did not fully turn.
"How many times have I said this."
Iosef looked at him.
"Don't call me Master."
The air paused for a moment.
Silence.
Half a second.
Then—
the boy shook his head lightly.
Slow.
Without hesitation.
"Master is Master."
Flat.
Like a fixed conclusion.
Iosef did not respond.
Only glanced once.
"Do as you like."
Very light.
The boy did not linger.
His figure retreated.
Merged into shadow.
Gone.
The room returned to silence.
No trace remained.
No residue.
The photos on the desk were unchanged.
Light began to shift slowly.
Brightness along the desk edge altered.
Shadows stretched to one side.
Iosef leaned back slightly.
A small movement.
Then returned.
His gaze unfocused.
Resting ahead.
That memory surfaced again.
Humid air.
Slippery ground.
The heavy smell of blood.
No wind.
The space pressed down.
That boy stood there.
Light.
As if weightless.
Breathing chaotic.
Uneven.
Eyes empty.
No focus.
Muscles tense.
Ready to move at any moment.
No command—
yet waiting for one.
Iosef stood before him.
Did not step back.
The air pressed down.
Gravity tightened.
The boy's body stiffened first.
Shoulders dropped.
Knees bent slightly.
Breathing compressed.
Rhythm broken.
No resistance.
No escape.
Just—
held in place.
That moment had no sound.
No struggle.
Only suppression.
Slowly stabilizing.
Breathing reordered.
Becoming uniform.
His gaze began to focus.
Fixing onto one point.
Iosef.
That state did not disappear.
It was fixed.
Later—
it became habit.
Later—
dependence.
Later—
reverence.
The room returned to the present.
Light continued to move.
The photos remained on the desk.
That one in the center.
Unchanged.
Iosef did not look at it again.
His breathing returned to its original rhythm.
The air was still.
Silent.