— "You can't save everyone. But sometimes, saving one person is enough to make you regret it." —
The journey down South Hill felt longer than the climb up.
Aeon didn't know if it was because of Lilia's weight in his arms, or the other children stumbling behind him, or because his head was still throbbing from the explosion of information he had absorbed in the church. Perhaps all three.
He didn't complain. Complaining was troublesome.
Lilia had stopped crying, but her hands still clutched the collar of Aeon's jacket tightly. Her breath was warm against his neck, uneven, like someone who had just woken from a nightmare.
"Big brother… Leo… he won't die, right?" Lilia whispered. Her voice was muffled by Aeon's jacket.
Aeon didn't answer. Not because he didn't know the answer—he did. He had briefly "read" Leo when the boy grabbed his hand in the alley. Broken ribs piercing the lungs, internal bleeding, and possibly spinal damage. In his old world, that was already in the "critical, survival chance below 5%" category. In this world, with magic and potions, the odds might be slightly better. But Aeon doubted any healer would bother treating a street urchin in the middle of the night.
"Big brother?" Lilia tugged at his jacket.
"I don't know," Aeon said finally. "But you need to be ready for anything."
Lilia fell silent. Her grip tightened.
They reached the city as dawn began to break.
The sky in the east shifted from black to pale purple, then pink, then orange. The first rays of sunlight touched the spires of Veriditas, making the crystals in the building walls sparkle like jewels.
But that beauty felt alien to the small group walking along the city's edge. Most of the children behind Aeon had no shoes. Some were crying softly. A boy with a swollen, purplish arm kept coughing every few steps.
Aeon stopped at the side of the road. He turned around and counted. Thirteen children. Plus Lilia, fourteen. Their ages ranged from five to twelve. All of them were in bad condition.
"I can't take all of them to that alley," Aeon thought. "Leo himself is dying. There's no one to look after them."
He glanced at The Hollow Tome in his hand. The book wasn't vibrating. No new writing. It seemed the book had decided not to interfere.
"I need to think of something," Aeon muttered.
"Aeon?"
He turned. A little girl with shoulder-length black hair—the oldest among the children, maybe twelve—stood beside him with wide eyes. Her eyes were deep brown, filled with restrained fear.
"I… I know a place," the girl said. "An orphanage. Near the East Gate. Mother Superior Anna, she's kind. She might take us in."
"Are you sure?"
The girl nodded quickly. "I… I used to be there. Before they kidnapped me. Mother Anna always said her door was open for children in need."
Aeon observed the girl. He could "read" lies—at least, he could sense if something was off. But from this girl, he only felt genuine fear and hope.
"Alright. Show me the way."
Rose Orphanage—that was the name of the place—stood at the edge of the East Gate, in a two-story wooden building with peeling paint. Its front yard was overgrown with wild roses, and many of the wooden fences were leaning.
But the lights inside were still on.
Aeon knocked on the door. No one answered. He knocked again, harder.
The door opened slightly, and a middle-aged woman with a tired face peeked out. Her hair was black mixed with white, tied loosely behind her head. She wore a patched, dirty apron.
"We're closed," she said. "Come back tomorrow morning—" She stopped. Her eyes caught the children behind Aeon. Her expression changed.
"Oh my…" she whispered. She opened the door wide. "Come in. Quickly, all of you."
The children rushed inside. Mother Superior Anna—Aeon assumed it was her—immediately began checking each child, telling them to sit on the long benches in the narrow living room, pulling blankets from the cupboard, and ordering a young nun who had woken from the commotion to boil water.
Amid the bustle, Aeon stood in the doorway, still holding Lilia.
Anna turned to him. Her eyes scanned Aeon from head to toe—shabby clothes, pale face, the strange black book in his hand—and finally stopped on Lilia.
"You're the one who saved them?" Anna asked.
"Some of them."
"Some?"
"I wasn't alone. But I'm the one who brought them here."
Anna nodded slowly. "Are you hurt?"
"No."
"But you look pale."
"I'm always pale."
Anna didn't seem satisfied with the answer, but she didn't press. "The child in your arms… how is she?"
Aeon placed Lilia on the nearest bench. The girl was half-asleep, her eyes drowsy, her breathing shallow.
"She was just rescued from a ritual," Aeon said. "There might be side effects. I don't know."
Anna approached Lilia, checked her pulse, opened her eyelids, and placed her palm on the girl's forehead. Then she sighed.
"No signs of severe magical poisoning. Just exhaustion. A few days of rest and nutritious food, and she'll recover." She looked at Aeon. "But there's something else. I can feel it. There's… leftover energy inside her. Like threads that haven't finished being woven."
"Soul Weaving," Aeon thought. "She can sense it."
"You know something about that," Anna said. It wasn't a question. Her sharp eyes stared at Aeon with an intensity unusual for an orphanage director.
"I know a little," Aeon said. "But I don't have time to explain right now. There are other children who need your attention more."
Anna frowned. "Other children? Where?"
"In the alley near the market. A boy. His name is Leo. Lilia's older brother. He's badly injured."
Anna's face turned pale. "You left him there? Alone?"
"He couldn't be moved. I didn't have medical supplies. And I don't know how to heal internal wounds."
Anna was already running to the kitchen, grabbing a basket filled with glass bottles and bandages from the shelf. "Show me where he is. Now."
They ran—or more accurately, Anna ran while occasionally glancing back to make sure Aeon was following. Aeon didn't run. He walked quickly, with steady but unhurried steps. His body felt heavy, his head still throbbing, and every step felt like walking on cotton.
But he kept moving.
They reached the alley after ten minutes. The sun had risen a little higher, casting a pale orange light on the narrow alleys.
Leo was still there.
The boy was still sitting slumped against the wall, in the same position Aeon had left him. But something was different. His face was paler, his lips bluish, and his chest… his chest wasn't moving.
Anna knelt beside Leo. Her trembling hands checked the pulse at the boy's neck. She pressed her ear to Leo's chest. She took a glass bottle from the basket, opened it, poured blue liquid into her palm, and rubbed it on Leo's chest.
The liquid glowed with a pale blue light, seeped into Leo's skin, and…
Nothing happened.
Anna repeated it. Three times. Four times. Each time, the blue light grew dimmer, until finally there was no light at all.
Anna sat down on the ground. The glass bottle in her hand shattered, cutting her palm, but she didn't feel it. She simply stared at Leo with wet eyes.
"He… he's gone," Anna whispered. "Maybe for a few hours now. Maybe since you left him."
Aeon stood beside her, looking at Leo's body.
The boy had died still clutching the red storybook. His cold fingers gripped the cover tightly, as if he refused to let go of the only precious thing he had.
Leo's face was peaceful. There was no pain there. Maybe because the pain had disappeared when he stopped feeling anything at all. Or maybe because he had accepted his fate from the beginning.
"I've been dead ever since they took her away," Leo had said last night.
Aeon remembered that.
"You should have brought him," Anna said, her voice bitter. "You should have brought him to me. Maybe I could have—"
"No," Aeon cut in. "His ribs were broken and piercing his lungs. Internal bleeding. Possible spinal damage too. With the limited equipment at your orphanage, you couldn't have saved him."
Anna looked at him with red eyes. "You… you knew all that? Then why didn't you—"
"I had no reason to bring him. He already told me he was going to die. And he asked me to save his sister, not himself."
"So you chose? You chose to let him die?"
Aeon fell silent. Not because he had no answer. But because he was trying to understand something.
He had "read" Leo last night. He knew the boy would die. He knew the chance of saving him was very small. And he had made the decision—without overthinking, without emotion, without burden—to not bring Leo. He chose to focus on Lilia and the other children.
"Was that the wrong decision?" he thought.
He didn't know. What he did know was that if he had brought Leo, the other children might not have been saved. If he had brought Leo, The Eye of Obsidian might have chased them. If he had brought Leo, the time wasted arguing with Anna might have cost Lilia or the other children their lives.
It was a logical calculation. Nothing more, nothing less.
But why did something in his chest feel… strange?
"I didn't choose to let him die," Aeon said finally. "I chose to save those who could still be saved."
Anna stared at him for a long time. Her eyes were filled with mixed emotions—anger, sadness, frustration, and beneath it all, something resembling… understanding.
"You're a cruel man," Anna whispered.
"Maybe."
But Anna didn't send him away. She stood up, brushed the dust from her skirt, and picked up her basket. "Help me carry him. We'll bury him beside the orphanage. The children… they need to see that someone honors death."
Aeon nodded. He knelt, lifted Leo's light body. The red storybook was still in Leo's grip. Aeon tried to take it, but Leo's fingers held on tightly.
"He doesn't want to let go," Aeon thought. "Even after death."
He left the book in Leo's hand.
They walked back to the orphanage in silence. The sun had fully risen, and Veriditas was waking up with its usual bustle. Vendors began opening their stalls, horse-drawn carts passed by, and the sound of church bells echoed from afar.
But in the small alleys they passed, no one paid attention to a man in a black jacket carrying a dead boy's body, accompanied by a middle-aged woman with a bleeding hand.
In this world, death was not uncommon.
Leo's burial took place in the orphanage's backyard, under an old apple tree that rarely bore fruit anymore. Anna dug the grave herself, even though Aeon offered to help. She said it was "penance"—though Aeon didn't understand what sin she wanted to atone for.
The orphanage children—both new and old—stood in a circle, some crying, some silent. Lilia wasn't there. She was still asleep inside, unaware that her brother was gone.
Anna stood at the edge of the grave, her hands dirty and her face wet with tears. She held a small book—perhaps a prayer book—and read something in a soft voice.
"Goddess of Knowledge, receive this child's soul into Your embrace. Grant him the peace he never found in this world. Forgive his sins—"
"He had no sins," Aeon interrupted.
Anna looked at him.
"He was a child," Aeon continued. "Children have no sins. They only have adults who failed to protect them."
Anna fell silent. Then she closed her prayer book.
"You don't believe in the gods?" she asked.
"I don't believe in anything."
"Then what do you believe in?"
Aeon thought. He looked at Leo's body lying on the ground, the red storybook still in his hands.
"I believe in stories," he said finally. "Everyone has a story. And Leo's story… ended here."
Anna sighed. "That's a… bleak view."
"Realistic."
"Maybe. But I choose to believe that Leo's story isn't over. That his soul will go somewhere, and one day, he will start a new story."
"You believe that?"
"I have to. If not, I'd go mad watching children die in front of me every day."
Aeon didn't answer. He simply stood there, staring at the grave, at Leo's body, at the red book that wouldn't leave the boy's grasp.
"A book," Aeon thought. "He died holding a book."
There was irony in that. A man who had spent his life reading books was now watching a child die while holding one. Like a cracked mirror reflecting something he didn't want to see.
Anna began filling the grave. Soil fell onto Leo's body, one shovelful at a time. Some children cried harder. A boy—the one with the bandaged swollen arm—knelt and placed a wild rose on the soil before it was covered.
Aeon didn't move.
He didn't cry. He didn't pray. He didn't say goodbye.
He simply stood.
And in his chest, that strange sensation grew a little stronger.
After the burial, Anna called Aeon to the back room of the orphanage. The room was small, containing only a wooden table, two chairs, and shelves of potion bottles. On the wall hung a picture of a woman with wings—perhaps the goddess Anna had mentioned.
"You haven't eaten," Anna said as she placed a bowl of soup and a piece of bread in front of Aeon.
"I'm not hungry."
"You're pale. Eat."
Aeon stared at the soup. It was brownish, with pieces of vegetables and unfamiliar meat. Its aroma was warm, reminding him of something he had long forgotten.
He took the spoon and ate.
The taste… what was it? He didn't know. His mouth chewed, his throat swallowed, but his tongue sent no signals to his brain. The food was only texture and temperature, not flavor.
"Still the same," he thought. "Like in my old world. Food tastes like paper."
But he kept eating. Because Anna was looking at him with eyes that said she wouldn't stop staring until the soup was finished.
"You haven't told me," Anna said after Aeon finished the soup. "About what happened in that church. About who they were. About how you managed to save those children alone."
"I wasn't alone," Aeon said. "I had this book."
He placed The Hollow Tome on the table. The book looked ordinary under the candlelight—black cover, white pages, nothing strange.
Anna examined the book carefully. She didn't touch it.
"I can feel it," she said. "There's… power inside it. But it's not magic I recognize. It's different. Older. Deeper."
"Maybe because it's not magic from this world."
Anna raised an eyebrow. "From another world? You… you're a Transferred?"
Aeon looked at her. "Transferred?"
"People who come from other worlds. That's what they're called. Rare, but not unheard of. Usually they arrive with special powers. Some become heroes. Some become villains. Some just disappear."
"So there are others?"
"Perhaps. But not many. And they usually come in… normal ways. Through world gates, summoned by mages, or because of curses. But you…" Anna stared at Aeon with sharp eyes. "You came differently, didn't you?"
Aeon didn't answer. He simply stared back.
Anna sighed. "Fine. I won't force you. But at least tell me who did this to the children. Who kidnapped them?"
"The Eye of Obsidian," Aeon said.
Anna's face turned deathly pale. "You… you're sure?"
"Yes. I read it from their leader."
Anna stood up. Her hands trembled as she reached for the chair to sit back down.
"The Eye of Obsidian," she repeated. "They… they're legends. Stories to scare children. People say they're a secret organization that serves dark gods. They kidnap talented children to turn them into… to turn them into…"
"Ritual materials," Aeon finished. "Or experiments. Or weapons. Depending on their needs."
Anna covered her face with her hands. "Oh God. Oh God. I thought it was just a story. I thought—"
"You thought the children just ran away or got lost?"
Anna didn't answer. But the trembling in her shoulders was answer enough.
Aeon stayed silent for a moment. Then he said:
"They will come back."
Anna looked up. "What?"
"The Eye of Obsidian. They will return. I drove them away last night, but I only drove them away. They won't stop. They have a network. They have resources. And they want Lilia."
"Lilia? That little girl? Why?"
"Because Lilia has a rare ability. Soul Weaving. The ability to weave souls into reality. The Eye of Obsidian wants to exploit it."
Anna fell silent. Her face was ashen.
"Then… then what should we do?"
"You need to protect those children. Move them to a safer place. Or ask for protection from the kingdom."
Anna laughed bitterly. "The kingdom? The kingdom doesn't care about street children. They're busy with political intrigue and wars with neighboring kingdoms. Their knights won't bother protecting a rundown orphanage on the outskirts."
"Then you need to find other allies."
"Who?"
"I don't know. That's your problem."
Anna looked at him in disbelief. "You… you won't help? You're the one who saved them. You're the one who knows about The Eye of Obsidian. And you're just going to leave?"
"I didn't say I was leaving. I said it's your problem."
"Then what is your problem?"
Aeon stood up. He picked up The Hollow Tome from the table.
"I need to read," he said. "There's a lot I don't understand about this world. About the seven layers of reality. About the gods. About The Eye of Obsidian. About The Unseen. I need information."
"Information for what?"
Aeon thought.
"For what?" he wondered. "What is my purpose here?"
He had no answer. He had no goal. No mission. No desire to save the world or defeat evil.
But he had curiosity. A faint curiosity, but enough to make him move.
"To understand how the story ends," he said finally.
Anna frowned. "I don't understand."
"It's okay. I don't understand myself either."
Aeon walked to the door. But before he left, Anna called him.
"Aeon."
He turned.
"Leo… before he died… did he… did he suffer?"
Aeon recalled. He remembered Leo's pale blue eyes, his hoarse voice, his cold hand gripping the red book.
"No," he said. "He had already accepted it from the start."
Anna nodded slowly. "At least that… is something."
Aeon didn't reply. He left the room, passed through the living area where the orphanage children were sleeping piled on benches and the floor, and walked to the front door.
As he opened the door, he heard small footsteps behind him.
He turned.
Lilia stood in the doorway of the living room, a rolled-up blanket over her shoulders. Her pale blue eyes—the same as Leo's—stared at Aeon with an expression that was hard to read.
"My brother… he's gone, isn't he?" Lilia whispered. Her voice was still weak, but there was firmness in it.
Aeon looked at her. "You know?"
"I dreamed. Big brother Leo came to me in my dream. He said he was going to a faraway place. And he told me not to worry." Lilia bit her lower lip. "But he also told me to thank you. Because you saved me."
Aeon said nothing.
Lilia walked closer. She was very small, even smaller than children her age. Her blond hair was messy, her face pale, and her eyes… her eyes were too old for a child her age.
"Are you leaving?" she asked.
"Yes."
"When will you come back?"
"I don't know. Maybe never."
Lilia fell silent. Then she took something off her neck—a simple necklace with a small blue stone pendant—and held it out to Aeon.
"This was my brother's," she said. "He gave it to me on my fifth birthday. He said the stone could protect against evil spirits. I want you to have it."
Aeon looked at the necklace. The small blue stone was dull, not sparkling like a gem. But there was warmth in it—warmth that didn't come from fire or magic.
"I don't need this," he said.
"I know. But I want to give it to you."
"Why?"
Lilia looked at him. "Because you're sad."
Aeon fell silent.
"I know," Lilia continued. "You look like you have no feelings. But your eyes… your eyes are sad. Like big brother Leo when he thought about Mama and Papa. Big brother Leo always tried to look strong too. But I knew he was sad."
Aeon didn't know what to say.
He wasn't sad. He could no longer feel sadness. That feeling had died years ago, buried under the rubble of the collapsed building along with everything he loved.
But this little girl—who had just lost her only family—stood in front of him with hopeful eyes, offering the only valuable thing she had, because she thought Aeon was sad.
"Ironic," Aeon thought. "She lost everything, yet she feels the need to comfort me."
He took the necklace.
"Okay," he said. "I'll accept it."
Lilia smiled. A small smile that didn't reach her eyes, but sincere enough.
"You will come back, right?" she asked again. "Someday?"
Aeon hung the necklace around his neck. The blue stone felt warm against his chest.
"Maybe," he said. "If the story isn't over yet."
Lilia nodded. "I'll wait for you. I'll learn to use my power. Mother Anna says I have talent. When you come back, I can help you."
Aeon didn't answer. He only patted Lilia's head briefly—an awkward gesture, like someone who had forgotten how to touch others gently.
Then he turned and walked out.
The sun was high in the sky. Veriditas was fully awake, with all its noise and beauty. Aeon walked down the streets, The Hollow Tome in one hand and the blue stone necklace around his neck.
He opened the book. The last page wrote:
"First mission: Completed. Casualties: 1 (Leo). New connections: Lilia (Soul Weaver, potential ally), Anna (orphanage director, potential informant). New information: The Eye of Obsidian will return in 30-45 days. The Unseen are parasites from the Fifth Layer. Soul Weaving ability is their primary target.
Note: This world has more missing children than anyone realizes. And there is a larger organization behind The Eye of Obsidian—something called 'The Synod of Eyes'—that has not yet appeared.
The feeling growing in your chest is called 'regret'. It is a sign that you are still human. Or at least, you once were."
Aeon closed the book.
He stopped at the side of the road, looking up at Veriditas's bright blue sky.
"Regret," he thought. "So that's what it's called."
He didn't know if he was glad or not to feel it. But at least, he felt something. And that, perhaps, was the beginning of something.
He continued walking. Not back to the orphanage. Not to the Royal Library. But to a new place—something he had "read" from the memories of the men in black robes.
A place where he could get more information about this world. About the seven layers of reality. About The Eye of Obsidian. About The Unseen.
A place called "The Black Market of Whispers."
A place where information was sold at a price that wasn't always money.
"Next destination," Aeon thought. "But first…"
He looked at the sky, then at the busy streets, then at the book in his hand.
"First, I need a place to think. And read. And understand everything I just read in the church."
He found an empty bench in a small park near a fountain. He sat down, opened The Hollow Tome, and began rereading all the information recorded on its pages—the information he had absorbed from the "silver ink eyes" last night.
There was so much. Too much. But Aeon read it one by one, slowly, with the patience of a man who had nowhere to rush.
And in the midst of Veriditas's noise, under the warm sunlight, with the blue stone necklace around his neck and the black book in his hand, Aeon began to understand, little by little, the new world he now inhabited.
A world built on seven layers of reality.
A world ruled by bored gods and power-hungry organizations.
A world where children were kidnapped for rituals, where information was the deadliest weapon, where fate was never as clear as it seemed.
A world that needed someone to read its truths.
And Aeon, a man who cared about nothing, was beginning to realize that he might be the only one who could do it.
Not because he was chosen.
Not because he was special.
But because he was already dead, and the dead have nothing left to fear.