Mist drifted across the dream like slow-moving smoke.

  Henson stood alone in it.

  “Dear…?”

  A woman’s voice called softly from somewhere beyond the fog.

  Warm. Familiar.

  “Henson…”

  A silhouette appeared in the distance. Gentle. Patient. Waiting.

  His chest tightened.

  He took a step forward.

  The mist swallowed her shape.

  “Dear—”

  Henson’s eyes opened.

  The room was dark and silent.

  For a moment he lay still, staring at the ceiling.

  Something sharp flickered in his eyes.

  Anger.

  Not loud. Not explosive.

  Just a quiet, controlled anger that had lived there for years.

  His fingers tightened slightly against the sheets.

  Then he inhaled slowly.

  The anger faded.

  By the time he sat up, his expression was calm again.

  Empty.

  He stood and walked to the mirror beside the wardrobe.

  Morning light slipped through the window behind him.

  The mirror showed the room clearly.

  The bed.

  The chair.

  The pale light from outside.

  But where Henson stood—

  There was nothing.

  No reflection.

  Only empty space.

  He studied it silently for a long moment.

  Then he lifted his hand and placed his fingers against the cold glass.

  The mirror remained empty.

  Henson lowered his hand.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The dream lingered faintly in his mind.

  A voice calling him.

  Dear.

  His eyes darkened slightly.

  He turned away from the mirror.

  Outside, church bells began to ring in the distance.

  A new day had begun.

  Henson picked up his coat.

  Somewhere in the city…

  a boy was walking toward a destiny he didn't know about.

  “And Henson would make sure nothing interfered with the boy’s fate.”

  —

  Elias was awake.

  But he didn’t move.

  Morning light spread slowly across the ceiling above his bed, yet his eyes remained fixed on it, empty and distant.

  Outside the door, a knock came.

  “Elias?”

  His father’s voice.

  “Come eat something.”

  Silence.

  Elias didn’t answer.

  The man waited a few seconds on the other side of the door. Then he sighed softly.

  “Take your time.”

  His footsteps faded down the hallway.

  Inside the room, Sushank continued staring upward.

  The events of yesterday replayed in his mind again and again.

  The church hall.

  The accusations.

  The cold looks.

  The final words.

  Temporarily suspended.

  The ceiling above him blurred slightly as his thoughts drifted.

  Anger.

  Confusion.

  Shame.

  All of it mixed together until he didn’t know what he felt anymore.

  Then—

  “Elias…”

  The voice was faint.

  So faint he ignored it.

  Probably his imagination.

  A moment passed.

  “Elias!”

  A little louder this time.

  He frowned slightly and turned his head toward the window.

  And froze.

  Miha was hanging outside it.

  Upside down.

  Her hands gripped the window frame while her body dangled awkwardly in the air. Her hair hung downward, swaying slightly in the breeze.

  When she noticed him staring, she stuck out her tongue and bit it lightly between her lips.

  A sheepish, childish expression.

  The universal look of someone silently saying:

  “Yeah… I might have done something stupid.”

  She gave a small wave.

  Still hanging upside down.

  Elias blinked slowly.

  “…What are you doing?”

  Miha shrugged as best as someone hanging from a window could.

  “Visiting.”

  Elias stared at her for a second.

  Then he jumped out of bed.

  “Wait—!”

  He rushed to the window and grabbed her arm before she slipped.

  Miha tumbled inside the room and landed on the floor.

  “Ow…”

  She rubbed her head.

  Elias looked at her with wide eyes.

  “Miha! Why are you here?”

  He frowned.

  “Didn’t your training start today?”

  Miha looked away immediately.

  “…Maybe.”

  Elias’s face slowly went pale.

  “…You skipped it.”

  Miha scratched her cheek.

  “Well… I was getting bored so…”

  Elias groaned.

  “So you came here?”

  “It’s not skipping!” Miha said quickly.

  “It’s just… a small tour.”

  “A tour?” Elias said.

  “And your tour brought you to my window?”

  Miha suddenly covered his mouth.

  “Shhh!”

  She looked nervously toward the door.

  “I heard something this morning.”

  Elias blinked.

  “What?”

  “They were talking about you.”

  “About me?”

  Miha nodded.

  “One man was talking to the High Priestess.”

  “What did he say?”

  Miha hesitated.

  “He said… the church doesn’t need weak people.”

  Elias’s shoulders lowered a little.

  “…Who said that?”

  Miha looked at him.

  “Henson.”

  —

  The church corridors were quiet.

  Morning light filtered through tall stained-glass windows, painting faint colors across the stone floor.

  Inside the High Priestess’s chamber, the air was still.

  She sat behind a large wooden desk, her posture perfectly straight.

  In front of her rested a single hand.

  Her dominant hand.

  She turned it slightly, studying it in silence.

  Burn marks covered the skin.

  Old ones.

  Some thin and pale.

  Some darker, like scars that refused to fade.

  Her fingers moved slowly over them, tracing the rough texture.

  For a moment, her expression was unreadable.

  Then she rang the small silver bell on her desk.

  A servant entered quickly and lowered his head.

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  She didn’t look up.

  “Where are the keys to Cassian’s room?”

  The servant hesitated.

  “The archive room keys, Your Grace?”

  Her eyes finally lifted.

  Cold.

  Sharp.

  “Yes.”

  The servant swallowed.

  “They were placed in storage after his death.”

  A pause filled the room.

  The High Priestess leaned back slightly in her chair.

  “Bring them to me.”

  The servant bowed immediately.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  He hurried out of the chamber.

  The door closed quietly behind him.

  The High Priestess looked down at her scarred hand again.

  Her fingers curled slowly into a fist.

  “Cassian…”

  Her voice was almost a whisper.

  The past was not finished yet.