The next morning, Sakolomé woke up earlier than usual. His sleep had been disturbed, haunted by the anonymous message that kept looping in his mind. He took a quick shower, put on a simple outfit — dark jeans, light jacket — and left his home without even having breakfast.
The ride to downtown was almost oppressively silent. Only the monotonous hum of the engine filled the car's cabin. Sakolomé, riding in a taxi, stared straight ahead, his mind elsewhere, his eyes sometimes lost in the void.
Who is this guy? What does he really know about the system?
Every red light was another chance to brood more, but it only sharpened his impatience.
Finally, after about thirty minutes, he entered the beating heart of the city. Honking horns, rushing pedestrians, street vendors: everything seemed strangely ordinary, as if the world was unaware that something important was brewing.
The car parked near a sidewalk, then moved on.
Sakolomé took a deep breath. Then, without rushing, he headed toward the cybercafé mentioned in the message.
The storefront was plain, almost old-fashioned, with a flickering neon sign and a few fogged-up windows. Through them, rows of computers and a few young people absorbed in their screens could be seen.
Sakolomé did not push the door open. He stayed outside, on the sidewalk, hands in pockets, his gaze sweeping the surrounding crowd.
He waited.
Time seemed to stretch. Minutes passed slowly, punctuated by passing cars and pedestrians. His eyes scanned every face, every suspicious silhouette.
As Sakolomé waited in front of the cybercafé, a black limousine slowly approached and stopped right next to him. The vehicle, polished enough to reflect the neon streetlights, completely clashed with the ordinary neighborhood setting.
The rear window lowered with a soft hiss, revealing the face of a mysterious man, dark glasses perched on his nose. Without a word, he made a clear gesture to Sakolomé: get in.
Sakolomé squinted, intrigued. He immediately realized that whoever was looking for him was no ordinary stranger. Yet, far from hesitating, he approached without any fear. His instinct pushed him forward, no matter the danger.
He was invited to sit in the back. The door closed with a dull thud and the car started immediately. Inside, the atmosphere was heavy. Around him, four men in black suits and opaque glasses, impassive as statues.
Sakolomé broke the silence:
— May I know who's so eager to see me?
The man sitting next to him turned his head slightly. His voice was calm, almost neutral:
— For now, I can't reveal anything. But know that you could be proud to meet this person.
Sakolomé frowned, his gaze hardening. Proud? Who could afford to speak like that?
The limousine continued through the city without slowing, then stopped in front of a massive skyscraper. Spotlights illuminated its imposing façade, a symbol of power and wealth.
A man in a suit opened the door and barked:
— Follow me.
Sakolomé got out of the limousine, still showing no fear, and followed his guide. They both entered the lobby and took the elevator directly.
The floors passed one by one. 20… 40… 70… 90… then finally, ding. The doors opened on the hundredth floor, far above all others.
They walked down a pristine hallway, lit by cold lights. At its end, a single imposing door. The man escorting him stopped abruptly.
— This is it. Continue alone.
Sakolomé stared at the door, his expression hardening. He stepped forward firmly. Every movement echoed in the heavy silence of the corridor.
Arriving in front, he raised his arm, placed his hand on the handle, his gaze full of determination. Finally, he was going to discover who lay behind this door.
Sakolomé pushed the door and found a vast, bright, and silent office. The walls covered with dark wood breathed richness and authority.
At the back, behind a massive desk, a man sat with his back toward him. His white hair, perfectly groomed, gleamed under the light. His deep voice broke the silence:
— Sakolomé… it's been so long.
Sakolomé froze, his eyes narrowing. He remained silent, his pupils riveted on the silhouette.
The man slowly turned his chair. His face appeared, marked by years but still imposing. He gave a bitter smile.
— So… what are you up to?
Sakolomé's eyes widened. A brutal shock ran through him. He didn't believe his senses. He… it was him.
— You… you…
A small laugh echoed, tinged with nostalgia.
— Calm down, Sakolomé. Please, sit down.
Heavy-legged, Sakolomé pulled a chair and sat. His gaze immediately fell on the desk: a framed photo of Sally, smiling, holding an ice cream cone. His heart tightened.
The man noticed his gaze. He took the photo, looked at it a long time. His voice trembled, as if strangled by the weight of memories.
— I miss her so much… You can't imagine how much I can't get over it.
Sakolomé lowered his head. He missed Sally too. A dull pain rose in his chest, hard to contain.
The man resumed, eyes lost in the image.
— In principle, if I went to Monor, it was for her. If I had known… if only I had known I would lose her there… I would have said no. We would never have left.
The silence weighed, heavy as a condemnation. Sakolomé, motionless, still did not know why Sally's father had summoned him. Was it to make him bear the blame?
Then the man sighed, put down the photo, and stood. He slowly approached, placed a firm but trembling hand on Sakolomé's shoulder.
— Sakolomé Satsujin Otoko… I have a question for you.
Sakolomé raised his eyes toward him, his face impassive but his mind alert.
The man took a deep breath before saying, his voice choked with hope and pain:
— I know you can wield magic. My daughter could too… But tell me… could you bring her back to life?
Time seemed to stop. Sakolomé stayed frozen, staring at this man whose eyes shone with unfathomable distress.
Tears suddenly streamed down the father's cheeks. His voice broke.
— I don't know why… but I have this feeling. As if you, you alone, could resurrect her…
He bit his lip, shoulders shaking with grief.
— I know… I know she wasn't my blood daughter. But I loved her… loved her more than anything. Even when I had no time for her… she was always in my thoughts. Always…
After this troubling conversation, Sakolomé went back home. Sitting on his bed, his elbows on his knees, he held his head in his hands. His eyes, reddened by fatigue and pain, let fall a few silent tears.
— Sally… he whispered, voice broken.
He wanted to see her again. More than anything. Not just out of nostalgia, but out of a vital need, as if his world had never regained balance since her disappearance.
He got up heavily and entered the bathroom. The cold shower water ran over his face, washing away his tears, but not his despair. Looking in the fogged mirror, he saw a troubling reflection: his own eyes seemed foreign, like those of a man lost within himself.
He shook his head, took a deep breath, then closed his eyelids.
— I… I have to talk to Velda…
He took a towel, dried himself quickly, and returned to his room. Sitting on the bed, he closed his eyes and focused his thoughts. Mentally, he called out:
Velda… Velda… can you hear me?
In a distant dimension, Velda sat, talking with Rivhiamë. Suddenly, a voice resonated in her mind. She immediately straightened up.
— Sakolomé?
Rivhiamë, intrigued, furrowed her brow.
— What are you talking about, Velda?
Velda answered calmly:
— It's Sakolomé. He's trying to reach me telepathically.
Rivhiamë nodded, understanding, and remained silent.
Velda closed her eyes, connecting further to her mind.
— What do you want, Sakolomé? Don't you have studies or things to finish?
A faint bitter laugh echoed in her mind.
— Meh… that's not a problem, Velda. But there's something I need to know.
— Speak, she answered sharply.
Sakolomé's voice grew deep, almost trembling:
— Can some creatures die… and never be resurrected?
Velda frowned, then sighed.
— You're still trying to talk about Sally, aren't you?
Sakolomé remained silent.
Velda resumed, her voice softer:
— Listen, normally, resurrection is always possible. But… if a person's being is destroyed at a fundamental level, then that's true, irreversible death. Yet… to be honest, I doubt Sally was erased that way.
A breath of relief escaped Sakolomé.
— Glad to see we think alike…
Velda hesitated, then added:
— In the Library of Existence, I can still see her book. And it's not frozen. It keeps writing itself, as if her story wasn't finished.
Sakolomé's eyes widened.
— What? So… Sally is still alive, somewhere?
Velda clenched her fists, looking troubled.
— Maybe. But there's more… A strange energy surrounds her book. An aura unlike anything known. To be frank, Sakolomé… I think an entity has captured her.
Sakolomé, eyes wide open, absorbed the revelation with difficulty.
Sakolomé: An entity?… Wait… Could it be Sy666?
Velda: No. Not him. It's an entity far more powerful, of a level you can't even conceive yet. It surely holds Sally's being prisoner, preventing her resurrection… or even reincarnation somewhere.
Those words echoed in Sakolomé's mind like thunder.
Sakolomé: So… how do I see that book?! I want to see it, Velda! I must see it!
Velda: Calm down. The Library of Existence isn't a place you consult so easily. To have a clear vision of its books, you need at least the level of a secondary god. You… are still very far from that threshold. If you try to peek now, your perception will be blurred, distorted… and the domain's guardian might destroy you before you even understand what you're looking at.
Sakolomé clenched his fists, trembling with frustration. So many barriers, so many mysteries…
Sakolomé (thought): What entity can hold Sally like that? And why her?…
Silence weighed for a moment. Velda sighed before adding in a grave voice:
Velda: Keep researching if you wish… but beware, Sakolomé. The closer you get to the truth, the more you'll attract its attention. And believe me… you don't want that entity to notice you.
Then, abruptly, the telepathic link was cut.
Sakolomé remained motionless on his bed, his eyes staring into the void. Velda's words still echoed in his head. His breathing was short, his thoughts scattered.
And suddenly, another voice slipped into his mind, different, darker, almost caressing:
??? : Sakolomé… I might be able to help you.
Sakolomé's heart jumped in his chest. His pupils contracted, sweat pearled on his forehead.
Sakolomé (in a low voice): …Who… who's there?
A heavy silence settled, then the voice resumed, like a whisper from the depths:
??? : Someone who knows where Sally is…