Glen halted before his front door, nostrils flaring slightly. A trace of unfamiliar scent lingered in the air—Black Crow had been here.
He used his boot tip to shift aside the stone by the entrance, retrieving the key hidden beneath. The wooden door groaned with a dull creak that sounded particularly jarring in the silent street. The bundle sat just inside the doorway, undisturbed. Black Crow hadn't entered the house—simply left the items and departed.
"Convenient enough," Glen murmured to himself, hefting the bundle as he stepped inside.
The problem of preserving the pork troubled him. This world had no refrigeration, so he decided on the most ancient method—smoking. Perhaps he should inquire about ice magic, Glen mused while processing the ingredients. That would eliminate concerns about food spoilage entirely.
...
Leyla curled in her chair, fingertips unconsciously worrying the rough fabric. Everything that had happened today still left her shaken, that near-despair terror clinging to her even now. Without that kind gentleman's intervention, she might have lost her mother.
"Child, you must properly thank that gentleman," Mrs. Delry said, gently stroking her daughter's hand. Her voice was weak but firm. "In these times, good people like him are rare indeed."
"I understand, Mother." Leyla replied softly. "Tomorrow I'll inquire about the location of Bayeck Town. If possible, I'd like to bring my friends along."
"That's wise, but mind your manners. Don't let your friends do anything discourteous."
"Don't worry—they're all well-mannered people."
Leyla's thoughts drifted toward that mysterious youth. He appeared only a few years older than herself, his lean frame wrapped in plain clothing, yet possessed an air that seemed utterly at odds with his surroundings. Those eyes were particularly unforgettable—always calm as still water, as if nothing in this world could disturb his composure.
Who was he really? Why did she sense he was different from others?
Her mother's sigh drew her thoughts back to reality: "Perhaps we should consider moving again."
Mrs. Delry sagged wearily against her chair back, the bruises on her face still vivid.
"Move again?" Leyla's heart sank. She had lived here for several years, made friends, grown familiar with the neighborhood. This would be their third forced relocation, each time requiring a fresh start—too cruel for a fifteen-year-old girl.
"Your father found us again." Mrs. Delry gripped her daughter's hand, knuckles white with tension. "Today he nearly killed me. If not for the patrol officers nearby..."
Leyla stared at the wounds on her mother's face, suddenly realizing her own grievances meant nothing by comparison. "I understand, Mama."
...
Glen woke when the sun was already high overhead. After finishing kitchen chores the previous night, he had slept deeply.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he pushed open the second-floor window just in time to see his elderly neighbor returning from outside town, carrying a Rottweiler puppy.
"Morning, neighbor!" Glen called from his window frame. "Nice pup—where'd you get it?"
The sudden voice rang particularly loud in the quiet street. The old man startled, looking up with annoyance. Upon recognizing Glen, his expression stiffened, but he merely snorted coldly and continued walking.
Glen chuckled softly, turning to begin his morning ablutions. Remembering something, he returned to the window and whistled sharply.
A massive beast answered the call, bursting from the morning mist to stop silently beneath his window. Those eyes glowing in shadow fixed on him with focused attention.
"Guard the woods outside town," Glen commanded. "If a girl comes looking for me, protect her secretly."
The beast straightened its frame as if receiving military orders. Had it possessed speech, it might have barked "Yes, Sir!" Instead, it shot toward the outskirts like a loosed arrow.
Today's task involved modifying the fireplace. The enclosed structure was unsuitable for smoking meat, forcing Glen to undertake renovations.
The moment his hammer struck the fireplace corner, Glen's keen senses detected something abnormal about the impact sound. He set down his tools, tapping the floor with his knuckles.
Thump thump...
The hollow echo confirmed his suspicion. Empty space lay beneath? Glen raised an eyebrow. The previous owner had never mentioned the house included a basement.
Curiosity drove him to search the interior for an entrance. Unless absolutely necessary, he preferred not to damage the flooring.
In the storage room, the outline of a hidden door emerged beneath a heavy wooden cabinet. The trapdoor was wrapped in rusted iron chains, as if someone had desperately wanted to seal away whatever secrets lay below.
For Glen, this posed no obstacle. Werewolf strength allowed him to snap the chains easily and lift the trapdoor.
Wooden steps descended into darkness, carrying the musty scent of decay. Glen wrinkled his nose but didn't retreat.
He fetched a kerosene lamp, lit it, and cautiously descended.
Lamplight banished the darkness, illuminating this forgotten space. Countless rats squeaked and scattered, several bookshelves lined the walls with volumes long since gnawed to tatters. Glass fragments littered a rotting round wooden table, dried liquid stains snaking across its surface.
Glen paced slowly through the space, unable to suppress his amazement. He had never imagined his house concealed such a place below.
He withdrew a relatively intact book from the shelves, struggling to decipher the text.
"Holmaggen... something second substitute... seal..." He stumbled through several lines before snapping the book shut in frustration. "What nonsense is this!"
After replacing the book, he examined the table's debris—nothing but drafts and container fragments of no value.
The basement's area was modest, quickly explored in its entirety. Just as Glen felt disappointment, he noticed another door.
Hoping for something worthwhile behind it, he took a deep breath and studied this special portal.
The dark brown wooden door bore ancient carved patterns, mysterious runes covering the frame. A clock-like device was embedded at the top, though it possessed only one hand, the face divided into five sections marked with strange script.
The pointer indicated the topmost region.
Glen turned the handle. As mechanical clicks sounded, the door slowly opened. He failed to notice that at the moment of opening, the script beneath the pointer flickered with ethereal light.