Luin didn't mention what he'd seen to William.
In the morning, when they sat around the breakfast table, everything was ordinary in an uncomfortable way. Duma reading an old newspaper, Eileen chewing on a piece of stale bread, William turning something over in his mind, his gaze distant.
But in Luin's eyes, the specter of that girl lingered like smoke that wouldn't fade.
Celine.
He didn't know who she was, or why he felt the air shift when she appeared... but his heart hadn't settled since.
⸻
They left the house at midday.
William decided to start simple training for Luin. Said the village was quiet enough to be useful, and that they needed a body that wouldn't shake when the seal moved.
"Isn't the old scar enough?" Luin muttered.
But William ignored the tone and took him to a back courtyard, near a ruined church.
"Open yourself... without being opened." William said, pointing at Luin's chest.
"What?"
"Open the seal... without letting it devour you."
⸻
The training began.
It was painful, like pulling a knife from inside him without it coming out.
But something strange started happening.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the same circle.
An eye inside a circle, surrounded by symbols he couldn't understand, changing each time, moving.
Then a faint voice repeating, not like a single voice... but as if thousands were whispering at once:
"Open... don't open... open... don't open..."
Luin screamed and fell to his knees.
He opened his eyes to William's face.
"That's enough." William said. "The seal is waking... but something in it doesn't match the rest."
"What does that mean?"
"Means... you're carrying more inside you than you thought."
⸻
That night, he didn't sleep.
He sat by the small window, watching the fog.
Then saw the same shadow. No, it wasn't a shadow.
It was her.
Standing on the roof of the house across, as if the wind carried her, her hair moving without air.
This time, she didn't vanish.
Instead, she looked directly at him.
Her lips didn't move... but her voice pierced through him:
"You... are no longer just yourself."
Then she jumped from the roof—but before reaching the ground, she dissolved like black dust.
Luin gasped audibly.
Eileen entered the room immediately, looked at him:
"Did you... see something?"
Luin didn't answer.
But inside, he knew...
She wasn't just a girl.
Nor just a vision.
⸻
In the heart of night, Luin woke without knowing why.
There was no sound... no dream.
But he felt something moving beneath him, as if the entire house breathed once, then fell silent.
He sat up in bed, drops of sweat sliding down his neck, and the darkness inside the room wasn't just darkness... but something else, something watching without eyes.
He rose.
Opened the door slowly, and the wood creaked as if complaining about being woken.
The corridor was empty. No sound. No movement.
But he felt something pulling him downward, toward the cellar that hadn't been opened since they'd entered this house.
⸻
The cellar was behind a small door at the end of the corridor. Half-hidden behind a dusty curtain.
And Luin didn't know why his hand moved toward it.
As if it wasn't his hand.
As if he was following an order spoken in no voice.
He opened the door, and descended.
The stairs were wooden, old. And with each step, the sound seemed louder than necessary.
Then he reached the bottom.
There was a mirror.
A single mirror, large, standing in the middle of the cellar, as if placed there to witness.
But the surface didn't reflect his image.
It reflected... his back.
Luin froze.
Then saw something in "his back" inside the mirror... something moving beneath the skin.
His skin crawled without anything touching it. And he saw, clearly, a black thread moving under his left shoulder blade, as if drawing a slow circle.
Then a face appeared.
His face.
But smiling... with a smile that wasn't his.
⸻
A sound rose in the cellar, not a sound from this world.
It was as if something was opening without opening.
"Your seal... has begun to see."
Luin gasped, but didn't scream.
And the mirror began cracking itself from within. As if something in the glass wanted out.
Then—
"Luin?"
William's voice pierced the darkness.
The mirror vanished.
The cellar became just a damp room with silent walls.
But Luin, turning upward, knew one thing:
He wasn't the only one who'd descended those stairs that night.
Nor was the mirror... the only thing he'd seen.
⸻
He climbed slowly. His feet were shaking despite his apparent steadiness.
He found William waiting at the open door.
"I heard you moving." William said. "Is everything alright?"
Luin didn't answer immediately.
"I saw a mirror..." he muttered. "In the cellar."
William froze for a moment, the look in his eye changed.
"...I didn't put any mirror there."
⸻
He returned to his bed, but sleep didn't come.
Every time he closed his eyes, the same scene repeated.
The smile.
The black thread.
And the voice that said: "Your seal... has begun to see."
What did it mean for a seal to see?
Wasn't it a reflection of what's inside?
But Luin, that night, felt it was no longer just a seal.
But a third eye... opening inside his soul.
An eye that didn't follow his will.
And never closed.
⸻
In the morning, it seemed something had broken between night and light.
The village, which had only been silent, was now heavy. As if the earth itself was thinking.
Luin sat on the outer doorstep of the house, the sun barely piercing the fog. His hair damp with sweat he couldn't explain, his hands trembling whenever he tried to hold anything.
Eileen passed behind him without speaking. But she stopped at the door, then said without turning:
"Why are you really here?"
Her question wasn't direct, but it wasn't casual either.
As if she wasn't asking about his location... but his existence.
But he had no answer.
"I don't know." He finally said.
"That's worse than lying." She muttered, then went inside.
⸻
In the afternoon, William took him again to the old church ruins.
"Today we won't train the seal." He said.
"Why not?"
"Because the seal has started training you."
William's words weren't metaphorical.
Luin sat on the ancient stone, the same stone priests used to stand upon.
William pulled something from his small bag... a small mirror with a dark copper frame, covered with a black cloth.
"Look into it." He said.
"Why?"
"Because it's a blind tool. If it reflects something... it's in you."
Luin hesitated.
Then took the mirror.
Lifted it.
⸻
At first, he saw his face.
Then, gradually, the reflection began to change.
The eyes stayed in place... but behind them, a shadow appeared.
The shadow of a being standing behind him, faceless, shapeless.
As if someone was wearing his skin.
Then that shadow moved inside the reflection, and spoke:
"Do you think you were the one who survived?"
Luin didn't scream. But he threw the mirror aside, and it hit the ground without breaking.
William wasn't surprised.
Instead, he muttered:
"So... it's started hearing too."
⸻
In the evening, Luin sat alone.
The air was still, and a faint warmth rose from the ground, as if the village was breathing from its depths.
Then he glimpsed something in the corner of his eye.
It wasn't Celine this time.
But a shorter shadow.
A child.
A child standing at the end of the courtyard, staring at him.
Luin rose slowly, approached, step by step.
And when he got close enough to see its face...
The child had no face.
Just a black hollow, pulsing.
Then he heard the voice again, this time inside his skull, not his ears:
"When the second seal opens... don't look back."
⸻
He returned to the house.
Found William standing at the door, as if he'd been waiting since forever.
Luin said in a dry voice:
"When did you open your second seal?"
William smiled without joy.
"When I died once... and came back incomplete."
⸻
That night, Luin understood something new:
The seal isn't power.
It's a door.
And what's behind the door... has started looking through.
⸻
End of Chapter Thirteen