The storm still raged outside, howling against the burned village walls. Smoke and rain mixed into a bitter fog, swallowing every remaining light. The once lively village of Elda had turned into a graveyard — its silence broken only by the soft crackling of dying embers.
Inside his private library, Nova stood alone, the faint orange glow of a flickering candle casting trembling shadows on the walls. The shelves that once smelled of parchment and ink were now broken, blackened by fire.
He moved quietly, his steps light, his breath shallow. He had no time to rest — the moment he had dreaded was already approaching.
They will come for me.They'll search every room.
He went to the table near the window and pulled open an old drawer. Inside, dust-covered maps and scrolls were scattered in disorder. He picked out one — a worn, half-burned map showing routes beyond the valley. On its corner was a faint mark drawn by his grandfather years ago: "Safe route – never tell."
Nova folded the map carefully and placed it into a small leather satchel.
Next, he reached for a bundle of sealing papers, neatly stacked in a brass box engraved with his family's crest. He counted them one by one — ten in total — then took five, leaving the rest behind.
"Five should be enough… if I use them right."
He took a moment to catch his breath, glancing around the room one last time. Books were scattered everywhere, many of them torn or half-burnt, the smell of ink and ash lingering in the air. Every corner of this place carried a memory — his childhood lessons, his grandfather's voice, his own failures.
Once, this room was my world.Now, it's my tomb.
He turned back to his desk and took out what little food he could salvage — a piece of dried meat, a small water flask, and a loaf of hardened bread. He wrapped them in cloth and tucked them into the bag. The satchel was light, but heavy enough to remind him that everything he now owned fit inside it.
Then came the sound — faint, but distinct.
Marching.
Boots hitting the ground in unison. Dozens of them.
Nova froze. The candle flame flickered violently as he turned toward the window. In the distance, through the cracks of broken glass, he could see torchlights approaching — a crowd of people heading straight toward his house.
And in front of them, supported by two men, limped Walter — his leg bandaged, his face hard and cold. The soldiers followed behind, their armor clattering, their voices echoing through the hollow night.
"They're checking every survivor!""The mage said the last body might be inside the old house near the north end!"
Nova's heart pounded. The sound was getting louder, closer. He couldn't risk being found — not after faking his death.
"Think, Nova. Think!"
His eyes darted across the room, searching desperately. Then, a memory surfaced — faint, like a whisper from the past.
His grandfather's voice.
"If anything happens, remember, boy — the carpet hides more than dust. The world under our feet has secrets only we know."
Nova's eyes widened. He dropped to his knees and pulled aside the massive woven carpet near the study table. Beneath it, hidden under decades of dust, was a wooden trapdoor, its edges nearly invisible against the dark floorboards.
His hands trembled as he brushed it clean.
"Grandpa… you old fox."
He could already hear the soldiers outside shouting.
"Kick it open!""He might still be inside!"
The pounding of boots grew louder.
Nova took one last glance around the room. His eyes fell on the drawer beside the mirror — the one that held his grandfather's knife. It was an old blade, silver edge dulled, the handle wrapped in faded cloth. He took it, feeling the faint chill of the metal.
"You'll protect me one more time, old man."
Then, without wasting another breath, he opened the trapdoor. A waft of cold, damp air rose from the tunnel below — it smelled of earth and time, untouched for years. He climbed down quickly, pulling the door closed above him.
Right as he let it shut, the front door of the library exploded open.
The soldiers stormed in, their torches throwing long shadows on the walls. Rain followed them, drenching the wooden floor.
"Search every inch!" one shouted. "He has to be here!"
Walter limped in behind them, leaning on one man's shoulder. His eyes scanned the room — broken bookshelves, ashes, and scattered papers. He frowned.
"Empty," said one soldier. "No signs of anyone."
Walter stared harder, his expression tightening. He felt something — something wrong. The air was too still. The chaos was too arranged.
"No…" he muttered. "He wouldn't run."
Before he could speak further, a shout came from outside.
"Sir! We found a body!"
The soldiers rushed out, dragging Walter with them.
They followed the sound down the road, past the burned buildings, until they reached the old costume shop. Inside lay the burned corpse Nova had left — his decoy.
The villagers crowded around, some gasping, some whispering. The body was unrecognizable, but the tattered robes were familiar.
Walter stared for a long moment, then let out a cold, hollow laugh.
"Finally," he said, his voice bitter as ash."The weak one is dead."
The crowd fell silent, unsure whether it was grief or relief that they felt.
But as the rain fell harder, and thunder cracked across the sky, deep below the earth —Nova walked through the hidden tunnel, his torch flickering, his footsteps echoing into the dark.
"Let them think that," he whispered."Let the world believe Nova is dead."
He glanced down the long, winding passage ahead, the air growing colder with every step.
"Because from this day forward… only Nox walks this path."
And as he disappeared into the underground darkness, the sound of the storm above faded —replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat,and the promise of the unknown world beyond the village walls.