Kael's body stirred, slowly.
From the darkness that cradled him, he felt a dull throb at his temples—heavy, piercing, like a hammer striking again and again. His eyes remained tightly shut, yet the world around him was already growing loud.
Footsteps echoed clearly—heavy and light overlapping one another. Shoes struck stone in steady beats; small cart wheels rattled along narrow rails, mixed with the low hum of machinery that occasionally sputtered, like an old iron lung coughing.
Then… human voices.
People speaking quickly. Soft laughter. Fragmented conversations in a language that felt foreign yet strangely familiar—layered, overlapping, as though the air itself were crowded with sound.
Kael frowned. His body reacted before his mind fully caught up. His ears rang, every noise too close, too sharp, stabbing straight through his eardrums.
"Aa—ghh…" His breath came out rough, almost choking.
He lifted his head slightly, only to press a trembling hand to his temple.
"So loud… these voices… why do they hurt more than what I just went through…"
He stumbled out of sleep's darkness, forcing his eyes open. His first glimpse was blurred—shattered white light, moving shadows without shape, a world that still felt half-dreamed. Cracked stone pavement stretched beneath him, its edges trembling faintly, as if reality itself were unstable. Stone pillars towered upward, their tips swallowed by mist.
Kael tried to stand. His knees buckled.
He clutched at the pain in his chest, his face tightening, lips quivering as he swallowed a groan. His breathing was uneven, ragged—like his lungs had yet to adjust to this new air.
"Where… am I…?" His voice was hoarse, scraped raw.
He staggered a few steps forward, then forced himself to look around despite the lingering blur.
"This place… it's not that white room anymore…," he murmured. "For the umpteenth time… have I been moved again…?"
Slowly, clarity returned to his vision. What had been shadows began to take form—rows of buildings with classical arches, carved windows, and a half-ruined church tower, bound together by steel cables and metal frames that crawled over the stone like mechanical roots.
An old fountain stood at the end of the street, spewing not water, but a coolant-like liquid that glimmered faintly blue-green, releasing a cold mist into the air.
The sky above was gray, streaked with faint glowing cracks like a shattered mirror. Between them, mechanical birds passed overhead, their wings scraping with metallic friction. Narrow rails ran along the cobblestone streets, and the screech of an old metal tram echoed as it rounded a bend.
Kael stood frozen, his eyes now wide open, shock impossible to hide.
"This… don't tell me…" His voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid to say the name aloud. "…the border district… The Sanctum?"
Before he could process it further, something else seized his attention.
People.
The streets weren't empty. Figures moved all around him—walking, talking, laughing, carrying goods—as if life were proceeding normally in this city. And yet, something was wrong.
Their bodies were not flesh and blood.
They were made of light.
Kael went silent.
Some figures glowed a soft white, translucent. Their faces were calm—noses, ears, lips all present, yet no eyes. Their expressions were peaceful, like memories that had long since let go of pain. They passed by Kael without turning their heads, as if they were nothing more than fragments of remembrance drifting through time.
But there were others.
Figures burning in deep crimson light, like living embers. Their forms were human, yet unstable—flickering, cracked, trembling, as if they might shatter at any moment. Their expressions were cold, saturated with anger. Some walked with tense shoulders, some snarled without sound, and a few glared at Kael as though his very existence tore open old wounds.
Kael swallowed hard. His body stiffened, his breath caught.
"…What is this… them…?" he murmured, barely audible.
He took a step back, eyes darting between the white figures and the red ones, trying to make sense of it.
"The white ones… they feel… peaceful. Like they're not holding onto anything anymore… just memories left behind." His voice faltered. His jaw tightened. "But the red ones…"
He stopped.
"…they're like anger that never burned out."
The words came softly, spoken more to himself than anyone else—as if he were testing the truth of a feeling he couldn't ignore. The air around him felt heavy. Every step the red figures took carried a tense pressure, like wounds that refused to heal.
Kael gripped his head tightly, trying to chase away the lingering dizziness, yet his eyes remained locked on the scene before him. Somewhere between awe, confusion, and fear, he didn't know whether to believe this place was real… or merely another mirror of memories designed to imprison him.
He remained where he stood, breathing heavily, his gaze spinning in every direction. The white and red figures passed him by without pause. And the longer he watched, the clearer they became.
They weren't abstract lights.
They wore clothes. They carried belongings. Even their hair swayed with the motion of their heads.
A man passed directly in front of him. A worn leather coat clung to his frame, still bearing the cut of an old military style. A long, tangled scarf trailed behind him, fluttering in the wind. His boots—dark semi-combat boots—were scuffed and weathered, as though they had walked these stone roads countless times. Up close, his body was transparent, yet every detail remained vivid—like a past moment reprinted in light.
Not far away, a woman walked by carrying a small bag. A simple dress with classic lace hugged her figure, paired with a cream-colored synthetic cardigan. Her hair fell loosely down her back, tied with a thin ribbon that faintly glimmered. As she passed Kael, an old metal bracelet on her wrist caught the light, stark against the blue holographic ornament floating at her neck.
Kael stood transfixed. His eyes widened, fingers curling tightly at his sides. He didn't dare interfere—didn't know whether they could see him at all.
But their voices—
Those were what pierced him the most.
"They say there's a tunnel beneath the old church that leads straight to the core of the old reactor… Tyrak sealed it off on purpose," whispered an elderly white-glowing hologram to his companion, his voice raspy but clear.
"A reactor? Hah… they didn't seal it to protect us. They sealed it because they're afraid we'll find whatever data was left behind," another replied, lips curling into a faint sneer.
Kael tensed. The words struck him like puzzle pieces suddenly snapping into place.
Tyrak? That name… it's not unfamiliar.
The thought echoed in Kael's mind as their conversation drifted on.
Then, from another direction, a lighthearted voice rang out—bright, carefree, like two teenagers joking as they walked home together. But beneath their laughter, the conversation made Kael's ears instinctively sharpen.
One of them leaned closer to the other, speaking in a half-whisper, his tone still buzzing with excitement.
"Listen—listen… they say there's a genius kid at the central military academy. He's barely in his teens, but he can already unravel Tyrak's defense algorithms. He almost never opens the theory modules. But during exams, he rewrites the entire defense algorithm after looking at it just once. I can't remember his name… but he's a boy."
The second man snorted, patting his friend's shoulder as he chuckled.
"Haha, you put way too much faith in rumors. There's no way a kid that young could rival the Global AI System."
The first man shot him a sharp look, clearly offended at being brushed off.
"The Global AI System? That's Tyrak's central network, isn't it? They say every city—every bit of data about us—is in there. If someone really could break through it… wouldn't that be incredible?"
The second man raised an eyebrow, his expression turning slightly more serious.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But that's just the official name. I've heard people say its real name is different… something only the highest council knows. Ever heard that rumor?"
The first man shook his head, then suddenly let out a quiet laugh, as if recalling something.
"Who knows. But I heard it myself—from an instructor. He said… the name was Kael, if I remember right."
Kael remained standing in the middle of the crowd. His heart slammed against his chest. He frowned, staring straight at the two figures, even though they never once looked his way.
Are they talking about me? The words slipped out unconsciously, soft, like an echo no one could hear.
But the conversation dissolved into the surrounding noise, swallowed by the crowd.
At the end of the street, a red-glowing hologram merchant shouted in fury, his face twisted with hatred that seemed to have no end. Elsewhere, a white-glowing hologram mother soothed her child with a gentle smile, even as her body shimmered faintly.
Kael clenched his teeth for a moment, his gaze trembling.
"This… isn't just memory. This is… a world that still carries wounds and peace, standing side by side…" His hand slowly lifted, as if he wanted to touch one of them—then hesitated.
"No." Kael lowered his hand at once. "This shouldn't be something I can do. They're different…"
Before him, two worlds walked on, unaware of his existence: the peaceful white world, and the crimson world heavy with rage. Two faces of Nirvana's past, forced to live again as holograms, colliding at the border of The Sanctum.
Kael moved forward slowly, searching for a path, as though every stone along The Sanctum's road held memories waiting to ensnare him.
Cold air mixed with the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby shop, only to be replaced moments later by the stench of burning metal from old machines hissing in narrow alleys. The sounds never stopped—merchants whispering, the furious screams of red holograms, the faint laughter of peaceful white ones. All of it blended together, like an orchestra of the past playing without a conductor.
He continued down streets lined with buildings that fused classical design and modern patchwork. Cracked stone pillars were wrapped in cables, iron-framed glass windows emitted dim blue light, and ancient fountains at the center of the road no longer poured water—only pale, shimmering coolant.
Each step made his body feel heavier, not from physical injury, but from memories seeping in with every sound.
"…Did you hear? Someone says the Global AI System wasn't created by Tyrak—it was discovered."
"Nonsense. If that's true, then who wrote the foundation of its logic?"
"Unless…."
The voices of three middle-aged men drifted from the roadside. Kael turned, but all he saw were three white holograms sitting on a wooden bench, thin cigarettes glowing faintly between their fingers.
On the other side, a red hologram passed by, his face warped with fury, shouting aimlessly.
"They let us die! They lied to us! Liars! All of them are in on it—everything, just for their own benefit!"
The voice thundered, then faded, as if swallowed by brick walls plastered with weathered posters.
Kael quickened his pace.
But not long after, his steps slowed again as a massive building appeared at the end of the street, towering over the rows of classical houses.
He approached it carefully.
A large wooden door carved with vine leaves. Round windows framed in iron. And a signboard glowing in deep blue, creaking faintly. The letters were still legible despite the light having dulled with age:
〈 La Notte Eterna 〉
Kael stared at it for a long moment. His heart beat fast—whether from intuition or the sharp sting of unfamiliarity, he couldn't tell. From inside, however, came the sound of laughter, the clinking of glasses, and faint string music—distinct from the clamor of the street outside.
He swallowed, drew a long breath, then pushed the wooden door with a trembling hand. The hinges creaked, but the sound was quickly swallowed by the bustle within.
The moment he stepped inside, his eyes caught on something that made him stop dead.
In the wide room filled with wooden tables, a long bar lined with shelves of softly glowing bottles, and copper chandeliers swaying gently overhead—not everyone inside was a hologram.
Some figures were white, some red. But… a few were different. They weren't transparent. They didn't shimmer faintly. Their bodies were solid, distinct—real. And their eyes could return a gaze.
Kael froze. His chest felt as if it had stopped beating. "…They're… not shadows?" he whispered, barely audible.
Amid the crowd, those real figures slowly turned. Their gazes pierced back toward Kael, as if aware of his presence in a world meant only to replay memories. Five figures in black robes sat in a loose circle. Their hoods concealed their faces—only the shadow of a jawline, the curve of lips, or the faint edge of hair visible beneath.
Their presence felt unmistakably real—cold, heavy. There was something in their silence that pressed against his chest, a sensation unfamiliar, yet disturbingly intimate.
Without realizing it, Kael's steps carried him closer. An empty chair at another table seemed deliberately left for him. He sat down slowly, his body still weak, one hand pressing against his throbbing temple.
Then, their voices reached him clearly.
"—We can't go on like this. They're getting stronger." The first man's voice was deep and weighty. His hand clenched atop the table, knuckles hard.
"Tch. You're always talking about their strength, like we're nothing." The second man sounded younger, his tone sharp and laced with scorn. He leaned back, his chair creaking softly. "Have you forgotten who's leading us? That genius kid."
Kael held his breath.
The old man among them chuckled, his raspy laughter cracking. "A genius kid, huh? Hahaha… you're barely in your teens, yet your head's already packed with more strategy than all of us combined." He shook his head slowly, as if recalling something. "Sometimes I wonder—are you really human? Or a machine in disguise?"
The young woman on the other side smiled faintly, her gentle voice tempering the air. "Don't say that. If he were a machine, there's no way he could feel anger that deeply… or care about us this much." She lowered her gaze, slender fingers tracing the rim of an empty glass. "He may be the youngest, but he's also the one carrying the heaviest burden."
The third man snorted, his voice cold. "A burden? Or arrogance? Sometimes I can't tell. Too often I see him staring off into the distance, like this world is nothing but a chessboard to him. And what are we—his pieces?"
A brief silence settled over the table.
Finally, the first man spoke again, his tone firmer. "Whatever he is, without him we'd have been dead long ago. You know that."
The second man curled his lips into a thin grin, bitterness seeping into his voice. "Yeah, yeah. Our little genius savior. But don't forget—one wrong move from him… and we're all finished."
"Enough." The young woman cut in, her voice sharper this time. "If all you want to do is sneer at him, then you don't belong at this table."
The old man laughed again, softer now. "Hahaha… that's what I like. We can argue, tear each other down, even joke at death's doorstep. And in the end, we still sit at the same table."
Kael listened in silence, his body rigid. Their words pierced deeper than any blade. Genius. Burden. Arrogance. Savior. Each was a different face of himself, reflected by those who had once entrusted their lives to him.
And amid the bar's noisy bustle, only that round table felt truly real… as if it were waiting for Kael to remember the truth of his past.
***