Auren stood before Eldrin's door, eyes narrowed with doubt.
The Redline pulsed faintly, a thin ribbon of crimson light drifting from his chest to the old wood, as if pointing a finger he couldn't ignore.
'What is this thing, really?'
'Why did it appear out of nowhere?'
'Why did it tether itself to him like a phantom leash—then drag him here, of all places?'
He stayed frozen a moment longer, replaying every step since he'd awakened in this brittle, borrowed body.
And then it clicked.
The moment the line had ignited in the colorless world…
The word that triggered it.
Solution.
Auren's eyes sharpened.
'Could this Redline be connected to my illness?'
It made a cruel sort of sense.
The last thing he'd done before the world turned to monochrome was swear to find a solution for his own illness.
So this Redline…
'Could it really lead me to something that can help me to deal with Overflowed Soul?'
'But why Eldrin's room?'
The thought itched at the back of his skull.
Come to think of it, Eldrin had been there from the start.
The old man had watched Caelus fade from the cradle to this rotting castle. If there was any fragment of knowledge the sickly boy never grasped, Eldrin might carry it—silent and buried behind that polite, weary face.
Auren exhaled, pushing aside the last scraps of hesitation.
He rapped his knuckles on the heavy door.
Nothing.
He knocked again, harder this time—still no shuffling, no soft voice telling him to wait, no candlelight flickering under the crack.
Auren's brow furrowed.
'Sleeping?'
'Or gone?'
The Redline flickered impatiently, bright against the cold stone hall. It didn't care for courtesies.
Neither did Auren, really.
He set his thin hand on the iron latch, felt the cold bite of metal in his fragile fingers, then pushed the door open with a soft creak.
"Eldrin?" Auren called, his voice low but clear as it slipped into the stillness.
No answer.
He stepped inside, the lantern's glow from the hallway flickering just enough to show a neat but sparsely furnished room — a single bed, a small desk, stacks of old ledgers, and a tall, heavy bookshelf pressed against the far wall.
Auren's eyes flicked around the empty chamber. He tried again, louder this time.
"Eldrin?"
Silence.
Auren clicked his tongue against his teeth, 'Where is he?'
He'd told the old man to rest, not wander off in the middle of the night.
'Doesn't that stubborn relic know that staying up late will shave off what's left of that brittle lifespan?' Auren thought dryly, lips twitching with a ghost of his old sarcasm.
He exhaled, shifting his attention back to the only thing that didn't make sense — the Redline.
It still pulsed, as patient as ever, the thin scarlet thread drifting past the empty bed and ending at the tall bookshelf like an arrow pointing to secrets best left hidden.
Auren moved closer, bare feet whispering over cold stone.
He tilted his head at the shelves packed tight with cracked spines and faded ledgers.
'So… what now? Is it telling me to read my way out of this mess?'
He let out a quiet snort, half amused, half wary.
Carefully, he reached for the exact book the Redline touched — a thick, dusty tome wedged halfway down.
The moment his fingers brushed the cracked leather cover, the shelf trembled under his hand.
Auren jerked back as, with a faint grinding sound, the entire bookshelf shuddered—then split cleanly down the center, two halves sliding apart to reveal a dark passage yawning behind it.
A secret door.
Of course.
Auren's eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth twitching.
What a typical!
He moved closer and saw a narrow staircase winding down into darkness behind the split bookshelf. The air wafting up was cold and damp, carrying the sharp smell of old stone and rain seeping through ancient cracks.
Below, the Redline stretched onward — a thin thread of red light disappearing into the black.
Auren had no choice.
He grabbed the old lantern sitting on Eldrin's desk, its flame flickering weakly, and stepped onto the first stair.
The deeper he descended, the heavier the air became — dank and cold, the distant thunder rumbling like a growl in the castle's bones.
At the bottom, Auren found himself standing at the threshold of a small underground chamber. The only light came from a lantern set on the floor, its glow throwing trembling shadows against rough stone walls slick with damp.
In the center of the chamber, someone was sitting on their knees, hunched within the circle of faint light.
Auren's eyes narrowed as he recognized the slope of those shoulders immediately.
Hesitantly, he called out, "Eldrin?"
No response.
Auren frowned, unease knotting his chest.
He stepped closer, boots scraping quietly over the cold floor.
Again, he called, "Eldrin?"
Still nothing.
He crept nearer.
Now the glow of the lantern fully revealed the old man's surroundings.
A circle of symbols scorched black into the cold stone — lines still faintly warm beneath a sheen of oily incense ash and symbols cut into the stone, just visible beneath dust and scattered scraps of parchment.
Auren's voice cut through the damp air, "What are you doing here, Eldrin? And what is this?"
Silence.
The old man didn't stir, didn't even flinch.
Impatience flared in Auren's chest.
He stepped around, forcing himself to face the front.
Then he froze, breath caught in his throat.
Eldrin's face was bone-white and sunken, skin drawn tight like old parchment. His eyes were hollow pits staring at nothing. His mouth hung open, frozen in a wordless gasp, as if he'd seen something so terrible that the terror clung to him even in death.
Auren gripped the lantern tighter, its light flickering wildly across the lifeless circle.
'What the hell. I told him to rest — but not like this!' Auren cursed silently, biting back a sharp breath as he stared at Eldrin's lifeless face.
His eyes lowered — and that's when he saw it.
In the old man's thin, stiff hands lay a small, black-bound book.
Auren's frown deepened.
The Redline snaked down to its cover and stopped there, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Slowly, carefully, he pried the book free from Eldrin's cold fingers. The worn leather was rough against his skin. Gold letters, faded but still clear, glimmered under the lantern's trembling flame:
"Demon Summoning Book."
Auren's brows twitched.
He flipped the cover open, and a single folded piece of paper slipped out, drifting onto the cold stone floor.
He knelt, picked it up, and unfolded it. Eldrin's neat, spidery script filled the page.
༺༻
Your Highness, if you are reading this, it means I have failed to protect you and have given my life trying. Seventeen years ago, Her Majesty the Queen saved me from death's door and granted me the honor of serving by your side.
Seven years ago, the Queen summoned a demon from the Outer World and made a transaction — her life, for your healing. The bargain was true, but it came with a cruel condition: its blessing would last only seven years.
When that time passed, your illness would return. I could not watch you suffer again — so tonight, I made my own bargain, giving my life to buy you more years, just as the Queen once did.
You are my master, but more than that, you are the son I never had. If I can no longer stand by your side in this world, know I shall stand with Her Majesty, watching you from the other side.
Forgive me for acting without your leave.
Please, Your Highness — live well.
—Eldrin.
༺༻
Auren read every line in the flickering lantern light, his face a quiet study in shadow and thought.
When he finished, he sat there for a long moment, the paper limp in his pale hand.
A breath escaped him — half scoff, half sigh.
'Old man, your intentions were noble. But you're too late. That kid… he was already gone before you gave up your life.'
The irony bit deep.
Eldrin's final sacrifice had bought salvation for a boy who no longer existed.
Worse — the ritual clearly hadn't worked. If it had, how could the pain in his body not disappear like it did seven years ago?
Even now, Auren could feel it — that same sick pressure crawling inside his ribs, the soul inside him swelling like a stormcloud with nowhere to go.
He folded the letter carefully and stared at the book in his other hand.
"The Queen…" He murmured.
Memories flickered behind his eyes — not his, but clear as if they were carved into his bones. A woman with gentle eyes and tired strength, a soft hand brushing fevered hair, quiet words whispered against the restless rattle of sickness.
She had been the sun in Caelus's dim world. Her sudden death had shattered him more cruelly than any insult he received.
'To think there's such a parent out there…' Auren thought. The memory of that warm hand ghosted through him, something unfamiliar and bitterly soft blooming in his chest.
Auren, who had never known a mother, felt a brief envy flicker under his ribs — and then forced it away.
Such feelings were worthless now.
He had no time to grieve for ghosts—not Caelus's, not Eldrin's, not even the mother whose love had stitched so much of this boy together.
Emotion, for him, was a luxury long buried.
He looked down at the letter again, then at Eldrin's sunken, lifeless face.
"Rest easy, old man," He muttered under his breath, "Your loyalty was wasted on a dead boy — but I'll put it to better use."
His eyes narrowed on the demon ritual book, the Redline still pulsing faintly around it.
'So. This is the solution you're pointing me to, huh?'