Lorien had been much younger then—frailer, too. His unkempt look blended with the rugged poverty of his surroundings. Without warning, he found himself standing in a familiar corner of Low Liceas, the memory dim and grainy, as if he had simply appeared there one day.

  Guided by drifting smoke, he walked toward the dim, yellowish lights.

  Survival in the slums demanded constant alertness. It was not a place meant for a child, especially one who barely understood the world he had fallen into. Food was scarce and overpriced, and shelter even harder to secure. Overcrowded blocks forced people to occupy whatever gaps existed between pipes and the foundations of the machinery that sustained the upper city.

  Everywhere he looked, Lorien saw the same expressions: cynical, envious, defeated. The factories thrived on desperation, pulling in the poor and the unlucky into endless shifts. Neglect made life-threatening accidents routine, and withered posters of disappearances fluttered unnoticed. Many turned to deceit, others to theft, all under the quiet influence of the Syndicate, which oversaw most black-market activity in the underworld.

  Still, withdrawn as he was, he gathered rusted pieces alongside the scrappers, trying to carve new meaning out of discarded things. Yet in the meantime, there was one thing he repeated to himself.

  “...One day, I will save these people.”

  “And so we meet once more, Lorien.”

  The one made from shadows stood outside anything the world could contain, yet it stepped toward him as if summoned.

  Before that, Lorien had spent several years understanding the logic of the world he had been brought into: the machinery, the rules, and the gulf between the dark slums and the sunlit streets of the surface. Through his studies of gears and circuitry, he had learned that the universe behaved like a closed system—finite, measurable, and bound to laws that made sense. It was a comfortable paradigm in which he had grown.

  Until then, his main motivation had been closing the gap he once acknowledged, so that everyone would live within the same world. The inventions he worked on were means toward that goal, though they were still far from sufficient.

  Nevertheless, the one standing before him existed on the other side of the abyss, far beyond understanding and physicality. Its presence felt wrong—not merely because it was supernatural, but because it was fundamentally unaccountable. Such a phenomenon did not belong to matter, time, or any framework he understood.

  A thin tremor tightened across his ribs. For a moment, he saw a second image within the creature’s hollowed eyes—a stare that looked him down with such intensity that it left along with a drop of his sweat.

  The slim figure watched, almost pleased by his reaction.

  What is happening to me… Lorien murmured in his own mind, only to realize he had spoken aloud.

  “You are undergoing a strong assimilation,” the shadow interjected, “and handling it better than expected.”

  “...Assimilation?”

  The mysterious being stood still for a moment, locking its taunting gaze onto the boy. “With your destiny, or your own will—both are one and the same in the end.”

  Lorien tried to piece the explanation together, faintly amused that he had just received an answer.

  “But what does that have to do with you, and the other things I have seen? Why did I have that… vision, with myself?”

  “The other self you saw is a reflection of your future, as well as a testament to your past. What he told you was a ‘heads up’ for events that have brewed for a long time. I am sure you must have felt the call by now… from a place that goes beyond any grasp,” it deliberated, before returning to its point. “Thus, our meeting is one beginning of those things that were merely waiting to happen,” it added, staring up at its claws.

  By then, Lorien recognized how much the other being knew about what he felt, and reluctantly gave credit to its capacity to answer his questions.

  “Just… who are you? And how do you know about me?”

  “I apologize for the lack of a formal introduction,” the shadow replied, utterly unashamed. “I am one of many names, though you may simply call me ‘Laplace’,” it announced, extending the darkness within itself as if about to take flight. “As for why I know you, it is because I have been following your steps up close, even to places most could never reach.”

  Seeing that Laplace truly intended to speak, Lorien pulled the wooden chair in front of his workstation and sat down to steady himself.

  “Things still make no sense…”

  “Perhaps they do not for the time being.”

  “No, I mean, this all still seems just—”

  “Impossible? Unreal?” Laplace finished, his grin disappearing into his maws. “You walked the streets of this city while feeling the sun and the wind on your skin, speaking to others, hearing their voices, and trusting your eyes with their shapes—and you accepted all of that without hesitation. Yet,” his elegant tone shifted, “I stand here before you—felt, seen, and heard—and that still makes you doubt? Tell me, Lorien, can you see a beautiful melody, or hear the warming hue of a painting? Wouldn’t you say that your doubt is placed far beyond your senses?”

  His rhetoric was unnerving, yet logically persuasive, pressing hard against Lorien’s reason.

  “That being said,” the shadow concluded, “if ‘reality’ stands merely as what most agree it to be, then perhaps this situation falls outside of it. But if the world holds more than what most minds can contain, then the answer may be subject to change.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  At that point, there was only one more thing the boy felt compelled to ask.

  “Well, how do you know you are telling me the truth?”

  Laplace tilted his head in mild awe. “First you doubt my existence, and now you doubt my integrity?”

  A brief silence followed as Lorien tried to look away. He had not meant it as an accusation, and the sudden awareness left him ashamed. Besides, the possibility of provoking a being beyond his understanding stirred unease.

  Even so, the shadow’s calm demeanor persisted, softening the sting of his words.

  “Trust must not be granted—only tested. For now, you can only take me as I stand. I harbor no malice, only intent. Whether you believe it or not, I am bound to be on your side, Lorien.”

  After hearing that, Lorien chose to take the advice literally. “In that case… you wouldn’t mind shining some light on this.” He did not wait for permission and instead lifted the brass cube between them—its weight cold against his pale palms. “What is this exactly, and why is it important enough for you to interrupt suddenly.”

  Laplace leaned toward the object, maintaining a careful distance. “That is the Nebuchadnezzar’s Vault—an interesting item, as you might have sensed. It is the embodiment of a paradox of infinite contention, granting a variety of uses. Until recently, it held the power to change the world. Now, you could say it has become responsible for accelerating your alignment.”

  The power to change the world?

  “How?” Lorien echoed.

  “Attraction is a force experienced through different perspectives. You were drawn to the Vault as much as it was drawn to you. By now, you must have noticed the influence it has had on you since your paths crossed.”

  “You are talking about those hurtful echoes?” Lorien cut in, and Laplace gave a quiet nod.

  “In any case, it is rather amusing that the Vault found its way to you. The odds were impossibly unlikely… yet it still happened. Is it not reassuring of the extent to which the world can reorganize itself under the gravity of certain ideas?”

  Lorien could not ponder that deeply, aside from the suggestion that his encounter with the Vault might have been stranger than he first believed.

  I did want a streamlined answer, not a book full of riddles… he criticized inwardly.

  Even though Laplace answered without hesitation, Lorien sensed much was deliberately left vague. Still, he acknowledged that he was not in a position to press much further.

  Instead, there was more he wanted to understand—about the strange cerulean lightning surrounding the thief, and the playful sparks that had encircled him in the dream.

  The inertia carrying the conversation vanished the moment Lorien heard a heavy thump outside the room. It was soon followed by the creaking crawl of old floorboards leading into the attic.

  The doorknob turned, and the wooden door swung open in one decisive motion, revealing the sharp hazel eyes of the innkeeper before she stepped inside.

  Lorien froze. There had been no time to react at all. He had been caught in the middle of an impossible situation—one he could neither explain nor control. He feared the worst, yet at the same time felt strangely relieved not to be the only one entangled in the odd encounter.

  Larissa walked in and stood firm, her gaze sweeping across the dim attic. Lorien watched anxiously as she placed herself uncomfortably close to Laplace, stopping right beside him.

  Though her expression showed concern, she did not react with the shock he had anticipated. His confusion lingered only until she spoke.

  “Were you just talking alone?”

  Lorien’s mouth went dry. A bead of cold sweat traced down his temple. His eyes flickered nervously between Larissa and Laplace, who merely observed the development with amusement.

  She can’t see him at all?

  “I… uh…” Whatever excuse he formed had to be quick. “I’m practicing public speaking. You know, soon I’ll have to present my inventions in front of the board and, well—speaking isn’t really my thing.”

  Larissa raised an eyebrow at him. Laplace would have done the same, had he possessed brows to lift.

  “Right… sure.”

  Fortunately, the woman seemed preoccupied herself. “I saw you coming up here before. Work’s already started,” she said, her arms still crossed.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be there in a second.”

  Larissa sighed—long and weary—then turned and left.

  Lorien exhaled slowly, gripping his chest as his heartbeat spiked. “That was… really close.”

  “And quite a sudden intrusion,” the horned shadow added, hiding his quiet laughter behind clawed fingers. “Regardless, have I satisfied your curiosity enough? There is one more matter I would like to discuss with you—one better addressed without interruption.”

  Sunlight continued to seep through the room, reflecting off the old wooden decor and filling the attic with warmth. Laplace maintained his calm and mysterious demeanor, even as he shifted to the heart of the matter.

  “The brass cube and the presence within came with a gift—for which I have come to offer you advice.”

  “You say a gift? But I don’t have anything.”

  “The power to change the world,” Laplace murmured, “which is not merely a literal expression, but one of several manifestations of control. It is about governing all physical and non-physical aspects of reality—the ability to turn everything imagined and desired into something real.”

  In that moment, Laplace’s predatory presence grew ominous, his darkness engulfing the surroundings.

  “I know that, if such power were to exist, it would correspond to the authority of a god,” he completed Lorien’s thoughts. “Yet it has been bestowed upon you—a human, and a young one nonetheless.”

  Lorien forced a smile, pretending he had heard a ridiculous joke.

  “That doesn’t… I mean, I haven’t done anything. Why would I receive something like that?”

  “It is not about what you have done until now, but rather what you are going to do.”

  As realization dawned, Lorien understood that the question posed by his other self had not been rhetorical, but a test.

  “Turning rust into gold, raising cathedrals from mud, and materializing the most whimsical dreams into truth—those pale in comparison to what you could eventually accomplish.”

  Yet the metaphors rang hollow within the clutter of Lorien’s small room.

  “You are free to doubt what I have told you, but I know curiosity stirs within you—and that is how you will try nonetheless.”

  The conversation continued for several more minutes. In the end, after answering additional questions, Laplace acknowledged that he had to leave—though not without warning that he would be watching the boy closely.

  His thin miasma unraveled strand by strand, dissolving into the still air until nothing remained. Only the faint echo of his words lingered.

  To what extent could he trust what the elusive figure had said? His mind raced through the implications, yet his feet remained rooted in uncertainty.

  After sitting in the wooden chair for a while, Lorien stood and approached the wooden board beside his bed, where several diagrams of discarded or unfinished ideas were pinned.

  If the power to change the world were real, how many problems could he solve? Yet among the many ideas hanging before him, could he manage to make those real at some point?

  But attachment, stubbornness, and insecurity toward the unknown still pulled him in the opposite direction.

  Nevertheless, with only a few minutes left before his shift began, Lorien decided he would try regardless.