After returning to the manor, Oren spent the night unable to get any rest.
He remained motionless in his bed, the familiar sound of piano music filling his room like it always did at that time of night.
He did not know where it came from, but the rhythm was ever so peaceful and yet dreadful enough to make him sweat.
He exhaled slowly, wondering why.
When Oren had first heard the piano, it had been a slow, mesmerizing, and entrancing melody.
Now, it no longer held that low, long rhythm.
It had sped up considerably since the previous nights and was almost unrecognizable from the first time he heard it, on their first night in Erdream.
He shifted beneath the silk sheets, unwilling to get up or do anything that consumed energy, allowing himself to unwind for a while.
The feeling reminded him of waking up on a bitterly cold morning, not wanting to leave the comforting warmth of bed.
But for some reason, that night, it felt different, like the world didn't feel real, or maybe it was just the lack of sleep talking.
The lethargy that came over most people at night rarely came to Oren, keeping him awake long after everyone else had gone to sleep.
He would often stare at the ceiling without knowing what he expected to find on its pristine surface.
He didn't know why.
Maybe it occasionally happened when he focused on details too precisely, those of the past, at least.
Oren sighed, his thumb rubbing absently against his knuckle.
'The more I remember, the more I forget. I can never gain something without losing in return. After all these centuries, the world continues moving against me.'
The elder was proof of that.
Just because of his name, his life had been threatened.
...Condemned once again.
He dismissed the thoughts all together.
...
At sunrise, he left the manor and exited the border, entering the luscious field area outside the fog, searching for the mark he had left behind.
'Here!'
Standing on a red circle made from blood, he leant into the fog, using his hands to blindly retrieve anything that was there.
But sadly, there was no transformation in the fish remains.
In his palms, the fish were still lifeless, and he saw no change in either the heads or the eyes.
'As expected.' He exhaled, as a frigid gust of air rushed past him.
'Maybe I should have carved their brains out. Would that speed up the process?'
He stared at them intently, but when he went to place them back in the fog, several visitors had come to greet him.
...It seemed they had followed him there.
And though Oren was fixated on keeping peace, they were intent on killing him.
"Killing the unkillable."
Oren chuckled to himself, a hint of bitterness creeping into his expression.
And so they fought, and he won.
The attackers had seemed off to begin with, but when he saw the demented glare in their gazes, he understood something was wrong, but not what was wrong.
Oren had seen the same look countless times in the past, even within the Elder.
Still, they were all clearly outmatched, disturbingly so, and that was why, instead of killing them, he simply left them severely wounded, choosing not to kill them and slowly leading them into the fog under the assumption of:
'Kill or be captured.'
That was how it had always been, but as the minutes passed, Oren slowly came to understand.
'It seems... it's all starting again.'
...
When Oren returned to the manor, a subtle warmth spread across his body.
The manor's ground floor opened into a broad common hall, lined with tables and benches.
The bar stood at one side of the room, near the entrance, while a doorway behind it led into the kitchen.
Beside it, there was a hallway with a staircase that climbed to the upper floors, where the private rooms were kept.
Not a speck of dust lingered anywhere in the manor.
The floor was polished, the bar gleamed, and everything was immaculate. It was rare to find a house kept in such a state.
Today, there were a few regulars in.
A frail old man and a feeble elderly woman, who he suspected to be husband and wife, if not close friends.
Observing them for a moment, he noticed a familiar face amongst them.
Selvar sat comfortably amongst them, as though he had been welcomed by the strangers completely.
Though Selvar was supposed to be a hostage for the meantime, Oren didn't see anything wrong with him socialising.
From what it looked like, he was enjoying having mundane interactions.
In fact, seeing it quite pleased Oren.
He shook his head, then walked toward the keeper, who was standing behind the bar, wiping it down.
"Excuse me..." Oren smiled, awkwardly placing his hand behind his neck.
"Do you know the time?"
"There's a clock over—"
"What date is it today... I mean, and what year is it? Also... I'm sorry about breaking your fishing rod."
He spoke over her in a calm tone, polite and sincere.
He had accidentally broken the rod, meaning he could no longer fish.
The keeper furrowed her brow.
"Please, don't worry about it. As for the date... I don't know. I'm afraid I can't be of any help."
Oren raised his fist, opening and closing his hand in a small gesture of reassurance before walking over to Selvar's table.
He needed to give Selvar an estimated date for when his Erol would be ready.
He would only be able to provide a rough estimate, but it was progress nevertheless.
After reaching his table, Oren turned toward the elderly couple and repeated, "What date is it today? Do you happen to know what year it is?"
Unfazed, they spoke in unison.
"No... I don't."
Oren's fingers twitched slightly.
'Them too.'
The couple blinked twice, staring at Oren with awe before he turned away. Seeing their reaction, he and Selvar exchanged knowing glances, faint smirks hidden beneath their facades.
But before he could speak to Selvar, the woman interrupted hastily as though distracting him.
"Wait... so you're the immortal demon everyone's been talking about? I thought you would look like quite the intimidating man."
She faced her husband. "But you aren't scary. It's difficult to believe you're so strong."
The elderly man raised his voice before laughing lightly.
"Don't be so hasty, dear. Apparently, another higher-up is after him... maybe this time he won't be so lucky. Then again," he added with a fatigued smile, looking at Oren.
"You might have a chance. I heard that the elder in question tarnished Vale's name, invaded her home, lost to her in a duel, but not only that, was forced to kiss her foot as he begged for mercy."
Not knowing how to reply, Oren laughed. "Sounds like quite the story. But I'm not here to start trouble, so I'd rather stay out of fights."
To be honest, he didn't particularly understand who they were talking about, yet seamlessly continued the conversation until they finally left.
Leaving him and Selvar alone, Oren informed him of the estimated time it would take for the Erols to be ready.
In the end, however, he couldn't give Selvar a definite answer.
But the archer did not seem concerned.
If anything, Selvar appeared to trusted Oren.
...
The sun slowly descended past the mountains, moonlight spilling through the tall windows in Oren's room, illuminating the floor and several decorative paintings.
His room was large, spacious enough to accommodate a bed, several pieces of furniture, a mirror, a desk, and two bookshelves containing books older than him.
Though, considering some of the literary pieces, perhaps he was finally beginning to age out of his time.
On the desk, a lantern lay untouched.
Several smaller mechanisms were scattered throughout the room, though his knowledge was far too outdated to know how to use most of them.
What mesmerized him most was the balcony outside.
Unlike the other rooms, and unfortunately for Selvar, Oren had been given the only room with a balcony overlooking the lake and the border.
He often stood outside, patiently watching as the crimson sun rose.
'With this stunning sight, I would have thought this manor would be more popular.'
He thought somberly.
Then again, the Lake District was only the outskirts of Erdream.
He had yet to venture deeper, and after what had happened on the previous day with the elder, Oren wasn't particularly eager to explore.
He had no desire to harm people in public, or at all, actually.
Slowly rising from his bed, Oren walked over to the balcony door. His hand reached for the silver handle.
But before he could grasp it, he heard something.
A sound, muted and blurry, reached his ears.
Fud. Fud.
Again and again, and again.
Each time getting faster, and faster.
It was music.
The mysterious pianist in the manor was playing the same nightly song again.
But this time, it sounded different.
The tempo had hastened, each note following the last with increasing urgency.
The music tonight was significantly faster.
Aggressive, in a way.
It left Oren in a bizarre, almost bewitched state.
'For Christ's sake, why do they play so late at night when I need sleep?'
Turning around, he headed towards his room's entrance.
Opening the door, he left his room and began searching for where the sound resided.
Oren wanted to speak to the pianist.
They seemed intriguing enough.
The way they played the piano was unlike anything he had heard before, piquing his interest despite knowing nothing about music.
His gaze wandered over the polished walls and the red carpet beneath his feet. For all their elegance, the manor felt hollow at that hour of night.
And it also seemed the keeper wasn't up drinking like she had been the first day he had met her.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, as he stopped in the middle of the corridor.
"Selvar?"
Oren waited for a moment, but there was no answer, only the music.
"Is that you, Selvar?"
Oren's brows narrowed.
'He's probably asleep?'
The silence that followed his calls felt peculiar.
Still, it was possible that Selvar had simply ignored him, though he doubted it.
Passing a door, then another, he abruptly froze.
'It's coming from this room? No.'
He stepped back towards the previous door.
'This one.'
He faced the door with an unusual mix of doubt and confusion on his face.
When he knocked on the door, the music stopped immediately, and a shiver ran down his spine.
Before Oren could react, it had already opened ever so slightly.
'Unlocked at this hour?'
He could not help but think this whilst he poked his eyes through the gap in the door.
For there it was, at the edge of the room, a piano.
He pressed closer, trying to get a better look before announcing.
"I'm coming in."
Reaching for the door he pushed.
And yet, instead of opening it normally, he stumbled through the doorway, his weight carrying him forward.
'Oh no,' His golden eyes darted around the room as an unexpected chill wrapped around his body.
Oren was surrounded by a modest bed, chair, piano, and a small chest of drawers.
He inhaled through his mouth.
But as he did, a voice followed that felt even more like a dream.
"That's no manner to enter a woman's room looking like that..."
His eyes shot to the bed again, only now there was someone sitting atop it, nowhere near the piano that had been playing moments before.
It was a young woman with light grey hair and lilac eyes, that reminded him of the artillas near the lake outside.
"I'm sorry for that," Oren quickly gathered himself.
"I must say though, you play beautifully."
The girl did not immediately answer.
"You intruded," she said, glancing toward the open door.
"But I don't mind."
Staring at his face pensively, her calm eyes softened as she noted the intricate cuts, grazes, and scars across his face.
Seeing no reply, she continued.
"...Why can't you sleep?"
"I don't know..." Oren replied.
"I just can't. Your music could even be at fault."
She nodded as though to humour him.
As Oren watched, a curl of her light grey hair fell toward her ear.
"Perhaps you haven't tried hard enough, or maybe you're just bored."
She paused, watching him quietly.
There was something about her that felt unnatural.
She reminded Oren of a teacher. Perhaps that was why he took pleasure in speaking with her.
To him, most people felt the same, some more so than others. However, throughout his life, he had come to accept it.
"Your face... it's scarred. Sit down, I have something."
She gestured towards the chair positioned in front of her bed.
Oren listened.
Upon sitting down before her, she picked up a white cloth from inside her gown and gently pressed it against his face, covering his scars.
It was cold, but soothing in a way that felt nice.
"This is something my mother taught me when I was younger. It's meant to relax the face and cure impurities, though I suppose the latter was only something she told me for fun."
"You know..." she murmured. "Mother doesn't let me go outside anymore, not since the Sunwane."
"Mother? You've said that a few times now..."
Oren glanced at her beneath the fabric.
"Is she the keeper of this residence?"
"Yes, she is."
Oren contemplated for a moment.
'Why does she still listen to her mother? She's old enough to leave whenever she wants.'
"Is something wrong?"
"No, it's just that being indoors all the time must be boring..." she eventually said.
"I may not do much, but the smaller the notion of life and the weekly cycle, the easier it is to make progress in the dozens of acts I repeat."
"Though I do think repeating the same acts constantly is no different from hanging your life up early. If you do the same things every day, what is there left to look forward to?"
Oren's expression remained still beneath the fabric as she continued.
"Repeat the same tasks. Pray, attend school, work, and train. Your hard efforts will not go in vain."
"My mother always said things like that when I was younger. Make it to the end of the week, and you can have a treat."
Looking to change the topic, Oren replied evenly.
"Well, at least this house is nice, you even have a piano to entertain yourself. In my room," he added, making her smile faintly, "there's a pleasant view of the lake. It's just as nice in here too."
Though the manor seemed old, he could tell it had been refurbished recently, so he continued with a question.
"How old is this manor?"
"Not as old as thee."
She said, chuckling lightly, as Oren struggled to blink beneath the cloth.
'She's heard of me, then.'
"In truth, mother and I moved here after being kicked out of our old residence because of the elders, during a time of turmoil. So I don't know this house's exact age."
Listening quietly, Oren felt her hands tremble.
"I doubt that even if I walked past my old home, I wouldnt recognise it. But, that boy you're with... I hear him crying from time to time. I think he misses his home."
Oren's posture stiffened.
'Selvar... crying!?'
Covering up his surprise with a contemplative sigh, he thought.
'Did I miss something?'
Oren spoke to the enlightened archer often, and yet, he had never noticed that.
Was it because he was isolated most of the time? Living in a repetitive cycle, a boring one, empty of excitement.
From what Oren knew, which now seemed to be little, he did nothing, other than occasionally going downstairs.
But crying, he had never heard him cry.
'Is she lying to me?' Oren wondered.
The thought lingered in his mind, leaving him uncertain of what to say.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
She looked toward him, gently pulling the cloth away from his face.
"Thank you for coming here. I liked this a lot... Perhaps... company was what I longed for all along."
She looked away with a hint of melancholy, laying both hands on her lap.
"So would you mind... staying with me till sunrise?"
Oren accepted, feeling bad for the poor girl.
He stayed until sunrise, leaving only when the first beams of light shone through the windows.
But it was not as though they talked the entire time.
It was peaceful.
That could have been why he had given in so easily.
There were rarely guests there, and if her mother truly kept her indoors, perhaps she had simply been lonely.
Before Oren finally left, she spoke somberly.
"If you ever find yourself alone, my door will always remain open."
She smiled weakly.
"Come back soon, won't you?"