Adrian lay on his bed, staring at the canopy above him. Sleep refused to come. His body was tired, yet his mind twisted in circles. Every time he closed his eyes, the glowing symbols and the words from the book flashed behind his eyelids. Eagle Eyes. Whisper of Thoughts. Sealed.
He turned onto his side, exhaling sharply. The clock in the corner ticked on, each sound louder than the last, as if mocking his restlessness.
"What is real… and what is not?" he muttered under his breath.
He had been pulled into nightmares, thrown into visions, given powers he could barely believe in. The weight of it pressed down on him.
If this is just a dream, then why does it feel so heavy? Why does it hurt so much?
His eyes began to close when—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Adrian stiffened. The sound echoed through the silent chamber, sharp and clear. For a second, his thoughts leapt back to the knocking from before, the one that had ended with that whisper of his name.
He sat up slowly. His heart pounded, but the voice that followed was different this time.
"Young Master," came a timid, feminine tone. "May I enter? I was sent to clean your chamber."
It was one of the maids.
Relief and annoyance mixed in his chest. He rubbed his temples. "Come in."
The door creaked open, and a girl in a simple maid's dress stepped inside, carrying a small basket of cloths and brushes. She bowed politely before beginning to dust the shelves, rearrange the books, and adjust the curtains.
Adrian watched her silently at first. Each movement was careful, practiced, as if she had done this countless times. But as she moved toward his desk, his body tensed. The memory of the glowing book still fresh, he didn't want anyone near it.
"Stop."
His voice was calm but firm. The maid froze, glancing at him in confusion.
"I don't like anyone cleaning my room or touching my personal things," Adrian said, sitting up straighter.
The girl blinked, clearly unsure how to respond. Her lips parted, but before she spoke, something strange happened.
A faint murmur brushed against Adrian's mind. A voice that wasn't his own.
Does the young master… hate when I clean? Did I do something wrong?
Adrian's breath caught. His eyes widened.
That… wasn't spoken aloud. It was a thought. Her thought.
He stared at her, stunned, as the realization hit him. The Whisper of Thoughts… it's real. I'm hearing her mind.
For a moment, he wanted to test it, to push deeper, but fear stopped him. What if she noticed something strange? What if he heard something he wasn't ready for?
The maid hesitated, bowing again. "Forgive me, Young Master. I'll return later."
She hurried out, leaving the room quiet once more.
Adrian sat in silence, his pulse racing.
So the book wasn't lying. The powers… they're not illusions. They're mine.
A part of him still resisted. The rational part of Shiro Shimizu, the man who had once lived in Japan, screamed that this was impossible, a fantasy. But everything kept proving otherwise.
He needed to be sure.
Adrian raised his hand and slapped his own cheek.
A sharp sting bloomed across his skin. He hissed, rubbing the spot.
"It hurts…" he whispered.
It was real. All of it. The world, the powers, the curse. Reality itself had shifted, and there was no escape.
Before he could sink deeper into thought, a new voice came from beyond the door.
"Young Master, today you must accompany your father to the Imperial Court in the capital."
Adrian froze. The words echoed in his mind, heavy with meaning.
The Imperial Court. The capital.
A strange mix of dread and excitement stirred in him. This was it—the day he would step beyond the manor, beyond the quiet walls of his new life, and into the heart of the empire.
He stood, exhaling slowly. His hands still trembled, but his resolve began to solidify. If he was truly here, if this was truly his life now, then he couldn't remain paralyzed by fear.
He dressed carefully, choosing a dark vest over a white shirt, with a tailored coat that bore the Blackthorn crest. The weight of the noble attire felt heavy on his shoulders, but it was also grounding. He glanced at the mirror—his face was still Adrian's, but behind the noble features lingered the soul of a man from another world.
By the time he stepped into the hallway, the household was already alive with movement. Servants hurried with trunks and parcels, preparing for the journey. Horses neighed outside, and the sound of wheels echoed as carts were loaded.
At the bottom of the stairs, he saw her—Catherine Blackthorn, his sister.
She stood waiting, her blonde hair braided neatly, her dress elegant yet simple. The moment her eyes fell on him, she smiled brightly.
"Brother," she said, her voice light with joy. "You look… different today. Happier."
For a moment, Adrian froze. He wasn't sure how to respond. But then, almost unconsciously, his lips curved into a small smile.
Catherine's face lit up even more. She stepped forward, holding his hand gently. "It's good to see you like this."
Warmth flickered in his chest. Even though he wasn't the real Adrian, even though this bond wasn't truly his, her words touched him.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Their father stood nearby, giving orders to the servants. His expression remained stern, eyes sharp as ever. He glanced at Adrian briefly, but whatever he thought remained locked behind that cold gaze.
Soon, the family gathered at the front of the manor. The grand carriage waited, polished black with silver trim, the crest of the Blackthorn family engraved on its doors. Luggage was loaded onto smaller carts behind.
Adrian stepped into the carriage with his father and sister. The cushioned seats, the faint scent of leather, the polished wood—all spoke of noble luxury. Yet Adrian felt none of the comfort. His mind was fixed on the road ahead.
The carriage doors closed, and the horses began to pull. Slowly, the manor faded behind them, replaced by the open countryside.
Adrian leaned toward the window, eyes widening.
The fields stretched endlessly, green and vibrant under the morning sun. Rolling hills dotted the horizon, scattered with grazing cattle and clusters of wildflowers. Farther away, faint plumes of smoke rose into the sky—the first signs of factories, their chimneys piercing the clouds.
It was a world between ages. The beauty of nature still reigned, but the creeping shadow of industry had begun to spread.
Adrian pressed a hand against the glass, his heart racing.
"So this is… the empire," he whispered.
Every sight, every sound filled him with awe. The creak of wooden wheels on stone, the calls of merchants as they passed small villages, the distant clatter of blacksmiths at work—it was all real. Tangible. Alive.
This was no dream. No illusion.
Beside him, Catherine hummed a soft tune, her smile calm and bright. Across from him, his father sat in silence, eyes closed, as though already preparing for the duties at the Imperial Court.
Adrian leaned back against the seat, his mind whirling. He thought of the powers written in the book. The Eagle Eyes. The Whisper of Thoughts. The sealed third gift. They felt like tools, but also chains. Gifts that bound him to a destiny he didn't yet understand.
But one thing was certain.
He had stepped onto a path from which there was no turning back.
The fields rolled on, endless and green, as the carriage carried him closer to the capital—closer to the heart of the empire, and closer to the mysteries that awaited him.
Chapter 8 End