As night enveloped the quiet house, darkness draped itself over every surface like a thick, suffocating cloak, curling into corners and pooling in the spaces between walls and floorboards. Shadows shifted and wavered, blending into one another, moving almost imperceptibly as if they had minds of their own. The faint flicker of the lanterns cast a trembling glow that reached desperately into the gloom, illuminating the edges of furniture, the glint of metal handles, the soft, uneven texture of the rug—but even this light seemed hesitant, fragile, like it feared the dark would swallow it whole.
The air in the room felt unusually dense, heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts and tension that seemed to gather in layers around me, pressing against my chest, brushing against my skin in an almost tangible way. Each exhale I drew felt thick, deliberate, necessary, as though a careless breath could shatter the fragile calm that clung to the space like a living mist. Even the familiar hum of the house—the subtle creaks of the floorboards, the soft rustle of air through the cracks in the windows—seemed amplified, ringing in my ears and magnifying the quiet into a nearly deafening presence.
I sat in stillness, my body taut, every sense stretched toward the smallest detail. My fingers brushed lightly against the edge of the couch, feeling the worn fabric under my nails, the faint impressions left by countless nights of sitting here. The smell of old wood and faint candle smoke drifted lazily through the air, grounding me even as the tension around me coiled tighter, wrapping itself around my chest and shoulders. It was the kind of stillness that made every heartbeat thunder in my ears, every twitch of shadow or flicker of light a potential signal of something unseen watching, waiting.
Beside me, Alice shifted slightly, a movement so small it could have been mistaken for nothing at all. Yet I noticed—the brush of fabric against her wrist, the subtle twitch of her shoulder, the tiny pull of her fingers at the edge of her sleeve. That small, almost unconscious gesture twisted my stomach into knots; I recognized it immediately as a telltale sign that she was uneasy. Seeing her like this only heightened my awareness of the tension that loomed over us both, thick enough to taste on my tongue, heavy enough to make the very air feel viscous.
The soft light from the lantern danced across her features, illuminating the faint crease of worry etched into her brow. Her calm facade was a carefully constructed mask, but it didn't quite extend to her eyes, where I could sense a flicker of alarm. I swallowed hard, feeling a strange stillness enveloping the house. The familiar creaks of the floorboards were absent, replaced by an almost unnatural hush. Even the faint crackle of the lantern flame sounded like a shout in the emptiness. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward us, reaching like fingers that wanted to pull something unseen from the corners of the room.
I forced myself to remain composed, though each instinct screamed at me to move, to speak, to shatter the thick silence. Yet, Arthur's rigid stance caught my attention—the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fists clenched almost imperceptibly at his sides—signaled that this wasn't the right moment. Whatever turmoil he was grappling with carried a weight heavier than any words I could muster. The room felt increasingly constricted, and with each heartbeat, the air seemed to press against my chest. I braced myself, anticipating a storm I could not yet see.
I turned my focus to him. Arthur wasn't one to hesitate; he typically commanded the room with an assertiveness that left no room for doubt, his words like precise instruments, slicing the air with authority. Yet now, his gaze drifted toward the floor, unfocused and lost, as if he were peering into some abyss I could not comprehend. His brows were knitted together, jaw tight, shoulders unnaturally stiff. It was clear that he wasn't merely choosing his words carefully; he was wrestling with them, measuring each syllable against some unseen burden, as though each phrase carried the weight of the world.
The oppressive quiet closed in around us. The muted glow of the lantern traced the contours of his face, casting delicate shadows across his cheekbones and deepening the furrow in his brow. Every slight movement—a subtle shift of weight, the twitch of a hand, the blink of an eye—was exaggerated in the heavy stillness. My chest constricted with every heartbeat he remained silent, the tension radiating from him like invisible waves, pressing against my own ribs and forcing me to sit straighter, more alert, as if bracing for impact.
Moments stretched into eternity. The silence thickened, almost tangible, draping over us like a heavy curtain. Each creak of the floorboards, each flicker of the lantern's flame, echoed through the room as though magnifying the weight of what remained unsaid. Shadows pooled in the corners, inching closer to the soft light as though drawn by the collective anticipation of our bodies, and I could almost sense the air vibrating with the unspoken tension. Throughout it all, Alice remained a quiet anchor beside me, her presence stabilizing me against the tide of unease that threatened to pull me under.
My hands clenched the edge of the couch, nails pressing into the worn fabric, desperate to ground myself against the rising storm within my chest. My stomach twisted in a blend of anticipation and dread, the tender crackle of the lantern flame, the shallow inhalations of Alice beside me—all of it marking time in a rhythm that felt painfully deliberate, counting down to something I both feared and wanted to witness.
Finally, Arthur lifted his head. The depth of his eyes—usually calm, steady, and reassuring—was now shadowed with a heaviness I had never seen before. There was something darker there, something urgent, a weight pressing against him that demanded attention. I could feel it in my chest, a presence that was not mine, brushing against me like a cold wind, compelling me to acknowledge it, even as every part of me feared what might come next.
And then, finally, his voice pierced the quiet, low yet resolute:
"Zin, I'm sorry to say this, but could you give us a moment alone? This is about a secret mission in our guild."
His words landed heavily, like a stone dropped into still water. The quiet rippled outward, and it took a brief moment for the meaning behind them to fully register. When it did, a subtle wave of disappointment washed over me, followed closely by a sharp, unwelcome spark of curiosity. A secret mission. The implication was clear enough—I wasn't meant to be part of whatever came next.
I hesitated, my thoughts momentarily freezing in place. I should've moved—but my legs refused. It was as if the weight of his request had pressed straight through me, pinning me where I stood. My heart beat faster, uneven, caught between the instinct to respect his words and the urge to stay, to understand what was happening right in front of me.
The silence stretched thin around us.
Questions surfaced one after another, piling up faster than I could sort them. Why now? Why the secrecy? None of them found their way to my lips. Instead, they lingered, heavy and unresolved, leaving a dull tension coiled tight in my chest.
For a moment longer, I remained still—caught between leaving and lingering, between reason and curiosity.
"Oh—Okay…"
I murmured softly, my voice barely breaking through the dense silence that enveloped the room like a thick fog. The air felt heavy with unspoken thoughts, and each word I uttered seemed to struggle for existence, almost lost amid the weight of tension that hung heavily around us.
I glanced over at Alice. For just a fleeting moment, our eyes locked—her gaze soft and filled with an unspoken apology. She wasn't angry; rather, a quiet worry hung in the air between us, amplifying the tension that was already knotting in my chest. The weight of her look made my throat constrict even more painfully. I yearned to argue, to demand answers, to unravel the mystery that loomed over us. But then I noticed Arthur's expression—serious and almost encumbered with an unseen burden—and it became clear that now was not the moment for questions.
With great effort, I forced a nod, suppressing the tumult of emotions that threatened to spill over like a shaken bottle. The living room, usually a warm refuge, felt unnervingly cold, the flickering lantern light casting long shadows that mirrored the growing distance between me and the hushed conversation that was unfolding downstairs. With every heavy heartbeat, the silence pressed down more heavily, a relentless reminder that I was being left behind… at least, for now.
Taking a slow, steadying breath, I pushed myself off the couch, my movements almost mechanical as I made my way toward the staircase. My fingers grazed the polished wood of the railing, grounding me against the tension coiling tightly in my stomach. Each step upward was deliberate, careful not to betray my presence. My shoes barely made a sound against the worn steps, yet in that quiet house, every movement felt like it echoed twice as loud.
The thought of what secrets were being exchanged just out of reach, what critical information was being withheld from me, set my nerves alight, a sensation akin to fire creeping just beneath my skin. My chest tightened, and a shiver ran down my spine as I climbed, the anticipation gnawing at the edges of my mind.
Alice's gaze flicked upward instinctively as I moved past her line of sight, our eyes meeting once more for the briefest of moments. In that silent exchange, I could see a flicker of recognition and deep concern—her brows knitting together slightly, as though sensing the storm of emotions I carried with me. Then, as I continued my ascent, my figure gradually slipped from her view and vanished at the upper landing. I heard a soft, almost imperceptible exhale escape her lips—an expression of relief, anxiety, or perhaps both—I couldn't tell. She turned her focus back to Arthur, who was preparing to speak, his movements slow, deliberate, as if bracing for what was coming.
The air seemed heavier as I reached the top of the stairs, every creak of the floorboards beneath my feet magnified in the stillness.
From below, their voices drifted up, low yet distinct against the stillness of the house.
"What is the emergency?"
Alice's tone was sharp and laced with urgency, a stark contrast to her usual calm demeanor.
Arthur's eyes momentarily drifted away, filled with a gravity that seemed to anchor him in place. The weight of what he was about to reveal pressed visibly on his shoulders.
"A monster raid…"
"A monster raid?! Didn't we defeat them just last week?"
Alice's voice cracked slightly, the panic in her tone clawing its way to the surface.
"Yeah… but this time, there are some undead among them."
The heaviness of his words felt like a tangible force, spiraling upward through the floorboards, pooling around me like a storm gathering strength, ready to unleash chaos.
Alice's demeanor shifted palpably, fear carving itself into the delicate features of her face. Her eyes instinctively darted to the staircase—where I had just stood—searching for reassurance but finding only emptiness. Determination surged back into her expression as she turned towards Arthur, her brows knitting tightly with resolve.
"I understand… We can't waste any time."
She declared, her voice steady now, a beacon of strength.
He nodded, a subtle agreement that resonated through the floorboards, the quiet motion laced with a rush of urgency as they hurried toward the door. Their departing footsteps echoed softly, leaving behind a thick silence that felt almost oppressive. I pressed myself further back against the wall, my heart still racing, caught in the tumult of relief at remaining unseen and the sharp, stinging reminder of my exclusion from the unfolding crisis.
As the front door clicked shut behind them, the house descended into an oppressive silence, each creak of the old floorboards amplifying the weight of the moment. I pressed my back against the cool wall beside the staircase, my heart still hammering in my chest, thrumming with the remnants of adrenaline. The air was thick with tension; from my perch above, the faint echoes of their conversation drifted up to me—soft yet measured, each word laden with the gravity of an urgent, serious matter. It was clear: this was no ordinary occurrence.
Every word I caught, every hint of urgency and fear, twisted my stomach tighter. I pressed myself against the wall, heart hammering, trying to make sense of what I hadn't been told.
Monster raid…? What could that be…? Like the raids in novels…?
Alone in the dimly lit hallway, I felt the chill envelop me, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as their words replayed in my mind, each phrase heavier than the last. The implications of what I'd overheard settled around me like a leaden cloak, sharp and inescapable. This danger, this urgency—my stomach knotted with an unsettling blend of fear and disbelief. Even as their voices faded into nothingness, the weight of their discussion lingered in the air, an unsolved puzzle that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness.
"Hey... system…"
I murmured, instinctively reaching out for the comforting presence I had grown accustomed to over what felt like an eternity.
As if summoned by my unspoken need, the Blue rectangle flickered into view, a bright, reassuring signal that the 'System' was there, attentive and poised to respond to my call.
«Yes?»
I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the slightly condescending tone in its response, irritation flaring within me.
"What exactly is a monster raid?"
I asked, my voice steadied but laced with hidden trepidation.
«You really don't know? Were you sleeping through all the novels and anime?»
I bristled at the reply, feeling a mix of insult and curiosity bloom within me.
"So, monsters in this world are similar to those in the stories from my previous life?"
I pressed, trying to draw clarity from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside.
«Indeed.»
I exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall, letting the tension in my shoulders ease fractionally. Somehow, despite the chaos downstairs, a small, strange relief settled into my chest. The urgency, the panic, the swirling storm of whispered words and clipped voices—it all seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the quiet, empty hallways around me. For the first time in what felt like hours, I could breathe without the air pressing down on my lungs.
"Whatever… let them handle it."
I murmured to myself, the words barely more than a whisper, yet enough to anchor me in the moment. My pulse was still elevated, lingering from the adrenaline of overhearing their conversation, but the rapid hammering in my chest began to slow, ebbing into a steady rhythm that almost mimicked the quiet hum of the house. For a moment, the world seemed almost normal.
I straightened my posture and pushed off from the wall, moving toward my room with deliberate calm. Each step was careful, measured, yet lighter than it had been earlier; the oppressive weight of curiosity and exclusion seemed temporarily negligible, distant as the muffled echoes of their hurried departure. Shadows stretched lazily along the walls, flickering in the dim light of the hallway, but they no longer felt like fingers reaching for me. Instead, they were passive, harmless. Even the faint creak of the floorboards beneath my feet was just a part of the house's rhythm—a soft, familiar accompaniment to my slow, steady steps.
The hallway felt endless, a narrow passage lined with the mundane trappings of home. Doors stood closed along the walls, simple and unassuming, their frames cast in the soft, uneven glow of the lamps. I passed them without a second thought, my gaze fixed forward. My hands itched to touch something—to ground myself in the ordinary—but I let them swing loosely by my sides, letting the mundane motion of walking carry my mind into a rare moment of quiet.
The cool air brushed against my skin as I reached the small landing outside my room, carrying with it a faint scent of the house's quiet—polished wood, old fabric, and a hint of candle smoke lingering from earlier. My pulse had slowed further, and I let out a soft, contented sigh, tilting my head back to glance at the ceiling. There was a strange comfort in the simplicity of it all. For a few fleeting seconds, I allowed myself to forget about monsters, raids, and secrets. Nothing mattered beyond the soft click of my shoes against the wooden floor, the faint creak of the landing beneath me, and the muted rustle of air in the hallway.
I reached the door to my room and paused, brushing a hand across the polished wood of the frame. A small smile tugged at my lips. Safe. Alone. Free to think—or not think—without interruption. For the first time that evening, the tension felt optional. I opened the door, the hinges groaning faintly as I stepped inside, and took a moment to absorb the familiar sight: my bed, a mess of blankets I could sink into; the cluttered desk, strewn with books and scraps of paper; the small lamp in the corner, flickering weakly, casting shadows that seemed gentle rather than threatening.
I was about to close the door behind me, letting the quiet cocoon me completely, when—without warning—a sharp, violent stab of pressure shot through my skull.
My hands flew to my temples instinctively, clutching them as if my fingers alone could hold the pain at bay. A dizzying wave rolled through me, forcing me to halt mid-step. The floor beneath my feet felt unsteady, tilting, though I was certain I was standing still. Stars erupted in my vision, white and jagged, and a ringing hummed in my ears, drowning out all other sound. My breath hitched, shallow and ragged, and a low groan escaped me as the world spun briefly, threatening to tip me off balance.
And then—just beside me—a familiar shimmer appeared, as if pulled from nowhere. The 'System' materialized, solid and bright, its usual calm presence replaced by something startling, immediate, insistent.
«ZIN!»