The room was far plainer

  than the door had suggested at first glance.

  At the center,

  two sofas faced each other across a table.

  Beyond them stood a large desk

  and a dignified chair—

  clearly meant for the room’s owner.

  Aside from a single,

  ornately framed mirror

  that rose nearly to the ceiling,

  and a few cabinets,

  there was little else.

  All of it silver,

  but otherwise

  an ordinary office.

  “…I know this place.”

  At TT’s quiet murmur,

  Crys looked at him—

  realizing it wasn’t just him.

  “What about you, Ad?

  Ever been to the White House

  on an elementary school field trip?”

  TT hadn’t finished the sentence

  when a soft sound reached them

  from behind the door on the left—

  like fabric whispering over the floor.

  Someone’s here.

  No—someone’s coming this way.

  Crys and TT locked eyes,

  then scanned the room.

  Too late to leave.

  Under the desk?

  The table?

  Behind the curtains—

  “Ad. This way.”

  TT seized his hand

  and pulled him hard.

  They stumbled together

  behind the large mirror—

  just as the left door opened.

  Someone entered.

  The footsteps were so light

  they barely seemed to touch the floor.

  They stopped precisely

  in front of the desk.

  Something felt off.

  The presence seemed to sense them,

  slowly surveying the room.

  The gaze was sharp.

  Crys knew—

  it was pointed this way.

  As if being seen

  through the mirror itself.

  His heart began to race.

  The footsteps drew closer.

  They stopped before the mirror.

  A faint rustle—

  as if a hand had reached out.

  TT’s fingers tightened

  around Crys’s shoulder.

  Then—

  the door to the corridor opened.

  A young man’s voice,

  polite and controlled.

  “Excuse me.

  …Am I interrupting?”

  “Have you seen Ingram and Arlidge?”

  The question cut him off—

  spoken by a boy,

  his voice still a little high,

  yet carrying an unexpected depth.

  “No.

  But if you have a message for them—”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The young man’s voice stopped abruptly.

  The boy must have noticed—a subtle signal passed between them: don’t say more.

  They know.

  The pounding in Crys’s chest

  felt loud enough to be heard.

  He pressed a hand tightly against his chest,

  trying to still it.

  “Come out.”

  The boy said it quietly—

  with a voice far older than his age.

  The moment the words fell, Crys and TT were lifted by an unseen force—

  nearly three feet into the air—

  then hurled forward

  from behind the mirror.

  —We’re going to hit—

  Crys squeezed his eyes shut.

  Something soft,

  like thick mud,

  wrapped around him—

  and before he could grasp what it was,

  his face struck something hard.

  The floor.

  He realized it

  when he saw the shoes—

  the young man rushing forward,

  positioning himself

  between the boy and them.

  “Who are you?

  Why are you in this room?

  Answer.”

  A handgun was leveled at them.

  The grip was precise,

  disciplined—

  the stance of someone trained.

  Crys had expected scrutiny

  if they were caught.

  But not this.

  Not a gun,

  not before he could even speak.

  Shock locked his jaw.

  His mouth opened,

  but no words came.

  Seeing the intruders remain silent,

  the young man’s face tightened.

  Not a bluff—

  his finger settled on the trigger.

  “You weren’t sent by anyone, were you?”

  The boy’s voice came from behind him.

  TT had already pushed himself up.

  He dropped to one knee at once,

  his voice clear and steady,

  as if no weapon were aimed at him.

  “First, my apologies

  for entering without permission.

  However,

  this was not at anyone’s command.

  I came of my own will.

  I believed

  the person I am searching for

  might be here.”

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “Sedergador.”

  The boy, clearly intrigued by TT’s firm reply,

  leaned out from behind the young man.

  Seeing his face full-on,

  Crys caught his breath—

  the way you do when you see something

  you shouldn’t be able to.

  The boy was inhumanly beautiful,

  almost frightening in his intensity.

  His hair shone silver-white like new snow.

  His skin was smooth and pale, like a bisque doll’s.

  And above all,

  there were those pale violet eyes, framed by long lashes.

  The gaze that had rested on TT

  shifted to Crys.

  In that instant,

  the boy’s eyes widened,

  his lips twisting, taut with strain.

  “You kept me waiting.

  I’ve been wanting to see you, Theo.”

  The boy drew a slender silver wand—

  like a small rapier—

  and drove its tip straight to Crys’s throat.

  “When I saw you in the great hall,

  I thought it couldn’t be.

  Yet here you are, coming to me yourself.”

  Crys sucked in a sharp breath.

  His mouth was bone-dry.

  He forced down what little saliva he could

  and spoke, his voice shaking.

  “I… don’t know

  what you mean……”

  The wand pressed harder against his throat.

  Breathing hurt.

  He swallowed again.

  “My name isn’t Theo…

  You’ve got the wrong person……”

  The boy lifted Crys’s chin with the wand,

  then caught him by the hair,

  peering into his eyes.

  “Don’t bother lying.

  I’ve never seen Earth-eyes

  with colors this clearly divided.

  Be honest.

  You’re a Nosei, aren’t you?”

  The voice echoed inside his head,

  as if spoken directly into his skull.

  “Yes—”

  The word almost escaped him.

  He stopped it at the last instant.

  Tsitsi had said once

  that those who carried Olam were rare.

  Soliorbis had warned him—

  never tell anyone

  that a bearer of Olam is a Nosei.

  Or maybe it was simpler than that.

  This boy was mistaking him for someone else.

  And he felt hostile toward that someone.

  If I say yes, this will only make things worse.

  That instinct won.

  Crys parted his trembling lips.

  “Nosei…?

  I don’t know what that is.

  I only just arrived in this world.”

  The boy stared at him, considering.

  Those cold eyes felt like they could see through everything,

  as if a flimsy lie

  might peel away at his touch.

  Crys’s nerves screamed—

  what if he saw through it

  and ordered the young man to shoot?

  …Should I tell the truth after all?

  Just as that thought took hold,

  the boy murmured,

  “Perhaps not,”

  and drew the wand back from Crys’s chin.

  A faint smile touched his colorless lips.

  “My apologies.

  You resemble someone who once saved me.”

  That’s how you treat a benefactor?

  The words nearly slipped out—

  Crys swallowed them.

  With a casual flick of his hand,

  the boy dismissed the wand,

  then asked lightly,

  “Why are you searching for Sedergador?”

  “To go home.

  I don’t want to spend three years in this world.”

  “A Rofeh who doesn’t wish to remain

  in Emet Echad Olam—

  how unusual.

  You as well?”

  He turned his gaze to TT.

  “No.”

  TT met his eyes without wavering,

  his voice clear.

  “I will take the Milu’im as scheduled,

  as a Rofeh.

  He is a friend from before.

  If he wishes to return to Chuts,

  I wanted to help him—

  that is why I brought him here.

  We entered this room

  because we overheard voices

  and hastily assumed

  someone of high standing might be present—

  perhaps even Sedergador.

  We had no intention

  to harm anyone

  or to investigate anything.

  If your doubts are settled,

  might I ask that you request

  the Pirit be lowered?”

  “To give orders to me—

  is that ignorance, I wonder?

  No.

  If you knew,

  you wouldn’t have entered this room at all.”

  The boy laughed softly, elegantly,

  and raised one hand.

  Seeing the young man finally lower his gun,

  Crys released a thin breath

  he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “I am Arkzen.

  A Sedel of Keshef Sheket.

  I serve directly under the Sedergador

  you are seeking.”

  A Sedel—

  a member of the council?

  Crys could hardly believe it.

  Arkzen looked the same age as him—

  perhaps even a year or two younger.

  He could’ve passed

  for one of the teens in the great hall.

  But—

  this wasn’t the real world.

  Age might mean nothing here.

  Some were likely called to Emet Echad Olam

  already as members of the council.

  And a Sedel—

  an Order like Soliorbis—

  might know how to return to the real world.

  Before Crys could speak,

  TT—unusually hesitant—

  addressed Arkzen.

  “Forgive the question,

  but… are you the son

  of Secretary Arkzen?”

  For a fraction of a second,

  Arkzen’s eyes widened.

  Crys looked from Arkzen

  to the young man—

  and bit his lip hard

  to keep from gasping.

  They really did look alike.

  He hadn’t noticed before,

  with a gun pointed at him—

  but aside from hair and eye color,

  they were nearly identical.

  “No one has ever said that

  to a newly summoned Talmid.

  Your name?”

  “…Reginald Bradfield.

  My father’s.”

  “The Crown of Corruption.”

  Arkzen’s words dripped with contempt.

  TT’s cheeks flushed red in an instant.

  Reginald Bradfield—

  even Crys, who only skimmed online news,

  knew the name.

  A central figure in political corruption,

  never indicted—

  lack of evidence,

  too much influence.

  He’d known TT avoided talking about family.

  But this?

  Crys stared, mouth hanging open.

  Arkzen seemed amused.

  “To answer your question—

  I am not the son of Noas Arkzen.

  Nor is Safias Lufel.”

  He gestured lightly to the young man.

  As TT bit his lip, embarrassed,

  Arkzen smiled gracefully.

  “Still, I like you.

  You recognized Safias’s gun as a Pirit at once.

  And you spoke without fear.

  Now that I think of it—

  you spoke during the ceremony as well.

  Brave.

  Sharp-minded.

  Hardly what one expects

  from a newly arrived Talmid.

  You are nothing like your father.”

  TT lifted his head.

  His sphene-green eyes caught the light,

  reflecting the silver of Arkzen’s mantle.

  The flush on his cheeks shifted—

  from shame

  to something closer to exhilaration.

  Respect shone openly in his gaze.

  Crys didn’t want to break the moment—

  but he had questions too.

  Slowly,

  he raised his hand.