[7] A Hesitation in Light_Eclipse of Remembrance

Elias sat alone in the dim dungeon, his fingers tracing the edges of the softly glowing note left by Ettore. Its faint yellow light pulsed, warm against his skin, like a dying ember refusing to fade. The parchment was smooth, unnaturally so, as if untouched by time or decay.

 It had been hours – perhaps days. The concept of time seems to dilute in this place, where the only markers of its passage were the slow, steady tick-tocks echoing from the clock outside of his cell. He had tried counting them once, but somewhere after the hundredth minute, his mind drifted, slipping between wakefulness and something else – something deeper.

 His body ached, his limbs stiff from inactivity. The food, when it came, was passed through a slot in the cell’s heavy iron-banded door, the taste barely bringing him back to reality. He ate without thought, without care. The hunger was secondary to the weight in his chest – the weight of what he had done, of what he had become.

 Elias turned the note over again, its glow illuminating his hands. He had yet to read it. His fingers curled slightly, the paper crinkling between them. Something in him resisted. It wasn’t the words he feared – it was what they would take from him. The moment he read them, there would be no going back. Change had never been kind to him. The glow reminded him of another time, another letter. A different light, flickering candlelight instead of this eerie glow. The last letter she ever sent, writing about her fantastical trip to the Lands of Longinus. He never read it. She never came back.

 So, he hesitated.

 For now, the note remained unopened, tucked into the folds of his shirt, its warmth a quiet reminder that the world outside still remembered him.

 <hr>

 Alder sat across from Ettore, his posture straight, hands folded neatly atop the polished mahogany desk. The scent of parchment and ink filled the office, mingling with the faint hum of arcane lamps overhead. He adjusted his coat – a habit Ettore remembered from their student days. Back then, it had been nervous energy. Now, the gesture carried the weight of a man accustomed to courtrooms and closed-door negotiations.

 "He’s changed, but not that much." Ettore thought.

 Alder finally spoke. "You’re certain about this?" His tone was even, but there was an edge to it, a measured caution.

 Ettore exhaled slowly, fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. "I knew something was off about Elias the moment I saw him. The signs were all there – mana clinging to him like a lingering specter, the weight of magical debt pressing down on him. But there’s more."

 Alder studied him, silent. Then, without a word, he set a weathered folder down between them. The cover was worn, its edges frayed from age. His fingers tapped once against the surface. Ettore didn’t touch it yet. Instead, he studied Alder. "That’s restricted information," he said slowly. "The kind you shouldn’t even have access to. You’re bending a lot of rules for someone who just got dragged through a courtroom.”

 Alder scoffed, shifting in his seat. “And you’re asking a lot of questions for someone who hasn’t opened that file yet.”

 Ettore shrugged, a gesture that seemed more habitual than disregard of the situation. "I was just contemplating on security measures. You can''t expect to take this and leave the archives without a few questions."

 Alder smirked, though it lacked real amusement. "You think too highly of me. I didn’t walk into the archives and pluck this off a shelf, if that’s what you’re implying."

 Ettore leaned back, waiting. Alder sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It took some work. A few favors were called in. A few carefully worded requests to certain archivists who don’t ask too many questions. And even then, I barely managed to get this." He tapped the folder. "Do you know how many official records exist on cases like Elias?"

 Ettore’s brow furrowed.

 "Three," Alder answered. "And two of them were burned decades ago. This is what’s left of the third."

 Silence stretched between them before Ettore finally reached forward, flipping the file open. His eyes scanned the faded ink, tracing the remnants of what should have been a complete report. But entire pages were missing. Paragraphs had been blacked out, struck from the record. Alder’s voice was quieter now. "The reason why this is so buried? Because cases like Elias don’t just disappear. They’re erased."

 Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

 Ettore’s fingers paused over a particular section of the document. The description – what little was left – felt eerily familiar.

 "Magic that doesn’t just stop at magic," Alder murmured. "Even the world bends itself to that kind of power."

 Ettore frowned, contemplating. "Magic like that? That’s the kind of thing you hear in myths." He shook his head. "The Great Mage rules over all magic there is. If something like this truly exists, how does he not know about it?"

 Alder hesitated before answering. "Maybe he does."

 That implication sat heavy between them. Ettore’s grip on the file tightened slightly. If the Great Mage – the absolute authority on magic – was aware of something like this and still chose to bury it… what did that mean?

 Alder leaned in slightly, breaking the silence. "And before you ask – yes. Elias just happened to be in one of the more comfortable dungeons. Heard they’ve got beds and all."

 Ettore raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with Alder’s attempt at humor. "Couldn’t you have said that in a more serious way?"

 Alder exhaled. "My bad. But in any case, the Association clearly doesn’t want anything to do with Elias anymore, yet they won’t let him go either. Something’s up."

 Ettore remained still, staring at the flickering arcane lamp above. His instincts screamed that there was more – something even bigger lurking beneath all this. He could feel it pressing in around them, the weight of something just out of reach. He closed the file with a quiet snap. Alder expected him to move on and shift the discussion forward. But Ettore hesitated. His hands rested on the closed file, unmoving.

 "What is it?" Alder prompted.

 Ettore’s voice was measured, but there was something unreadable in his expression. "We’re not just dealing with a single rogue mage." His fingers tapped once against the folder. "Something tells me we’re already too late."

 Alder didn’t argue. Because deep down, he had the same feeling.

 <hr>

 The woman in white moved without sound, her steps light against the cobbled streets. The city bustled around her, but no one noticed. The air smelled of rain from an earlier drizzle, damp stone mingling with the distant scent of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor. Carriages rolled past, their wheels clattering over uneven pavement, but she remained an unseen ghost among the living. She stopped before an unmarked building – a simple structure tucked between two towering estates. To the average passerby, it was nothing, just an abandoned storage house, its wooden beams worn by time and disrepair.

 She stepped inside.

 The room was dim, illuminated only by a single candle on a wooden table. Dust motes danced in the flickering light, the faint scent of old parchment lingering in the air. Opposite her sat a mage clad in white robes, shoulders bearing the same insignia as hers. A Bloom of Tenacity.

 "Good afternoon, Miss…?"

 "Celeste."

 "Very well."

 Without warning, the dim room fractured into a kaleidoscope of colors. Celeste barely blinked as reality shifted – floating motes of magic replaced candlelight, the cold stone walls melting into sunlit glass. Within seconds, she stood in a garden walkway, the air thick with the scent of lilies and lavender. Sunlight streamed through cascading vines overhead, dappling the cobblestone path with patches of gold. The hum of unseen magic resonated beneath her feet, a quiet thrumming like a heartbeat.

 She let out a long sigh, tilting her hat lower to shield her eyes. "Dr. Fulbright, the star plane isn’t necessary for a simple meeting."

 The man smirked, though it conveyed little warmth. "Some privacy would be nice, that is all." He gestured toward a wrought-iron bench beside the flowerbeds. The vines coiled slightly, as if aware of their guest. "How is Elias?"

 Wordlessly, Celeste reached into her coat and pulled out a newspaper clipping, crisp and fresh, the ink barely dry. She flicked it toward him, the scent of newsprint wafting through the air. "See for yourself."

 Fulbright caught it effortlessly, fingers flipping through the pages with a familiarity that suggested long-practiced ease. He skimmed at a pace bordering on inhuman, the shifting reflection of letters glinting in his sharp, analytical gaze.

 "The Association hasn’t spoken up?"

 "Not yet."

 "Interesting."

 Celeste watched as his eyes darted across the article, his expression giving away little. The star plane was always disorienting – the soft glow of suspended magic, the dreamlike clarity of colors too vivid to be real. But Fulbright moved through it with practiced detachment, a man too accustomed to wielding illusions for them to impress him. As he continued reading, Celeste reached into her hat, withdrawing a folded slip of paper. The elegant script shimmered in violet hues, shifting slightly as if alive.

 "Notice from HQ."

 Fulbright took the note, glancing over its contents before folding it neatly between his fingers. For a moment, his expression flickered – something unreadable, a calculation running behind his eyes. Then, with a faint exhale, he slipped the note into the folds of his coat.

 "I’ll see what I can do."

 The garden pulsed with magic, shifting as Fulbright scanned the message. His expression didn’t change, but Celeste noticed the faintest tightening in his grip.

 "That bad?" she asked.

 He folded the note, slipping it away in the pocket of his coat. "Let’s just say… we’ll need more than flowers and illusions to get through this."

 Celeste tipped her hat slightly. "Good luck with that. And thanks for helping."

 "No need."

 Fulbright glanced back at the newspaper, fingers drumming lightly against the paper’s edge. The garden around them swayed ever so slightly, responding to their presence, or perhaps the undercurrents of their conversation. Then, almost as an afterthought, he mumbled, more to himself than to her:

 "Just another day in shaping the world."

AliNovel

[7] A Hesitation in Light