The early morning sun stretched across the sky, melting away the snow. Yet, the remnants of last night's snowfall refused to vanish so easily. The wind moved sluggishly, carrying the crisp scent of winter, while the trees stood still, their leaves drifting down in a slow cascade.
Acheron was ready for school. His room was cold, even the windows close, curtains aside letting the golden rays of the sun, brightening the otherwise dim space. A low growl rumbled from his stomach—a familiar sound of hunger.
He walked out of his room, pulling the school bag with him, over to the old Well-nigh empty fridge, a relic of time long past. It hadn't worked for years, but it still served as a storage box. He pulled out a pack of bread and a bottle of jam. The bread was room temperature, untouched by the cold, kept the bag over ground.
Tearing the plastic open, he pulled out a raw piece and smeared jam onto it with his finger before taking a bite, he didn't toasted it or baked; his choices are different.
"I told you before, toast them. Why don’t you ever listen?" His grandfather’s voice echoed in the room, concerned but weary.
Blue gases, with tendrils of gray, coalesced to form his grandfather’s figure, hovering ever so slightly above the concert floor .
His gray hairs in light sky blue, clothes indifferent the old translucent sky blue shirt and pant; softly glowing
"I like it this way," Acheron replied, his tone indifferent.
He ate till he can before tossing the rest back into the fridge. His grandfather observing.
"I’m leaving for school," he announced, Shoed.
The presence of his grandfather's soul drifted closer, like a soft breath of air. With an elevating, gas forming hand; approximately transparent. He tousled Acheron’s hair in a careful, familiar motion.
"Take care of yourself," Grandfather's soul voice murmured.
Acheron immediately pulled back, his hands shielding his head. A slight blush dusted his cheeks as he averted his gaze.
"Don’t touch my hair." Acheron resist "you’ll make me look odd," he muttered, clearly offended by the gesture.
“You forgot...” his grandfather said, smiling faintly. “Back then, I got you ready and held your little hands. I left you at school... and you cried, begging me to stay with you.”
Acheron glance downward.
"And you remembered... when you come back outside from school, you'd turn your head here and there, searching for me... Then, the moment you saw me, you'd run forward and grab me in your little arms and tells me everything that happens to you, to your friend, the teacher and even the slightest thing happened to you."
He pause for a moment, "But now... you ignore me, you keep your eyes away." His grandfather merely chuckled, his form flickering like mist.
At the doorway, Acheron silence, gaze hiding... hesitated for a moment before glancing back at his shoulders.
"You too..." Acheron cast a tiny faint smile "Take care," he said, softer this time though something remained buried deep in his throat.
And then, close the door; He left.
Inside grandfather’s soul isn’t well… A mist of blue and faint gray gas shapes his form, wavering on the edge of the abyss. Yet, his will clings on, allowing him to exist.
"OH, lord have mercy on me..." whispered grandfather’s soul "My little Howler will be lone without me." the words were meant for God, hoping his prayer might be heard.
His soul slowly drifted toward the old sofa and sank into it, resting.
Unaware, Acheron walked the path to school with a faint smile. His fingers brushed through his hair.
Grandpa… I don’t want you to worry about me.
After a ten-minute walk, he arrived at the school gates. He stood for a moment, watching others filter in. His gaze drifted to Sail, who walked alongside his usual group of friends.
Acheron pretended not to notice, slipping into the crowd like just another lost face—his thoughts buried in the noise of others.
The classroom buzzed with joy. White walls, a large blackboard at the front, and rows of desks—seven columns and ten rows. Still, six of those rows had empty seats.
A lively group gathered at the center, deep in conversation. They weren’t mourning the disappearances of their classmates. Instead, they whispered rumors—wild theories and excited speculations. Some laughed, others shrugged it off.
Not everyone joined in. A few lingered at the edges in quiet clusters, while some kept entirely to themselves.
Acheron sat alone at a desk in the middle row, near the windows. The desks around him remained vacant, as if something unseen repelled others. He stared outside. The streets were nearly empty. Cars passed every few minutes. A few pedestrians walked by. The city felt hollow.
The school grounds, in contrast, were full of life—students hurrying to class, chatting, playing. But Acheron remained an outsider.
At the center of the classroom, the mood shifted.
“Look at him,” Heron sneered. A stocky boy with an arrogant air, he pointed at Acheron. “Sail, you still sit with him?”
His voice was thick with disdain, as if Acheron’s mere existence offended him.
“I’m telling you—he’s cursed,” Heron continued. “Just look—no one sits in front of him. No one behind.”
“You shouldn’t talk behind someone’s back,” Sail replied coolly.
“We all know what happened to Galois and Hope. They got close to him—and look where they are now.”
“Don’t spread rumors,” Sail said, pausing briefly. Then, with a glance at Heron, he added,
“I’m just wondering… who’s more pathetic? You, or your words?”
Heron scowled.
“I’m just looking out for you,” he muttered.
“Thanks,” Sail replied casually. “But I’ve got my own brain to think with.”
He slowly stands, walked away and sat back to his own desk, the empty sit beside Acheron.
“What’s your problem with Acheron?” Lily asked, cutting through the tension. Her voice was firm.
The room fell quiet for a moment. Some students exchanged glances. A few quietly slipped back to their desks.
“So now everything’s my fault?” Heron whispered.
Meanwhile, Sail leaned back in his seat, flashing Acheron a carefree smile. "What are you thinking, huh?"
Acheron turned his head slightly. "No… Nothing."
Sail stretched his arms and sighed. "Did you prepare for the final?"
"We still have plenty of time to prepare for the exam," Acheron murmured, hand on his chin, back slightly inclined.
"We’ve only got three months left before graduation. The days of school will pass in a blink, and then exams will hit. Before you know it, it’ll all be over." Sail said, there was a hint of sadness in his voice. His gaze flickered toward the board, eyes glassy with nostalgia.
Acheron, however, remained unmoved. "Yeah... I know."
"You do miss all of this, don't you?" Sail asked.
"Don't know," Acheron said, eyes over the blackboard.
"We’ve spent twelve years here," Sail said.
"School isn’t a paradise for everyone," said Acheron plainly. "I know you’ll miss it, but this isn’t the end."
Sail sighed. "I will... Even if you’re acting macho now, when the time comes, you’ll feel empty."
Acheron chuckled lightly. "Let's see." His eyes drifted to the empty desk in front of him. "By the way... I wanted to ask you something."
Sail sat up straight. "Ask away! But if it’s about math, I have no answers."
Acheron took a deep inhale. "Do you know what happened to the girl who used to sit in front of me?" His tone was quiet, slightly tense.
Sail blinked. "Oh, you mean Hope? The sleepyhead? Didn’t the teacher always scold her for being drowsy?"
Acheron’s fingers tapped against his knee. "Did she… disappear too?"
"No, no," Sail waved his hand. "I heard she collapsed near the school gate one evening. Her parents picked her up, and after that, she never came back." He furrowed his brow, trying to recall. "That’s all I know."
Acheron processed the information in silence.
Sail smirked. "Wait… why are you asking? You never care about this stuff.
Don’t tell me... you like her?"
Acheron’s ears turned red.
"No! I don't. I asked out of curiosity"
He looked away, suddenly very interested in the floor.
Sail leaned in, studying him closely. "You’re acting suspicious." "We only talked a few times," Acheron muttered. "A few times, huh?" Sail teased, inching closer. Acheron shifted against the wall, trying to escape.
From his desk, Heron scowled. "What are they doing?" he muttered, watching them with suspicion.
Acheron sighed. "She talked to me first. I just responded. That’s it."
Sail leaned back with a knowing grin. "Alright, alright, keep your secrets."
Acheron’s expression darkened.
"I asked because I saw the police investigating a case yesterday.
For the first time, I realized this isn’t just some rumor or made-up conspiracies."
Sail’s grin faded. "You really thought all of this was a made-up?"
"Yeah."
Sail exhaled. "Galois Solis. The class topper who sits behind you?"
Acheron frowned. "Yes. What happened?"
"What happened? Look behind you," Sail said, sighing.
Acheron turned.
"He disappeared. A month ago," Sail said quietly.
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"Why are you telling this to me?" Acheron asked.
"Are you the one taking this seriously now?" Sail said.
"Oh God!" Sail chuckled darkly.
"You ask about the girl, but ignore the boy behind you." He nodded slowly. "Poor guy. No one for him."
"Sorry..." Acheron muttered, guilt crawling over him.
“I saw his mother yesterday… in—”
Sail hesitated, his mind drifting back.
He remembered a quiet evening at the dinner table. His father sat in front of the TV, watching the news. Miss Anaya was reporting on the protests. The screen flickered to a recorded interview — Mrs. Elena, grief-stricken, speaking about her missing son, Galois Solis.
Sail’s eyes had lingered on the screen.
“He sits behind me in class.”
His father barely glanced away from the news. “Look at what’s happening in the city… Thank God you’re not out there causing trouble.”
Sail grinned, shoveling a spoonful of food into his mouth. “Yep. Just home, school, and back again. No ‘rumbling around’ for me.”
Acheron’s voice pulled him back to the present. “In what?”
"The news…" Sail’s voice had softened. "His mother looked so sad. Even his dad died in the Great War for ?ītaloka."
Before Acheron could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed through the classroom.
A woman entered — quiet, distinct. She wore a light blue shirt under a cream-white sweater, a gray skirt, and black leggings. Her white hair curled gently at the ends; her soft wrinkles etched a long history.
She murmured under her breath — words barely audible.
“Another girl gone missing… What will happen to this city…?”
Setting her books on the desk, she adjusted her glasses. The students stood.
“Good morning, Miss Sonola!”
"Good morning… Good morning, everyone," she replied, her tone unusually heavy.
"I was late today, but I have something important to say."
A hush fell over the class.
"The number of disappearances is rising every day."
"We already know that..." Heron muttered.
Miss Sonola continued, eyes filled with generosity and sadness.
“The mayor has made a decision.
Starting today, all secondary and higher secondary classes will be suspended until peace returns to the city.”
Murmurs exploded across the room. Some gasped. Some turned in disbelief. Most… were happy.
“What?!”
“But what about our syllabus? It’s not finished!” Lily protested.
"I know. Teachers will help you cover everything in online classes," Miss Sonola explained, her voice calm but tinged with sorrow.
“The mayor thinks school is the reason for all this.
Who’s going to tell him it’s his useless officers?”
She whispered the last part.
Silence returned, heavy as before.
Miss Sonola clasped her hands.
"I’ve taught you everything I could about literacy.
I have nothing more to give."
Then: the hallway filled with the footsteps of students from other classes, section B and the other secondary and higher secondary classes.
Her words hung like a final bell.
“All of you, my dear students — leave, as the classes are dismissed.”
No one moved. For the first time, the reality struck like ice water.
The weight of her words sank in. No one spoke. For the first time, the reality of their situation became impossible to ignore.
Sail walked beside Acheron, descending the school staircase as a crowd of students surged around them.
“So… we get temporary winter vacations,” Sail muttered with a sigh, his voice nearly drowned by the raucous chatter and the echo of steps.
Acheron didn’t respond immediately. The hallway buzzed with overlapping voices and restless energy.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Sail asked, raising his voice and leaning closer to be heard.
“Nothing,” Acheron replied flatly. “Just home… and the store.”
Sail blinked.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” he said, drawing a slow breath. “Aren’t most stores closed?”
“Not Smith’s General,” Acheron said, glancing at him sideways. “It stays open.”
There was a pause as they reached the last step. The weight of the announcement, of canceled classes and city unrest, seemed to linger in the air.
“...I’ve got somewhere to go,” Sail finally said. “Will you come with me?”
A few steps later, they stepped out into the open. The corridor behind them spilled more students into the courtyard like a tide retreating from shore. Sail looked back once, eyes skimming the building they were leaving behind.
Acheron lifted his chin, inhaling deeply.
“Now it’s breathable,” he murmured, staring up at the sky.
Then, with a small nod, he added:
“I’ll go. But I need to be back before four.”
Sail walked a little ahead, hands tucked in his pockets.
“You’re coming. That’s all that matters.”
“Again, the same snow. The same barren trees. The same roads, the frozen ponds... Nothing changes. This city never changes. Just as I left it.” Ereos’ face carried the weight of something long buried—an ache that time refused to erase.
The driver stole a glance at him, eyes fixed on the road. “You look like someone who’s known this place for a long time,” the driver beamed.
But Ereos was elsewhere, lost in the past. The driver’s voice barely reached him, dissolving into the steady hum of the engine.
The driver studied Ereos through the rearview mirror. What he saw wasn’t just a man—he saw a face carved by guilt, shadowed with something deeper. He said nothing more, focusing on the road.
Ereos' eyes seemed lost, drifting into the day—eighteen years ago.
A morning.
A room.
A thin boy, puberty hits him hard, just waking.
The boy—none other than a teenage Ereos—rose from his bed and walked slowly to the door. As he opened it, his blue eyes met those of a man in his thirties—though streaks of gray in the man’s hair betrayed the years.
“What happened, Mr. Hemil?” asked Teen Ereos.
“Master has summoned us,” Hemil replied politely.
“It’s five a.m...” Ereos muttered, stifling a yawn.
“Yes...” Hemil turned to walk away, but Ereos stood motionless. Glancing back, the man said, “Come now.” He continued down the hallway. After a pause, Ereos followed reluctantly—toward a room just above the stairs.
The room resembled an office—white walls, polished tiles, and a large window. At its center rested a table completely covered by a map of El-an, capital of the North—one of the five major cities in the Northern Region.
But this wasn’t an ordinary map.
Within the flat sheet lay a transparent liquid, shaped into a perfect hemisphere. It was said that any disturbance to the hemisphere—no matter how slight—signaled a threat or the use of spiritual force. Through it, the entire city could be monitored with ease.
An old man—Master Zenos Hoshin—stood beside the table. His gray hair marked experience, and his wrinkled skin was weathered by time. Rounded spectacles perched on his nose, and his generous eyes remained fixed on the glowing map. His hands rested behind his back.
He wasn’t alone.
Across from him stood twin siblings in their twenties: Keri Anious, composed and silent, and her brother Kerio Trikalos, visibly impatient—legs constantly moving, irritation plain on his face. Both had orange hair and eyes tinged faintly red.
As Hemil entered with Ereos, the two joined the others. At eighteen, Ereos was the youngest in the room. The morning light streaming through the windows caught his blue eyes, making them glimmer faintly.
“Master,” Keri said slowly.
“Your slow, sleepy sloth is here,” Kerio muttered, half-yawning, half-grinning. “Now you can speak.”
“Kerio,” Keri warned sharply, flicking her hair back and raising a hand toward his head. “Watch your mouth before you use it.”
Like clockwork, Kerio ducked and mumbled, “Keri…”
“Apologies for my brother,” Keri said with a sigh, offering a respectful nod.
The old man didn’t react. His gaze slowly drifted from the glowing map.
He held a walking stick—not an ordinary one, but an ancient, robust staff crafted from the thin branch of a sacred tree. Spiral lines twisted around it, ending at a rounded head.
He stepped forward with a thwack.
Finally, he spoke. “We’re heading to Northern White.”
The weight of his voice silenced the room. Though white-haired with age, his frame—draped in a sharp black uniform—remained upright and unyielding. He carried wisdom like a sword sheathed in calm.
“All of you—pack. We leave soon.”
Ereos blinked. “Northern White? That far from El-an? Why?”
The Master turned slightly, lips curling in subtle amusement. “So many questions... You never change.”
He walked slowly toward the window, thoughtful.
“You’ll know everything… once we arrive.”
“Here’s your destination—the City Police Department of Northern White.”
Ereos stirred from the past, his gaze shifting to the looming building outside. The worn stone facade, the heavy steel doors—it was just as he remembered.
But then—his gaze was drawn to the noise of protestors.
Same as yesterday. No change.
He exhaled, then turned to the driver.
“Thank you. Give my regards to Lady.”
The driver chuckled. “You’re a police officer?”
Ereos stepped out, pulling a suitcase from the backseat.
“Police officer? No, you misunderstand me.”
The driver raised a brow. “Then why are you here? Any trouble?”
Ereos moved to the trunk as it popped open, revealing a large leather duffle bag. He lifted it.
“It’s a secret... even I don’t know why I’m here.”
The driver frowned, puzzled. “A secret, huh? But I gotta go—my wife’s probably worried.”
Ereos had already turned away, vanishing into the station’s entrance.
The driver sighed, shaking his head as he pulled away, heading back toward his village.
Inside, Ereos strode toward the reception desk. A heavyset officer sat behind it, flipping lazily through a file. Without hesitation, Ereos spoke.
“Mr. Iman.” He glanced at the officer’s badge. “Where is your Chief Alber?” His eyes locked on the officer’s.
The man frowned. “Who are you, man?”
“I’m from O.R.D.A.R.”
The officer raised a brow. “O.R.D.A.R? You’re early.”
Ereos blinked. “Early?”
The man scoffed, shaking his head. “First floor, take a left. Chief’s office is at the end of the hall.”
As Ereos turned to leave, the officer leaned forward. “Leave the luggage here.”
Ereos’ grip tightened. His voice stayed calm but firm.
“It goes with me, or I go back to O.R.D.A.R.”
The officer hesitated, then waved him off. “Fine.”
Ereos hauled the leather bag up the stairs, his pace steady. His boots echoed through the narrow hallway until he stopped at a door engraved:
Alber B. Kerik, Chief of Police
Inside, the room had deep gray walls. The windows were closed, curtains drawn. Only thin rays of natural light slipped through.
Wooden chairs, a well-organized table, telephones, and a wardrobe with labeled files lined the space.
Alber sat behind his desk, brows furrowed in irritation.
“The mayor asked for help weeks ago,” he said, voice harsh. “And you’re arriving today? Alone?”
Ereos tilted his head slightly. “Am I late? That means the officer made fun of me.” His eyes closed briefly, then opened.
“My team... they should be here by tomorrow.” He added, (maybe), in thought.
Alber scoffed. “Do you people even have any idea, what’s happening here?”
Ereos remained calm. “I may not know every detail yet, but I know what to do—unlike sitting in an office, hoping someone else handles it.”
Their eyes met. Alber’s flickered with something unreadable.
He stepped out from behind his desk. “Your eyes... those blue eyes... You remind me of—”
“We were here, eighteen years ago,” Ereos interrupted, his eyes stained with guilt.
“You. Your O.R.D.A.R... The case '107'..." Alber inhale heavy. "It was everywhere back then.” Alber’s face darkened. “O.R.D.A.R.” His voice dropped, bitter.
“How many people will die this time because of you?”
Ereos said nothing.
Alber let out a grim smirk. “Last time, you were the sol-survivor. So now they send you alone?” He laughed dryly.
Still silent, Ereos smiled faintly—pissed, but composed.
He picked up his bag and glanced back.
“It’s better I start the investigation now. If I stay here longer, you might not last long.” His tone returned to calm neutrality.
Alber didn’t respond. Then, with a sigh, he picked up the telephone and summoned someone to his office.
A few minutes later, the door opened. Mr. Shin Arikasa stepped in, exhaling deeply. “What's now?”
Alber gestured toward Ereos. “Ereos. He’s from O.R.D.A.R.”
“Take him to the last floor. Give him that old cabin. Hand over the investigation files,” said Alber. “He’ll lead the case from now.”
Alber returned to the wardrobe, thumbing through old files.
Shin looked at Ereos, then back to Alber, then Ereos again. He sighed.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
Ereos picked up his heavy leather bag in his left hand, suitcase in the other, and followed Shin.
“Tonight, a meeting has been scheduled with the mayor,” Alber called after him. His fingers tapped the wooden desk. “Shin will fill you in.”
Ereos didn’t stop. He just nodded and kept walking.
Back in his chair, Alber B. picked up the case file labeled ‘107’, from eighteen years ago.
The past had come knocking once more.
Shin walked Ereos up to the second floor—the last floor for command center, specialized units, training rooms. It was quieter than the others. Fewer officers.
He led Ereos to a corner cabin—larger than Alber’s office.
“He’s rude... I mean, the Chief. Always scolding us. I was one of them—got my share of his sharp tongue.” Shin pushed open the creaky cabin door. A thin layer of dust coated the floor, and the air smelled faintly of wood and time.
Ereos set his bags down and leaned over the table, taking the files from Shin, flipping open the case files.
“I’ll have someone clean it up,” Shin said, glancing around before turning to leave. “Just manage for now.”
“Wait,” Ereos called, his voice steady. “What’s that meeting about?” His eyes stayed fixed on Shin.
Shin stopped at the doorway. “Nothing special,” he said. “They do it every week—just a performance to keep the victims’ families hopeful. Fake leads. Pretend progress.”
Night began its slow descent, brushing the sky with ink. Near Smith’s General Store, the old streetlight flickered—buzzing in and out of life like a breath half-held. It had always done that. No one paid it any mind.
And then, like every time before, he appeared.
The same boy who had been watching Acheron from the shadows.
The same school uniform.
The same rounded glasses and generous eyes.
The same figure who never stepped inside.
He lingered just beyond the glass, a silhouette under the broken light. Inside, his gaze sees only a few customers moved lazily through the aisles—barely more than shadows themselves; Sight on Acheron.
And then Acheron felt it.
A pair of eyes. Locked onto his.
He looked up—and their gazes met.
Acheron squinted. The flickering light outside made it impossible to see the boy clearly. He looked away, pretending not to notice. Pretending it was nothing.
But then—the door creaked open.
The boy stepped in—quiet, pale. His black hair clung damply to his forehead, as if he’d just walked through fog.
Acheron stared, frozen. Something stirred in him. Something buried deep beneath memory.
He knew this boy. But he didn’t.
The boy stepped closer. Said nothing. Just stood at the counter. Waiting.
Acheron kept his expression neutral, professional. “How can I help you?” he asked, the same way he’d spoken to countless customers before.
The boy smiled. A quiet, radiant smile. The kind children wear when someone finally sees them.
“I knew it, Acheron,” he said softly. “You can see me.”
Acheron froze.
That voice. That smile.
Is he real?
Is he a ghost?
Is he... something else?
He didn’t respond. He just glanced around the store—left, right.
No one was looking. No one seemed to notice.
“Who are you?” Acheron whispered. “...And how did you know my name?”
The boy’s smile wavered, sorrow slipping through his expression like a shadow.
“You don’t remember?” he asked, gently. “I used to sit right behind you. In school... before everything.”
He looked down and scratched the back of his head, suddenly sheepish. “It’s okay. I wasn’t popular. Or good-looking. Just a nerd, I guess.”
Acheron’s breath caught in his throat.
“…Galois?”
The boy’s eyes lit up.
“Yes! Yes—you remember me!” he beamed, his gaze softening.
Joy bloomed in his face—so genuine, so bright—it almost hurt to see.
But inside, Acheron’s thoughts spun.
Galois...
He disappeared.
Sail had said the police were looking for him.
Is he dead?
Are all the missing kids dead?
Is this what happened to all of them?
And then Acheron found himself asking the question without meaning to—his voice barely above a whisper:
“How... What happened to you?” Acheron tensed.