Chapter 45. "The Silence of Broken Hope"

  The sharp hiss of steel slicing through the air filled the quiet backyard. Caelan moved with precision, his sword cutting in smooth arcs, each strike measured and controlled. His muscles burned, his breath steady despite the strain. The cool morning breeze barely touched the heat rising from his skin, but he ignored it, pushing himself through the motions ingrained in him since childhood.

  Then he stopped.

  The sun had shifted—later than he thought. His appointment with Professor Ironquill was near.

  A spark of urgency flickered in his chest. This wasn’t just any meeting. It was a chance—perhaps his only chance—to find the answers he needed. A way back.

  Since arriving in this world, he had searched—desperately—for any information, any lead that could help him find a way home. And now, someone might have the answers. Right now, Professor Ironquill was his best lead. If the professor knew anything about the portal that brought him to this world, Caelan had to seize this opportunity.

  Sheathing his sword in one swift motion, he wiped the sweat from his brow and strode inside. He couldn't afford to look careless.

  Stripping off his training clothes, he reached for something sharper. His fingers worked fast, buttoning his crisp white shirt. The dark waistcoat followed, snug but not restrictive, its polished buttons catching the morning light. His black tie came next, the knot firm—precise, controlled, deliberate.

  He checked his reflection. He needed to be composed, sharp—someone Ironquill would take seriously. He smoothed his cuffs, straightened his posture.

  Running a hand through his hair to fix any stray strands, he took a steady breath. This wasn’t just a meeting. This was his hope—his chance—to find a way home.

  With that thought, he turned and made his way downstairs. Stepping outside, he paused briefly, casting one last glance at the house before striding toward the waiting carriages.

  Caelan crossed the academy grounds, where students lingered despite the lack of classes. Most lived in the dormitories, making the academy feel alive even on quiet days. Following Professor Elias’s instructions, he made his way behind the headmaster’s building to one of the academy’s most secluded spots.

  At the edge of the grounds stood a small stone-and-wood building, its ivy-covered walls blending into the surroundings. Smoke curled from the chimney, and warm light spilled through stained-glass windows, casting shifting colors on the cobblestone path. An open book with a quill symbol adorned the weathered wooden door, the scent of herbs drifting from a small garden nearby.

  Caelan knocked three times. Silence. He knocked again, harder.

  A gruff voice called out. “This had better be important. You’re disturbing my research. Come in.”

  He pushed the door open.

  Inside, an elderly dwarf sat at a cluttered seeworkbench, his long white beard nearly brushing the pages of an open book. Bushy eyebrows framed sharp eyes behind round glasses. Dressed in a leather vest over a white shirt, his green trousers tucked into sturdy boots, he looked every bit the seasoned herbalist.

  Shelves overflowed with glass jars, aged tomes, and bottles filled with unknown substances. The air was thick with the scents of herbs, ink, and melted wax. A single candle flickered beside him, its glow catching on brass instruments and scattered parchment.

  Caelan took it all in. He hadn’t expected the renowned professor to be a dwarf, given their reputation as smiths.

  He took a deep breath and greeted him.

  "Good afternoon, Professor. I'm Caelan, a first-year student. Professor Elias told me that you agreed to meet me today."

  Professor Ironquill barely looked up from the potion he was examining, but Caelan caught the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

  "I know you’re the one who got a perfect score on the entrance exam," the professor said, setting the potion aside with careful precision. "I don’t usually meet privately with students. Most of the time, they just want to recruit me for their kingdom or empire."

  "My reason is different," Caelan replied.

  Professor Ironquill finally folded his hands on the desk, studying him with sharp interest. "That’s good to hear."

  Relief surged through Caelan.

  "Sit down," the professor said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

  Caelan took his seat as Ironquill straightened, his calm yet piercing gaze never leaving him.

  "First of all, thank you for meeting with me, Professor." Caelan swallowed hard, gripping his hands together to keep them from trembling. His pulse thrummed in his ears, his body coiled with tension. He desperately needed answers.

  "I came because I need to ask about a mysterious natural phenomenon—a portal that appeared out of nowhere."

  The words felt heavier than they should, weighted with everything he wasn’t saying. His fingers curled tighter. If the professor didn’t have an answer—if he knew nothing—then there was nowhere else to turn. He didn’t know where to go next. Even just a clue would be a big help.

  The professor’s expression sharpened. He closed his eyes for a long moment, as if sifting through memories. Then, with a deep breath, he opened them and met my gaze.

  "There’s a recorded incident of something similar," he said slowly. "It happened in Malvar Kingdom."

  Caelan’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. Malvar Kingdom? That name—he had never seen it on any map. He had studied geography, but Malvar had never been mentioned.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Is this kingdom too small to be recorded? I didn’t see it on the map."

  The professor shook his head. "Malvar Kingdom no longer exists. It vanished over a hundred years ago—annexed by the Khavoran Empire. Its land now goes by another name: Zenross City."

  His words sent a shiver down my spine—a lost kingdom, a forgotten name. And yet, they held a connection to the answer I was seeking.

  "A scholar from Malvar—Sebio—studied the phenomenon," the professor continued. "He recorded his findings in a book. According to him, the event began with an unnatural shift in weather. A bright, sunny day suddenly turned dark heavy rain came Thunderstorms erupted out of nowhere."

  A chill gripped him. That was exactly what had happened. He remembered it—the sky clear, then the storm, and then... the portal.

  Professor Ironquill continue. "Sebio wrote that a small, dark hole emerged from nothingness."

  I clenched the arms of my chair, my grip tightening as the realization hit me. That was it. That was exactly it.

  But then, a terrible realization struck me. If this event happened a hundred years ago, then… "That scholar—he must be long dead by now. Unless he was an elf or a dwarf?"

  "He was human," the professor confirmed. "And his work—his research—was lost when Malvar fell."

  A sick feeling settled in my gut. "Lost?"

  At that time, the Khavoran Empire was still a mid-sized kingdom, but its hunger for expansion was relentless. One by one, it swallowed the surrounding territories, its armies sweeping through like an unstoppable tide. Among its conquests was the once-proud Malvar Kingdom.

  After a crushing defeat on the battlefield, Malvar’s military lay in ruins, its soldiers either dead or scattered. With no army left to defend them, the royal family chose not to flee. Instead, they sealed themselves inside Alv City, locking its gates and vowing to fight to the end.

  The professor’s expression darkened. “Trapped and desperate, the Malvar royals refused to surrender. But Prince Keetan, the ruthless general of the Khavoran Empire, had no patience for a prolonged siege. Instead, he ordered Alv City to be set ablaze. Fire consumed the streets, homes, and palaces, reducing the once-thriving capital to ash. Screams filled the air, only to be drowned out by the roaring flames. No one escaped, no one was spared.

  "The event is now known as ‘The Slaughter of Malvar’—one of the most brutal and merciless tragedies in Yedon’s history.”

  I could hardly breathe. "Then… the records of Sebio’s research…?"

  "Burned to ash along with the city."

  Despair clawed at my throat. No… it can’t be…

  But then, the professor continued, "However, I still remember the most important parts of his research."

  Hope flared in my chest. "Then please—tell me how the portal appeared!"

  The professor exhaled slowly. "According to Sebio, this phenomenon occurs once every thousand years. He theorized that an immense energy is required for it to manifest, but there was no concrete proof. His research was incomplete—he died before he could fully understand it."

  "But is there any way to make it appear again?" My voice rose, desperate. I leaned forward, gripping the desk. "Anything at all?"

  Professor Ironquill studied me for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. Then he shook his head.

  "Aside from Malvar’s lost records, there is no other documentation. If Sebio was right, and it truly happens only once every thousand years, then studying it is nearly impossible. Every record is lost before the next event occurs. Wars, destruction, the constant turmoil of the continent… they erase everything."

  A hollow silence followed.

  My heart sank. The means… The words died in my throat, crushed beneath the weight of understanding.

  Caelan barely remembered leaving the room. One moment, he was standing before Professor Ironquill, hope slipping through his fingers. The next, he was outside, the cold air biting into his skin.

  "No one can study it. Not unless you find a way to defy time itself."

  The words didn’t just settle. They buried themselves in him, sharp and final. His chest tightened—too tight, like something vital inside him had been locked away. He couldn’t breathe.

  There had to be another answer. A mistake. A missing piece.

  His mind clawed for something, anything, that would prove the professor wrong. Some hidden text, some long-lost theory, some secret locked away in the past.

  Nothing.

  His heart pounded, his thoughts circling like vultures over a corpse.

  "No way back. No way home."

  His body moved on instinct, steps carrying him through the streets, but he wasn’t there. The world was distant—blurred edges and muffled noise. People passed him, faceless shadows in a city that wasn’t his.

  A shove knocked him sideways. "Watch where you’re going, you worthless bastard!"

  The insult barely registered. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.

  He kept walking, slower now, his body heavy, his limbs numb. The crowd moved around him, but he felt like a ghost—like he wasn’t meant to be here at all.

  The past was gone. The future was a void.

  His vision blurred—not with tears, not yet, but with the sheer, suffocating weight of it.

  All this time, he had fought. He had endured. He had torn himself apart, pushing forward with a single, desperate hope—that if he just kept moving, if he just kept trying, he would find his way home.

  That all the pain, all the sacrifices, all the sleepless nights would mean something.

  But it was all for nothing.

  His stomach twisted, nausea rising like bile. His fingers trembled. His breath came too fast, too shallow, his lungs refusing to work. His body felt wrong—too small, too fragile to contain the storm inside him.

  He stumbled. His foot caught on uneven stone, and suddenly—he wasn’t moving. The cold, damp wall slammed into him, rough beneath his fingertips. His breath hitched, his forehead pressing against the unyielding surface.

  Solid. Real. And utterly meaningless.

  A broken, bitter sound scraped from his throat—something between a laugh and a sob.

  He had nothing.

  No home. No family. No future.

  The hope he had clung to—the only thing that had kept him standing—

  Gone.

  Snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

  His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms, but even pain felt distant now. His chest ached—not from exhaustion, but from something deeper, something unraveling at the very core of him.

  He could still see their faces if he closed his eyes. Still hear their voices. Still feel the warmth of a world that no longer existed for him.

  And it was slipping further away with every second.

  His knees buckled. His body caved in on itself, like a structure losing its foundation.

  He didn’t sob. Didn’t scream. The grief was too vast, too deep for that. It swallowed him.

  he was trapped in a place that would never be home.

  And for the first time since he had been thrown into this world—

  Caelan had no fight left in him.