The Tome That Knew His Name
Kaivan furrowed his brows. Something felt off, yet he found himself following her. They crossed a wide courtyard, the mansion before them glowing warmly under its lights. Yet that very warmth felt uncanny, like a facade hiding something immense and unknown.
Inside, the house was filled with well-kept furniture. A faint fragrance lingered, nostalgic yet unsettling. Kaivan lowered himself onto the sofa, forcing his mind to calm.
But the silence was too thick. Too deliberate. A sudden draft swept through the room, sending a chill down Kaivan’s spine. The air shifted, dense, almost suffocating.
“There it is,” rasped a voice behind him.
Kaivan jolted, whipping his head around. “ Old Lady! I, I didn’t hear you move.” His voice trembled. The woman’s gaze, sharp and unfathomable, pinned him in place.
Without another word, she extended an old book toward him. Its cover was wooden, worn, etched with intricate carvings that seemed alive. “This book… it must be given to you, Kaivan.”
He stared at it, hesitation plain in his eyes. The book looked ancient, dangerous even, yet undeniably alluring. “For me? Not money? And who said this book should be mine?”
“The book itself,” the old woman answered curtly. She cracked it open, revealing pages scrawled with shifting letters, twisting and reforming as if they possessed a will of their own.
Kaivan’s breath caught. Against his better judgment, his hand reached out, fingertips brushing the parchment. The words stilled, rearranging into a single chilling line:
“My bearer: Kaivan Badrika Alijaya.”
His heart thundered. The silence of the mansion grew oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of a wall clock. His hands trembled as he held the heavy tome, tracing the runes carved into its wooden shell. A breath shuddered from his lungs as he forced his voice to rise, weak as a whisper.
“So… what exactly is this book, Old Lady?” he asked. His eyes, uncertain and searching, clung to hers, half-dreading, half-longing for an answer that wouldn’t crush what little peace he still held.
Before him, the old woman sat in silence, yet there was something alive in her eyes, a faint light, impossible to describe. She raised her teacup with deliberate grace, her lips brushing the rim with an elegance that belonged only to someone who had long mastered the art of tranquility.
She set the cup back down on the table, her soft voice breaking the stillness with words that carried weight. “This book…” She paused, letting her words hang in the air like unfinished notes in a melody. “…is a book that offers guidance. Once, it belonged to someone I respected dearly, perhaps even more than just a friend. He was my husband.”
Her voice rang with nostalgia, like a gentle breeze carrying the fragrance of bygone days. Her gaze lingered on the book as if she could still see the figure she once cherished. A profound silence filled the room, pulling Kaivan into an invisible whirlpool of mystery.
But in that almost sacred stillness, Kaivan suddenly broke the mood with a question, his voice louder than before. “By the way, Granny,” he said after a stiff pause, “do you have some money for my fare home?”
The solemn air shattered like glass struck by a stone. His question was a sudden gust that scattered the silence, clashing the profound with the mundane.
The old woman chuckled softly, a laugh that seemed to mask something deeper. “Hahaha, you’re quite funny. You haven’t changed at all.” Her smile remained serene, but Kaivan sensed something beyond amusement hidden in her aged eyes.
“Huh? What do you mean, I haven’t changed?” Kaivan frowned, confused, as if she already knew him better than he knew himself.
He accepted the money quickly, slipping it into his pocket with a bewildered expression. There was no time for thanks. His hasty movements only highlighted the contrast between his clumsiness and the woman’s careful composure.
“Kaivan,” the old woman suddenly called, her voice gentle but laced with meaning. He froze mid-step, half-turning back toward her. “Be careful. Do not lose your way again.”
Kaivan looked at her, puzzled. The words sounded like a simple reminder about going home, nothing more. “Of course I know the way home,” he muttered, his tone tinged with frustration though he tried to remain polite.
The woman did not answer. Instead, she smiled faintly, as if telling him he would need to find the meaning for himself. Her eyes rested on him with an uncommon tenderness, as though she had known him for a long time.
Kaivan held her gaze for a moment. Something about her stare unsettled him, like a mirror reflecting parts of himself he didn’t recognize. “I don’t know what you mean… but I’ll try.” His voice dropped lower, almost like a reluctant promise.
A moment later, Kaivan impatiently shoved the book into his bag. His motions were hurried, as though he wanted to escape the strange atmosphere enveloping the room. Yet before he stepped out, he cast one last glance at the old woman.
“So… I can leave now, right?” he asked, trying to end the awkward moment.
“Of course, Kaivan. But remember one thing.” She raised her finger, her voice calm but firm. “Stay in Denial.” The words sounded less like advice and more like a warning.
Kaivan furrowed his brows, struggling to grasp her meaning. “Denial? I’m not that kind of person,” he shot back, irritation in his voice. Her cryptic words frustrated him.
She did not respond. She only smiled again, her expression softer this time, as if convinced that he would someday understand. That smile carried a strange pull, like an unseen embrace.
Finally, Kaivan stepped out, leaving the old woman still seated in her calm composure. Outside, the night breeze blew gently, the cold air brushing across his face. The sky was full of stars, yet his heart remained clouded with questions. He pulled out the book, staring at its cover etched with mysterious runes.
