Chapter four : The Encounter and invitation
873 Words
The rain did not stop that night.
By the time Jesse regained full consciousness, the storm had softened into a quiet drizzle—thin threads of water slipping from broken rooftops and rusted pipes.
He was lying on something rough.
Wood.
A bench…?
His eyes fluttered open.
Dim light.
A cramped room.
The faint smell of herbs and damp cloth.
“…You’re awake.”
Jesse flinched.
The voice was unfamiliar—calm, older.
He turned his head slowly.
A man stood near a small table, grinding something in a bowl. His clothes were plain, worn, but clean.
Not the man from before.
Jesse’s body tensed instinctively.
“…Where…?”
“A clinic,” the man replied without looking up. “Or what passes for one in this part of the city.”
Jesse tried to sit up—
Pain shot through his ribs.
He gasped and fell back.
“Don’t,” the man said. “You’ll reopen the wounds.”
Silence settled between them.
Jesse stared at the ceiling.
Still alive.
“…Why?” he muttered.
The man paused slightly.
“Someone dragged you here,” he said. “Left before I could ask questions.”
Jesse’s brows furrowed weakly.
Someone… helped him?
His thoughts drifted.
Back to the alley.
To the moment—
when the world stopped.
His fingers twitched.
“…Did anything… strange happen?”
The man glanced at him briefly.
“…Strange?”
Jesse hesitated.
Then shook his head.
“…Nothing.”
If it was real… he didn’t understand it.
If it wasn’t…
Then what was he even holding onto?
Three days passed.
Jesse recovered just enough to walk.
Barely.
Every step reminded him of his limits.
Of what he wasn’t.
On the fourth morning—
Someone arrived.
The door creaked open.
And the room… changed.
Jesse felt it immediately.
A pressure.
Not physical—
but present.
Like the air itself had grown heavier.
The man who entered was… different.
Tall.
Composed.
Dressed in dark robes lined with subtle silver patterns.
His eyes—
sharp.
Observant.
Too observant.
The clinic owner straightened instantly.
.
“…Sir.”
The man gave a small nod.
Then his gaze fell on Jesse.
Jesse froze.
It felt like being seen.
Not just his body—
but everything underneath it.
Every weakness.
Every fear.
Every… secret.
“…Jesse,” the man said.
Jesse’s breath caught.
“How do you—?”
“I know many things,” he replied calmly.
He stepped closer.
Each movement precise. Controlled.
“…Tell me,” he continued, “what do you remember from that night?”
Jesse hesitated.
His instinct screamed at him to stay silent.
But something in that gaze—
demanded truth.
“…Nothing… clear,” Jesse said slowly. “Just… pain.”
The man studied him.
For a long moment.
Too long.
“…I see.”
But his tone said otherwise.
He turned slightly, reaching into his robe.
Then—
placed something on the table beside Jesse.
An envelope.
Sealed.
Marked with an intricate crest Jesse had never seen before.
“…What is that?” Jesse asked quietly.
“A door,” the man replied.
Jesse frowned.
“The Arcane Registry does not make mistakes,” he continued. “And yet… your name appeared.”
Jesse blinked.
“…That’s not possible.”
“I agree.”
The man’s gaze sharpened.
“…You have no measurable affinity.
No recorded Path. At least
No capacity for structured mana manipulation.”
Each word hit like a verdict.
“…And yet,” he added, “something… reacted.”
Jesse’s chest tightened.
The man tapped the envelope lightly.
“Aurelius Regia Academy,” he said. “The most prestigious institution in this country.”
Jesse stared at it.
“I’m not… a mage,” he said.
“No,” the man replied calmly.
“…You are not.”
Silence.
“Then why—”
“Because,” the man interrupted softly,
“…for the first time in two centuries…”
His eyes locked onto Jesse’s.
“…something outside the system responded.”
Jesse felt his throat go dry.
“I am Chris Merlindec,” the man said.
The name meant nothing to Jesse.
But the weight behind it—
did.
“You have been invited,” Chris continued,
“…as a Special Admission student”.
Jesse’s fingers tightened slightly against the thin blanket.
“…I don’t belong there.”
Chris didn’t deny it.
“That,” he said,
“…is precisely why you must go.”
The rain outside grew softer.
Jesse looked at the envelope again.
A door.
Or a mistake.
Or something worse.
“…What happens if I refuse?” he asked quietly.
Chris turned toward the door.
“Then nothing changes,” he said.
He paused.
Just slightly.
“You return to a world that has already decided your worth.”
The door opened.
“And it will not reconsider.”
Then he left.
Jesse sat there.
Alone.
The room felt smaller now.
His chest tightened.
Weak.
Pathless.
Powerless.
But…
That night.
That silence.
That space.“…What are you…?” he whispered.
" Say something ... Please "
No answer came.
Only the faint sound of rain.
And the envelope—
waiting...
..
...
....
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