“1,528 days left” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  "Are you sure it is here?" Muna asked, hoping that there might have been a mistake.

  After another moment of scrutinizing his documents, Orlo turned to her with a reluctant nod. "Yes, it's here," he confirmed, though his tone lacked any hint of reassurance. "Avenue Ramesonho, number forty-four, Regulus."

  Muna adjusted the car's flashlight from medium to high, the beam cutting sharply across the building's front, highlighting its violent neglect.

  It revealed more of its sorry state: shaggy doors hanging off their hinges and windows that were either cracked or altogether missing. The building looked like it had been forgotten by time, more suited to tales of eerie hauntings than a student's residence.

  The neighbourhood itself was wrapped in darkness, a quiet that felt heavy and thick. A sudden scurry and hiss from a scared cat were the only sounds that pierced the silence and startled both of them.

  Orlo glanced around, his heart sinking as he took in his supposed new home. This was not what he had envisioned.

  He hesitated before stepping out of the car as he gazed up at the dilapidated facade.

  "Maybe... maybe it's better inside," he said more out of hope than conviction, retrieving his luggage and Maggie.

  "If it's not better, you come back home with me," Muna insisted firmly, her tone brooking no argument.

  "I can't. I have classes tomorrow."

  "I'm not leaving you here, Orlo!"

  Knowing better than to argue with Muna when her mind was set, Orlo merely nodded and began the precarious journey toward the main door. He balanced his cane and Maggie in one hand and his luggage in the other, the metallic clink of his cane echoing off the stone pavement with each step.

  He fumbled with the key, and after a single rotation, the lock clicked—a sound not nearly as reassuring as he had hoped. The door swung open to reveal a hallway that was, indeed, worse than the outside. Cobwebs hung thickly from every corner, dust lay undisturbed on the floor, and a pungent smell of mould assaulted his nostrils immediately.

  The hallway was barren, devoid of doors, with only a staircase leading upward into further shadows. It was clear that whatever care the building had once received had long since faded, leaving behind a shell of poor neglect.

  His heart sank as he considered the reality of living in such a place.

  Orlo and Muna ascended the creaky, narrow staircase of the building, their steps cautious and slow. Each floor seemed more desolate than the last; the only sounds were their footsteps and the occasional eerie creak from the ageing wood.

  They climbed to the first floor, then the second, and reached the third. By the time they reached the fourth floor, fatigue from the climb was evident. Still, the sight that greeted them was unexpected—a lone door stood at the end of the corridor, stark against the peeling wallpaper and dusty lighting.

  It seemed improbable, almost surreal, that there would be just one door on this whole abandoned-looking building. Orlo approached it, holding the single key he had been given. He inserted it into the lock with little hope, half-expecting it not to turn.

  But it clicked. Both paused, a moment of surprise hanging between them. Orlo turned the knob and pushed the door.

  As it swung open, they were transported into what seemed like an entirely different universe. The contrast between the dilapidated exterior and the inside was startling.

  The wooden floors inside the apartment gleamed with a meticulous shine, laid out in intricate crisscross patterns. The walls were adorned with pristine white wallpaper bordered with matching wood trim. The apartment was bright, modern, and had electrical installations.

  The furniture, dark and rich in contrast to the lighter floors, was elegantly arranged, particularly in the living room, which stretched out luxuriously before them and was larger than any Orlo had ever seen. They moved through to the next room, which was almost entirely lined with bookshelves, crammed with an eclectic assortment of books. A large, polished desk sat centrally, asserting itself as the room's focal point.

  Orlo set down his luggage against one of the walls and wandered deeper into the living space, his attention piqued by a particular object behind a large mahogany desk.

  "What is it?" Muna asked behind him.

  "I... I don't know," Orlo responded, his eyes fixed on a large painting that dominated the room.

  The portrait depicted a couple positioned as if they were royalty. The woman, dressed in an elaborate robe, had an official banner draped across her chest, suggesting a position of rank or authority and a crown mimicking the form of the sun. However, her face was obscured, painted over with a beam of light, making her features indistinct and ethereal.

  Behind her stood a tall young man with a radiant smile, the kind that seemed almost too perfect to be real. He wore a Magi black robe adorned with a similar banner, and his striking blue eyes contained flecks of gold. His hair shimmered with a hue that resembled pure gold, and at his feet sat a black dire wolf.

  The scene was captivating yet eerie; Orlo and Muna exchanged looks, both sensing that something odd about this lavish setting didn't quite add up.

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  "This is weird."

  "Yes, it's bizarre," Orlo responded, still distracted by the painting. He stepped closer to the nameplate again, tracing the letters with his finger. "For my Sunbeam," he murmured. "Which would be Zonnestra in Orcish."

  "You know Orcish?" she asked.

  "Only that word... it was my mother's name," Orlo replied, still staring at the painting. His voice disbelieved as he added, "But it doesn't look anything like what I was told. It's not her. It's not my parents. She looks like... someone I saw in a dream."

  "Maybe someone else with the same name," Muna suggested, trying to offer a rational explanation for the eerie coincidence.

  Orlo nodded slowly, considering this. "Perhaps," he conceded, though his tone suggested he was far from convinced. The connection seemed too direct, too personal to be merely coincidental.

  They both stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the strangeness of the situation. Orlo's mind raced with questions. Why was this luxurious apartment seemingly reserved for him? Who were the people in the painting, and what connection did they have to him?

  "It's more than bizarre," Orlo finally said, his voice low. "It feels like I'm meant to find something here."

  Muna nodded, "Well, if that's the case, let's keep looking. Maybe there are more clues around."

  Orlo turned his head, and Muna was already inspecting the shelves. After a few minutes, she handed him the book Hexe by Edgar O. Duvencrune. As he examined the first volume, The Great Exodus, his mind buzzed with the implications of such a title. How many people knew about the Hexe, the curse of his parents?

  "What is it?" Orlo echoed Muna's earlier question even as he turned the book over in his hands and examined the cover—a couple set against a vivid blue background.

  Muna, meanwhile, gestured to the shelf from which she had retrieved the book. "There are hundreds of copies!" she exclaimed. "Copies that are not the same."

  "Maybe this Edgar likes to gift his book," Orlo suggested somewhat jokingly, trying to rationalize the unusual discovery as he flipped through the pages of the first book.

  Muna handed him another copy of the same book with a noticeably different cover. This time, the same woman was featured, but the man behind her was clad in a black robe. Orlo glanced at the two covers side by side, noting the contrast.

  "Well, this doesn't mean anything; it's just the cover," Orlo tried to dismiss, still unsure of the significance.

  "Published the 44th Summer," Muna read aloud from another copy she held.

  Orlo paused, his mind racing. The date was incorrect; they were in the Winter. If it had been published before his birth, it would have been in the Fall, yet given the oddities surrounding their current environment, nothing seemed too trivial to overlook.

  But when was the Summer?

  Orlo flipped to the editorial page, his eyes scanning the publication details. "Published the 43rd Summer," he read aloud, noting the inconsistency with the date Muna had found on the other book. He frowned slightly, the small discrepancies adding up to a larger, more confusing picture.

  "You don't think it's strange?" Muna asked.

  He placed the books back on the shelf, trying to downplay the oddities. "He is eccentric. I don't see why we should be worried about it," Orlo reasoned, hoping to ease the building tension.

  Muna, however, was not so easily reassured. She handed him another book, her expression serious. "Muna, I think you're overreacting," Orlo said as he accepted it, flipping it open only to pause, a new twist unfolding before his eyes.

  "The second volume, the Long Night, is blank," she stated. Not a single word was pressed. I checked the third volume, The Wingless Princess; nothing, blank."

  Orlo's confusion was more than evident as he leafed through the empty pages. "Could be a spell... intellectual property reason..."

  As Orlo followed Muna through the apartment while she scavenged shelves and drawers for any clue she thought she might find, his gaze drifted across the furnishings, lingering on a curious small table.

  Its surface bore a peculiar circle etched distinctly into the wood. He glanced down at Maggie, who he'd been carrying since their arrival, and with a gentle touch, he set her down on the marked circle. The pot fitted into the engraving as though it were made just for her.

  Observing the room's layout, Orlo noted how the windows were positioned. It didn't take much for him to realize that if the sun was ever to rise again, its beams would directly hit this exact spot, bathing Maggie in perfect light.

  He felt goosebumps along the back of his neck. The apartment, with all its peculiarities, seemed tailored for him, or at least for someone who knew his routines and needs well.

  Because no one knew he had started writing the first volume of Hexe since the day he arrived at the Dargustea state. No one knew besides him, Little Mouse and Maggie. Not even Zora.

  Just as this eerie feeling intensified, Muna's voice pierced the silence. "Orlo!" Her call snapped him back.

  He gripped his cane, cautiously approaching the source of her call. There was a basement. The stairs creaked under his weight as he descended into the apartment's lower level.

  Reaching the bottom, Orlo entered a room that took him by surprise.

  "What is this?" he asked, his eyes wide as he surveyed the space.

  "It looks like a pool," Muna replied.

  The room was encased in white stones, beautifully arranged and gleaming under the faint light that filtered down the stairs. It resembled the preparation for a luxurious pool, clean and pristine, yet conspicuously empty—no water filled its basin.

  "This place is crazy!" Muna exclaimed.

  Orlo couldn't help but smile, a deep, resonant feeling of belonging unexpectedly washing over him. Despite the strange, almost surreal nature of their discoveries within the apartment, there was something about this place that felt intensely right to him.

  "This place is crazy," he agreed, his smile broadening, "but it feels like I've finally come home after a very, very long journey."

  His reaction was as odd as the apartment itself. Everything within it, however bizarre, was pieces of a puzzle that Orlo had been trying to solve—without even knowing it—his entire life.

  "Muna, you need to leave."

  "What are you talking about? I'm not leaving you here alone," Muna replied. Glancing around the surreal basement pool room, she tried to make sense of Orlo's sudden declaration.

  "I'm fine, more than fine," Orlo insisted, his eyes reflecting a deep, inner certainty.

  "What are you talking about?"

  Orlo paused, looking around at the strange yet oddly fitting elements of the apartment that seemed tailored just for him. "I'm a dreamer, and this... this is my dream. My home was built inside a dream. I'm finally home, where I'm supposed to be."

  

  Dear Little Spider,

  I hope this letter finds you well. However, I must confess a certain skepticism, given that my previous missives over the past six moons have met with the deafening silence. Another Winter is nearly upon us, and still, not a single word from you. I have pondered every conceivable reason for your lack of response, knowing full well that you received my letters, as each was meticulously registered with return receipt.

  Yet, here I am, still devoid of an answer but left only of memories of you. Thus, I shall keep this brief. My foremost wish is for your happiness, and I have no desire to become the proverbial albatross around your neck. But I cannot continue to waste my days staring at the street of my building, awaiting the mailman who invariably arrives empty-handed. So, I must move on, right?

  Be happy, Zora. I will try the same,

  yours, O.

  Regulus, 42, 8th Moon of the 19th Winter —by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition