Heart of the unknown

Seconds passed with a deadly slowness, as if even the hands of the clock had grown bored. Minutes followed, then hours… and every moment felt like an eternity. The night was quiet, still, with no sounds but my heavy breathing and the creaking of wind slipping through the stone windows like an incomprehensible whisper.

Nothing noteworthy happened.

Not even a strange sound or a passing shadow like the previous night… no footsteps, no tension. And yet, my heart refused to calm completely. Perhaps because of what I experienced yesterday, or maybe because this new world had taught me not to trust silence too much—it often serves only as a prelude to a storm.

As time dragged on, sleep began to weigh heavily on my eyelids. My eyes were exhausted, pleading for mercy.

I wanted to close them… just for a minute… maybe less.

But I resisted.

I reached for my arm and pinched myself. The faint pain snapped me back to awareness, reminding me that I was on duty—this was no time for rest. The task might seem simple on the surface, just watching over a quiet corridor… but in this world, it could turn in an instant into a fight for survival.

I forced my eyes open, made myself stand for a while, then returned to my position. I repeated this several times throughout the night, as if waging a silent battle against my drowsiness.

I kept murmuring inside:

"I hope this night passes in peace… just this night."

And strangely… nothing happened.

Time passed without incident, without surprises, without whispers in the dark. Just a long silence, as if it too were watching me—not to unsettle me, but to test my endurance.

When the first thread of light began to sneak through the window edges, crawling gently across the cold stone, I realized the night was over. My shift had come to an end.

A faint smile touched my lips—not for any specific reason, but simply because I had survived another night.

I stood up sluggishly and began descending the stone staircase toward the first floor. Each step brought me closer to a place of safety, to a simple bed that had come to mean so much.

I entered the room assigned to us. It was empty, save for its silence. I took off my heavy coat and laid it aside, then stretched out on the bed. I didn't need a pillow, or a blanket, or even a comfortable position… I just wanted to close my eyes.

And I did.

And in the moment consciousness slipped away from my mind, I smiled inwardly.

Because this time… there was no cat.

No shadow.

No fear.

Just sleep… well earned.

---

I woke slowly, as if emerging from the depths of a heavy ocean of sleep. My limbs felt weighed down, but my mind was comfortably alert. I opened my eyes gently, half-asleep and half-aware, then sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my face and eyes with both palms.

The room was quiet. The light filtering in from the high window was dim but warm, suggesting that the sun was still high in the sky.

I stood up with some difficulty and walked toward the nearby bathroom. I turned on the cold water and splashed my face several times until a sense of refreshment crept through me.

I walked out slowly, hoping I hadn't overslept this time. So I looked around for the first person who could tell me what time it was.

It didn't take long.

I saw Serion standing in his usual place, leaning against the wall near the entrance to the eastern corridor, his eyes calmly scanning the hallway, just as he always did—with unwavering stillness.

I approached him and asked, a hint of worry in my voice:

"Um… Serion, hey again. Do you know what time it is?"

He turned to me slowly, as if nothing in the world was worth rushing for, then replied in a steady voice:

"Late afternoon… the shadows are growing longer, but the sun hasn't set yet."

I let out a sigh of relief, clearly audible.

I hadn't overslept this time.

I smiled at him in gratitude without adding another word, then turned and made my way to the kitchen.

---

When I arrived, I found the cook in his usual spot, standing before the large pot, seemingly immersed in stirring what looked like a new soup. He raised his head as soon as he saw me, and a faint smile crossed his face—brief, but enough to make me feel welcome.

He said, without raising his voice:

"You're back? Looks like you've become a regular."

I smiled shyly and replied:

"I'm just… hungry."

He nodded without comment, then turned toward one of the tables, preparing a plate with quiet skill and steady hands. Within moments, he had placed a warm dish in front of me.

I sat down and began to eat. The flavor was familiar, comforting, like a warm embrace in a world that knew no kindness.

And when I finished the plate down to the last drop, I looked up at him and said quietly, sincerely:

"Thank you for the food."

He answered without turning, as he wiped a side table clean:

"No need to thank me… if you appreciate food, then you deserve it."

I stood and left the place, carrying with me a sense of comfort—even if it was a little vague.

---

I stepped out of the kitchen and stopped at the base of the stairs, but didn't move. I stood there for a few moments, observing the emptiness around me, trying to figure out what I should do next.

The sky was still bright beyond the high windows, and yet… there was nothing specific I felt like doing.

I sat on the first step of the stone staircase, leaned my back against the wall, and began to think.

Then, as if the thought had fallen from the ceiling, something I had long forgotten came to mind.

The pink room.

That room still puzzled me. I hadn't seen any girl last night or today, hadn't heard a sound from her during the night, and there was no trace of a girl actually living there. So why was there a room like that? And if there was a girl… could she be his daughter?

I felt the time had come to find out.

I got up from the step, brushed some dust off my pants, then headed down to the first floor—where I knew the employer was usually found, guarding the right side of the floor.

And there he was, standing just as I remembered, leaning with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes resting on the space in front of him without tension or concern, as if nothing could surprise him.

I approached him with confident steps, but he spoke first, in a calm tone devoid of sharpness:

"What are you doing here?"

I stopped in front of him and said with a short smile:

"There's nothing to do at the moment, so I thought… why not come and ask you a question?"

He gave me a brief glance, but his attention didn't waver.

After a moment of silence, he said:

"Ask."