Chapter 29:To the City of Sanctumhaven(2)

The Holy Graveyard of Sanctumhaven sat like a punctuation mark at the edge of the city — quiet, still, and untouched by time.

It was a place where the clamor of the living faded, where the dead were finally given the peace they deserved.

The first thing anyone noticed was the gate.

Tall, iron-wrought, and unyielding, it seemed to absorb the sounds of the city, pulling you into its solemn embrace.

Etched above it, a stark reminder greeted every visitor:

The only place where you can find equality is in the cemetery.

I stepped through slowly. No rush. No reason to hurry.

My footsteps echoed softly against the grey stone tiles, each tap a quiet intrusion on the profound stillness.

Marble statues of angels stood in mourning silence, wings open, faces serene — guardians of the forgotten, their gazes fixed on an unseen horizon.

But at the heart of it all stood a singular figure.

A veiled statue. Larger than life.

His presence dominated the central path, emanating a silent, unapproachable power.

His face was hidden beneath sculpted cloth — unreadable, an enigma carved in stone.

In his hands, he held a scroll — unrolled, eternal, perpetually open to a silent judgment.

He wasn't mourning. He was reading.

Judging. A silent observer, weighing the life one had lived — a cosmic record keeper.

Etched into the base of the statue was another line, both comfort and decree:

Remember that every soul has an appointed time and shall be brought back to the One who truly owns it.

I passed it in silence, my gaze lingering just a moment, taking in the graveyard's quiet, comforting stillness.

The kind of silence that didn't feel empty — just... respectful.

A place where the very air seemed to hold its breath, acknowledging the profound weight of finality.

Others were here too, scattered among the headstones like forgotten thoughts.

A few visitors knelt in grief or remembrance.

Some shed quiet tears, shoulders trembling.

Others whispered to the dead, sharing secrets across the veil.

But I didn't stop. My destination was deeper in — a specific point in this landscape of memory.

I moved past stone pillars carved with names, past rows of meticulously tended plots, eyes scanning for a familiar crest.

And then I saw it — the distinct gateway etched with a familiar name:

The Black Family.

"Hm. Found it," I murmured, low and indifferent.

I stepped into the family section, eyes moving across the stones.

Rows of names, all bearing the same surname — generations laid to rest.

Each stone a quiet testament to a lineage.

I looked for the most recent one.

The fresh cut of the stone. The subtle difference in the soil.

And there it was.

Simple. Clean. Freshly carved. Unmistakable.

Here lies William Black

A son dearly loved,

A soul gone too soon.

He faced the end with courage —

May he rest in quiet light.

"Been a while, mate… ain't it?" I said softly — the only sound besides the rustle of leaves.

I knelt, placing a white poppy bouquet at the base of the grave — a small, vibrant splash against the grey.

"Didn't come empty-handed this time."

I ran a hand across the smooth marble, brushing away a fine layer of dust.

Other flowers were already there — faded in color, a few small tokens from earlier visitors.

"Hah. Looks like I'm the last one to show up," I muttered, with a dry, self-deprecating chuckle.

"Well… that's the kind of asshole I am. Can't even deny it. Always late. Always detached."

A breath left me. Quiet.

Heavier than it should've been.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?

But for me? It's only been a week since I came to this world. Just seven days... and I'm not even panicking. No existential dread. No scramble for answers."

A faint, brittle chuckle followed.

"And why would I?

This ain't new to me.

Back in my old world, I was always on the move. Different countries. Different names. Different missions.

Do the dirty work. Clean up after the higher-ups. Rinse and repeat."

"Life was a series of temporary assignments. A constant shedding of identities."

I stood again, gaze lingering on the inscription.

"This place? Not much different. Just another country. Just another assignment. Just another grave to check off the list."

"You know why I'm telling you all this?" I crouched again, my eyes fixed on the name.

"Not 'cause I think you'll spill the secret. Obviously, you're dead.

No one expects a corpse to be a confidant."

I pulled out a cigarette box.

The flick of the lid echoed — louder than it had any right to be in that stillness.

I slid out two cigarettes. One for me. One for him.

A ritual. Nothing more.

"But since you were the only friend Edward had...

I figured you deserved to hear the truth."

I lit mine — the flare of the lighter briefly casting sharp lines across my face.

The taste hit sharp and bitter. Then came the faint mint I liked — small comfort in a quiet morning.

"Want one?" I muttered, placing the second, unlit cigarette gently on the stone beside the flowers.

Its white filter stood out against the grey.

I drew a slow breath. Let the smoke drift upward — thin, ephemeral.

"You know, buddy... there's a strange similarity between you and Edward."

Another puff. The ember flared — a glowing eye in the gloom.

"One of you is dead. Buried. Quiet. Forgotten by the world, remembered only by the few who bother visiting."

My voice dropped.

"The other? He's still breathing. Still walking.

But he's dying too — just slower. A gradual, insidious decay of the self."

I stared at the grave like it might answer.

"And I'm the reason.

I'm devouring him… piece by piece.

His memories. His habits. His very essence.

Until there's nothing left but me. Or maybe until I become him."

A pause.

"It's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins."

The cigarette burned lower.

"Not the first time I've stolen someone's identity, you know. It was part of the job.

But this?" I exhaled slowly. "This is different. Possessing someone... becoming them…"

The thought drifted off, unspoken.

"New experience, I'll give it that."

"But what of it?" I muttered, letting the smoke curl away.

"It doesn't change anything."

My gaze blurred — staring beyond the stone, into something vast and unknowable.

"I'm still lost. Still fumbling in a story I barely understand.

Not knowing my role anymore. Not knowing what I'm supposed to do."

The usual apathy cracked — just enough to let something human through.

"Up till now, I played the part of a side villain.

Clean. Simple."

I let the cigarette burn. The ash lengthened.

A metaphor in real time.

"And I think I did a damn good job at it.

Effective. Disposable. Exactly what was needed."

Another drag.

"But now what?"

A whisper. A question to no one.

"Do I wait here, like a good actor, for someone to hand me the next page?

For the narrator to whisper, 'This is your next scene'?

Just keep playing the part… like a puppet?"

I looked at the cigarette.

Ash dropped silently to the dirt.

"...Or do I finally stop pretending I'm just some side character?

Do I rip out a new page? Write my own damned script?"

I took a long, slow drag. Held it.

Let it go.

"I had all these questions... and I came here thinking you'd have the answer.

That somehow, the silence of the grave held universal truths."

My eyes traced the names in the stone.

The silence answered as it always did — with nothing, and everything.

"You know, they say the graveyard is the wealthiest place in the world.

Books never written. Songs never sung. Ideas that stayed locked away.

Dreams that died quietly. Hopes never acted upon."

I paused.

"So I thought… maybe I'd find an answer to the questions I never dared to ask."

One final inhale. One final taste of smoke.

Then the cigarette fell from my lips, landing softly at the base of the grave.

Smoke curled up. Then vanished.

"But there's nothing."

I stared at it — just for a second.

Then ground it into the earth beneath my heel. A slow twist. Final.

"Or maybe… I was just looking the wrong way."

"Well then... I think I've talked enough."

I exhaled one final time, the smoke curling skyward before dissolving into nothing.

Then I turned to leave.

"I'll come visit you again sometime."

With that, I walked away, leaving William Black to his perpetual peace.

Behind me, the graveyard receded — swallowed by silence, its solemn calm ebbing like a tide. The noise of the city slowly returned, bleeding in from the edges. The distant hum of traffic. The calls of street vendors. Somewhere, a church bell tolled for the afternoon prayer.

Life resumed — indifferent to the quiet confession I had just left buried beneath stone.

I walked without urgency, caught in the afterglow of that strange peace, yet uncertain. Should I head back to the academy? Or wander the city a while longer?

My mind buzzed — clarity tangled with something harder to place. An echo. A premonition.

Then it happened.

The world shattered.

Not subtly. Not slowly.

It tore — like paper ripping against the grain.

Colors twisted into impossible shapes. Angles bent where none should exist. The air snapped with an electric hum, like static devouring reality. It was like watching a television lose signal — everything dissolved into white noise, a sensory implosion.

And then, without transition...

I was somewhere else.

An office.

Spacious. Dimly lit. Heavy curtains drawn tight against the world outside. The furniture gleamed — polished, dark, too perfect. A jet-black desk stood at the center like an altar.

Behind it sat a man in a tailored suit and matching fedora, his features cloaked in shadow. One hand rested on a stack of papers, still and precise.

"The deal is sealed," he said, voice smooth and inhumanly calm. Rehearsed. Hollow.

"Your task is to transport the item."

He gestured — a casual flick of the wrist — toward a long, worn suitcase resting on a leather sofa nearby. It glinted faintly in the half-light.

"You'll deliver it once you arrive in Sanctumhaven. The destination and contact will be disclosed when the time is right."

"Yes, sir," I heard myself say.

But it wasn't my voice.

It wasn't Edward's voice either.

It was someone else's — distant, trained, obedient.

I wasn't in control. I was watching through my own eyes, trapped in a body that wasn't mine, moving on its own accord. A ghost seated in someone else's skin.

Then the scene shifted.

No fade. No transition.

Just a violent cut.

I was walking — Sanctumhaven again, but a different part. Forgotten. Grim. A narrow alley reeking of rot and rain. The edges of the city behind me now — only silence and shadows ahead. My coat trailed behind me. The suitcase — that same heavy shape — weighed in my grip like it was filled with lead and consequence.

I glanced at the smartwatch on my wrist.

A blinking green dot pulsed on the screen, guiding me.

I arrived at a half-collapsed clearing wedged between two derelict buildings. Broken glass and damp concrete. No cameras. No witnesses.

2:30 PM.

Footsteps echoed.

Two men emerged — one in a stained brown shirt, the other in a plain grey hoodie. They moved with purpose, like this wasn't their first transaction.

"You the guy Robert sent?" asked the one in brown, his voice rough, suspicious.

"Yeah." That other voice replied from my lips. Cold. Flat.

"Where's the item?"

"In the suitcase."

"Good," the one in grey nodded, eyes flicking to the bag.

"But the transaction isn't complete until we see your end."

No hesitation. The man in grey tossed over a canvas bag. It hit the ground with a heavy thud.

"Count it if you want," he said. Calm. Confident.

I didn't. I didn't need to. The vision gave me the truth like a script I was forced to read.

"That'll do."

We exchanged. Silent. Mechanical. Ritualistic.

"Pleasure doing business," one of them muttered.

"Let's hope it stays that way," I said — or rather, the stranger did — already turning away, vanishing into the haze of the city's decay.

But I wasn't fading. I was still inside, watching it all unfold like I lived it. Not a dream. Not a memory. Something worse. Something real.

And just as I tried to push deeper — to latch on, to see the man's face, to understand —

SHOVE.

A jolt broke the illusion.

"Watch where you're going, kid."

A gruff voice snapped me back.

I blinked, disoriented.

The street of Sanctumhaven was back — bright, normal, indifferent. The sun too sharp. The air too loud. A businessman in a navy suit strode past, annoyed by my sudden stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

No suitcase. No alley. No men in brown or grey.

Just a city — vibrant, alive, utterly unaware of what had just unfolded inside my mind.

I looked down at my wristwatch.

12:17 PM.

The present.

"...Haaah."

The breath escaped me, slow and disbelieving. A mix of exhaustion and realization settled in my chest.

It was just like before.

The mirror. The warping of time in the dorm. The bleeding of something ancient into my thoughts.

A vision.

That's what I'd call it now.

Not a memory. Not imagination.

Something else. Something older. Something intentional.

Stray echoes — fragments bleeding through the cracks in time, showing me moments I hadn't lived… yet felt connected to.

I adjusted my collar absently, brushing dust from my coat.

A tic. A mannerism I hadn't remembered learning.

"Looks like there's still something interesting waiting for me here," I muttered, the words dragging the faintest smirk onto my lips.

The apathy I had worn like armor… cracked.

For the first time, curiosity stirred.

The wind picked up slightly, a cool breeze brushing past.

The sun reappeared from behind drifting clouds, casting a golden sheen over the street — like a curtain rising.

And just like that, the day began again.

Not a continuation of someone else's story.

But a fresh, unwritten page.

I had a feeling… things were about to get very interesting.