A new Light

Elliot sat in silence.

The candle's flickering light cast a warm glow over the wooden table, its wax dripping steadily onto the aged surface. In his hands, a delicate piece of parchment trembled slightly between his fingers.

Seraphina's final letter.

For years, it had remained sealed, tucked away in the same wooden box where his grandfather had kept all her letters. He had read the first one long ago, the one that spoke of her departure. But this was her last. Those were the final words she had left behind before vanishing beyond Valoria's borders.

His fingers traced the worn edges before he slowly unfolded it. The ink, though slightly faded, was still clear.

"THIS IS MY LAST LETTER GERALD"

By the time you read this, I will already be gone. Not just from Valoria but from everything we've ever known. For years, we believed our land to be the whole world, but it isn't. I've seen it with my own eyes—the horizon stretching beyond where the maps end. A world far greater than we ever imagined.

I don't know if I will ever return, but I had to do this. The unknown is calling me, and I cannot turn away. Whatever lies beyond, I will find it.

If I don't return, know that I left not in fear, but in hope.

Take care of yourself, old man.

Seraphina.

Elliot stared at the letter, his heartbeat steady yet heavy.

A world beyond Valoria.

He exhaled, his breath shaky, as the weight of her words sank in.

For so long, he had felt trapped in his own mind, in his circumstances, in a town that only reminded him of what he had lost. But now, for the first time, he felt something else.

A pull. A spark. A need to move forward.

His fingers tightened around the letter. The idea of leaving had always been a distant, impossible thought. But now, it didn't feel impossible. It felt real. Tangible.

He set the letter down carefully, placing it back inside the box. His mind raced, but his body felt heavy. He needed time to let it sink in. Just one more night.

Elliot lay down, staring at the wooden ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of the town outside. He had spent years feeling like his life had already been decided for him. But maybe… just maybe, it wasn't.

With that thought lingering in his mind, his eyes slowly closed.

For the first time in a long while, he slept soundly.

The morning light crept through the cracks in the wooden walls. Elliot's eyes fluttered open, his body still aching but his mind sharp.

No hesitation.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.

Moving with purpose, he grabbed his worn-out satchel, stuffing it with essentials. Clothes. A small knife. The few belongings he had left.

Then, he knelt by the wooden floorboard, prying it open. Beneath it lay a small pouch, his savings. Every coin he had collected since he was eleven.

Years of odd jobs. Hauling crates, sweeping store floors, delivering goods, anything that would earn him a few extra coins. He had spent so long scraping together whatever he could, thinking that maybe one day, he'd use it to finally get ahead.

Elliot tied the pouch to his belt and took one last look around the small home that had been his entire world.

No more.

He let out a breath and muttered to himself, "I was thinking of buying that suit, but oh well…" He smirked slightly, shaking his head. "Guess this is a better investment."

With a deep breath, Elliot slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out the door.

But suddenly, he slipped!

"Not again!" he let out a frustrated complaint.

Ever since Elliot turned eleven, strange things had always seemed to happen around him.

Little things. Subtle things.

Like tripping over nothing the moment he seriously considered leaving town or a crate suddenly toppling over just as he was about to take a step forward. At first, he brushed it off as bad luck, just the world messing with him.

But then, there were times when these strange occurrences… helped him.

Once, he had taken a wrong turn down an alley, convinced it was a shortcut. Just before he could go deeper, a heavy signboard crashed onto the ground in front of him, blocking the way. When he turned back, he realized that if he had kept going, he would have walked straight into a group of thugs.

Moments like that happened more often than he liked to admit. Almost as if some unseen force was both guiding him and holding him back at the same time.

It was ridiculous, right? The universe didn't care about him.

And yet, a part of him had always wondered.

Then, taking a deep breath once more, he went to finish some business before finally taking the real leap.

Elliot thought about saying goodbye to the street vendors and especially the Baker, whom he had grown close to after the incident with Babel five years ago when he was eleven.

He owed the old man more than just a farewell.

Back then, the Baker had been the first person to show him real kindness when he had nothing, not even the will to stand back up. He had given him food when he had none, a place to rest when he was too battered to move, and, more than anything, words that stuck with him even now.

"You aren't weak, kid. Just lost. And lost things can always be found again."

Elliot exhaled, gripping the strap of his bag. He should at least thank him properly.

But as he turned toward the bakery, he hesitated.

Wouldn't a goodbye just make things harder? Wouldn't it be easier to leave without a word?

No. That wasn't right.

Taking one last glance at the streets he had walked for years, Elliot made his choice and started toward the familiar scent of fresh bread.

Elliot moved through the bustling streets, the weight of his packed satchel slung over his shoulder. Before heading to the Baker, Elliot made sure to gather essential supplies required for his venture ahead and also to stop by the familiar vendors who had been part of his daily life for years.

Old Doran, the fishmonger, squinted at him as he approached. "You look different, kid," he muttered, gutting a fresh catch with practiced ease.

"Leaving town, aren't you?" asked Mira, the flower seller, her sharp gaze catching the satchel at his side.

Elliot hesitated before nodding. "Yeah… I think it's time."

The vendors exchanged glances, some surprised, others simply nodding in understanding. They didn't ask for details. They had all seen Elliot grow up, watched him run errands, work odd jobs, and scrape by.

Mira plucked a small white flower from her stall and tucked it behind his ear with a smirk. "For good luck," she said. "Don't keep falling like you always do, kid."

Elliot chuckled softly. "I'll try."

With a final nod to them all, he continued down the street, heading toward the one place he had saved for last.

The scent of freshly baked bread filled the air as Elliot stepped up to the Baker's stall. The sturdy old man was kneading dough, his sleeves rolled up, forearms dusted with flour. The moment he saw Elliot's attire, the packed satchel, and the determined look in his eyes, he let out a slow sigh.

"I thought summer was about to leave," the Baker mused, wiping his hands on a rag. "Didn't expect you to leave first."

Elliot managed a small smile. "Yeah… It's about time, huh?"

The Baker studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Figured this day would come." He motioned for Elliot to sit on a nearby crate. "Tell me, where does your grand adventure begin?"

Elliot lowered his gaze, staring at his worn boots. "Not sure yet. Just… away from here. Away from the past."

The Baker hummed thoughtfully. "Sometimes, running away is just another way of running toward something better."

Before Elliot could reply, the old man stood up. "Wait here."

He disappeared into the shop, leaving Elliot sitting in silence, listening to the faint crackling of the oven inside. A few minutes later, the Baker returned, this time carrying a weathered suitcase. He placed it in front of Elliot with a quiet thud.

Elliot blinked in surprise. "What's this?"

The Baker exhaled. "Clothes. They belonged to my son." His voice was steady, but there was something deeper beneath it, something old, something unspoken. "He won't be needing them anymore, but you might."

Elliot swallowed hard, his fingers hesitating over the case. "I… I can't take this."

"You can and you will," the Baker said firmly. "And don't say thanks yet." A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. "Oh, and don't worry, there's that suit you always wanted. Not brand new, but it's there."

Elliot's breath hitched. He had joked once, long ago, about buying a nice suit someday when he had enough money. He never expected the Baker to remember.

His throat tightened. "How could I ever repay this?" he whispered. His grip on the suitcase trembled slightly. "I don't even know if I'll come back alive. Who knows what's out there?"

The Baker's expression softened. He reached out, resting a firm hand on Elliot's shoulder.

"The universe pushes hardest on those meant to rise the highest," he said.

Before Elliot could respond, a small voice cut through the moment.

"Grandpa… is Eli going somewhere?"

Elliot turned to see a little girl with tangled curls staring up at him, wide-eyed. Her hands clutched the hem of the Baker's apron as she peeked from behind him.

The Baker let out a breath and ruffled the girl's hair. "He is, sweetheart."

She frowned, looking between them. "But why?"

Elliot crouched down, offering her a small, tired smile. "There's something I have to do," he said gently. "Something important."

The girl's lips pressed together in thought before she suddenly reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, slightly smushed piece of bread. She held it out to him.

"You look sad," she said. "So, you should have this."

Elliot stared at the offering, his chest tightening.

Before he could even thank her, she shoved the bread into his hands and quickly ran off, disappearing into the crowd with her giggling friends.

Elliot let out a breath, staring down at the bread in his palm.

The Baker chuckled. "Looks like she's got a soft spot for you."

Elliot swallowed, gripping the bread tightly, and hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I… I have one more favour to ask."

The baker, whose name was Bastoull, raised a brow, wiping his hands on his apron. "Oh? Haven't I done enough already?" he teased, though his tone was light-hearted.

Elliot shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's my house. Could you… watch over it while I'm gone?" He frowned, guilt creeping into his voice. "I know it's a lot to ask, but—"

"Boy." Bastoulli crossed his arms, shaking his head. "If you ask me for another favour, I might just throw in my entire bakery too."

Elliot opened his mouth, only for the old man to smirk. "Tell you what, take that wooden chair of yours with you."

Elliot blinked. "The chair?"

Bastoulli waved a hand. "Yeah, the wobbly one. Let it remind you of home when your back starts aching from sitting on dirt and rocks."

Elliot huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "I don't think it'll survive the trip."

"Then neither will you," Bastoulli shot back with a grin.

Elliot chuckled despite himself. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to appreciate the old man's presence. With one last glance at the shop, he nodded. "Thank you… for everything, Mr. Bastoulli."

Bastoulli didn't respond right away. Instead, he lifted a hand and ruffled Elliot's hair like he was still that eleven-year-old kid standing bruised and battered in the rain. "Go on, then. And don't come back until you have a story worth telling."

Elliot swallowed down the lump in his throat and gave a small nod before turning away.

He made one last stop—his home.

The small, quiet space felt different now, as if the walls knew this was goodbye. His eyes landed on the wooden chair, sitting in the same corner it always had.

With a sigh, he lowered himself onto it, letting out a tired breath. "Guess I am really leaving…"

CRACK.

The legs gave out.

Elliot yelped as he crashed onto the floor, the chair collapsing under him, but something strange happened.

As soon as it shattered, the broken wood twisted unnaturally, warping like a piece of fabric being pulled into itself. A faint shimmer surrounded it, and for a moment, it looked as if the fragments were being swallowed by a tiny black hole.

Then, in an instant, it was gone.

Elliot stared at the empty spot where the chair had been. But before he could even process what had happened, something cool brushed against his chest.

He looked down.

A locket.

A small, dark metal locket, hanging from a thin chain around his neck.

His fingers hesitantly brushed over it. There was no mistaking it, the material felt aged, familiar, as if it had been part of the chair just moments ago.

"…What the hell?"

The house remained silent, offering no answers.

Elliot tightened his grip around the locket, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know what had just happened…

But something told him this was only the beginning

Elliot's breath came slow and uneven as he clutched the locket. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

An artifact.

He had read about them before, in old, dusty books that spoke of objects infused with the Veil's remnants. But those were just myths. Stories. Nothing more than faded words on parchment.

Yet here it was.

Real. Tangible. Hanging around his neck.

His fingers tightened around the locket as a chill ran down his spine. How long had he been sitting on this thing, completely unaware?

His chair, just an ordinary, wobbly old thing, wasn't ordinary at all.

It had been something else all along.

And now, it had changed.

He exhaled sharply, his pulse pounding in his ears. Whatever this was, whatever the locket had become, one thing was certain.

This was no coincidence

Just who was his grandpa?

Elliot stared at the locket, his mind spiralling with questions. Gerald had always been a quiet man, never speaking much about his past. A retired craftsman, a simple baker's friend, at least, that's all Elliot had ever known.

But now?

He had lived in that house for years, sat in that chair every day, and not once had he suspected it was anything more than worn-out wood. Had Gerald known? Had he kept it hidden on purpose?

Elliot's fingers traced the smooth surface of the locket, its weight oddly comforting against his chest.

Everything about this felt too deliberate.

The way the chair had waited until now to reveal its truth.

The way the universe had always nudged him, pushing, pulling, holding him back, only to guide him forward at just the right moment.

He clenched his jaw, gripping the locket tighter.

"Grandpa…" he muttered under his breath.

Had Gerald been more than he let on? More than just an old man with a kind heart?

Elliot didn't have the answers.

Then, he finally stood before the towering gates of the town, the weight of his journey pressing against his back. The metal bars, weathered by time, loomed tall, separating the only home he had ever known from the vast unknown beyond.

The early morning sun stretched long shadows across the cobbled path. A few merchants passed by, carts creaking under the weight of goods. Guards stood at their posts, uninterested in a lone traveler with nothing but a satchel and a locket hanging from his neck and the suitcase from the baker. He exhaled slowly.

This was it.

No more hesitation. No more waiting.

His fingers instinctively curled around the locket, the only piece of his grandfather he had left. The wooden chair-turned-relic remained a mystery, but one thing was certain: his past was tangled in something far greater than he had ever imagined.

He glanced back one last time. The rooftops of familiar streets, the distant chatter of vendors setting up for the day, the faint scent of freshly baked bread from Bastoulli's shop. A life he had known for sixteen years.

Then he faced forward.

His feet moved, step by step, passing through the open gates.

Beyond here, an entire world awaited.

And Elliot was finally ready to see it.