Chapter 8: Unexpected Welcome

The grand entrance loomed before him, its towering gates adorned with intricate silver filigree that shimmered faintly under the pale moonlight.

Chronos hesitated, his fingers brushing against the cold metal as he searched for a way inside. The estate was silent, save for the distant rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

Then, footsteps.

A man emerged from the shadows, his weathered face twisting in shock as his eyes locked onto Chronos.

"Young master?" The gatekeeper's voice trembled. "What—what are you doing here? How are you still breathing?"

Chronos frowned. The man's terror was palpable, his hands shaking as if he were staring at a ghost.

"What do you mean, how do I still breathe air?" Chronos asked, his voice steady despite the unease creeping into his chest.

The gatekeeper swallowed hard, quickly composing himself. "N-Nothing, Young Master. Forgive me." He hurried forward, fumbling with a set of brass keys before unlocking the gates with a heavy clank.

As the iron bars groaned open, a sprawling pathway stretched before Chronos—twenty kilometers of polished cobblestone leading to the distant silhouette of the Magna family mansion. The sight was familiar, yet… different. The gardens were lusher, the trees taller.

"New memories" Chronos mused, exhaling slowly.

"You didn't bring any luggage?" the gatekeeper asked, eyeing him warily.

"No," Chronos replied, his gaze lingering on the man. "I'm only visiting."

A beat of silence. Then, sharper "Why did you look so terrified earlier?"

The gatekeeper stiffened. "It's nothing, Master. I just… wasn't expecting you, that's all."

The lie was thin. Chronos studied him a moment longer before turning away, his boots clicking against the stone as he began the long walk toward the mansion.

The estate was alive with whispers.

Maids paused in their duties, their eyes widening as he passed. Some gasped; others clutched at their aprons, fingers trembling.

By the time he reached the mansion's grand doors, the murmurs had grown into a hushed frenzy.

The gatekeeper rushed ahead, pressing a hidden button. A delicate chime echoed from within.

The door creaked open.

A maid, Mary stood frozen in the threshold. Her face drained of color.

"Y-Younger Master!" she stammered, her voice strangled.

Chronos tilted his head. At least she was familiar. But the fear in her eyes… it didn't make sense.

"Mary?" he said.

She didn't answer. Instead, she turned sharply, calling over her shoulder in a panic. "Gloria!"

Another maid appeared, her reaction identical—wide-eyed, breathless. The two exchanged a frantic glance before Gloria hissed, "Fetch Mrs. Magna. Now."

Gloria bowed and fled.

Left standing at the doorstep, Chronos crossed his arms. "Are you going to let me in, or do I need an invitation?"

Mary hesitated, her lips parting—

Then, the sound of rushing footsteps.

The door swung open fully, and there she was.

His mother.

Her emerald gown billowed as she surged forward, her face alight with disbelief, joy, and something deeper—something like grief.

"Chronos!" Her voice cracked as she threw her arms around him, crushing him in an embrace so tight it stole his breath.

He returned the hug, but his mind raced. Why is everyone acting like I've returned from the dead?

"Mother," he murmured, pulling back slightly. "Why does everyone look so shocked?"

Tears streaked her cheeks. She cupped his face, her thumbs brushing his skin as if to confirm he was real. "Come inside, my son," she whispered. "I'll explain everything."

She led him into the mansion, her grip on his hand unyielding.

The living room was a masterpiece of opulence.

A crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, its light refracting across marble floors so polished they mirrored the room above.

Velvet sofas, deep crimson and embroidered with gold, encircled a glass coffee table where a decanter of wine sat untouched.

Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the moonlit gardens beyond, their sheer curtains swaying gently.

Gilded bookshelves lined the walls, their shelves laden with ancient tomes and delicate artifacts—relics of a family legacy that spanned centuries.

In the corner, a grand piano stood silent, its ebony surface gleaming.

The air smelled of lilies and aged oak, rich and intoxicating.

Chronos exhaled, taking it all in. "It's… different. Better than when I was last here".

"Yes, my son. That was… two years ago."

Chronos furrowed his brows. Two years? That didn't make sense. He had been at the academy just a few days ago or at least, that's how it felt.

His mother squeezed his hand as if afraid he might vanish. "Chronos… we thought you were gone forever."

"Gone?" he echoed, his voice laced with confusion.

His mother hesitated, glancing toward the maids who still lingered by the entrance, whispering among themselves.

She exhaled deeply before turning back to him. "Sit down, my son. There's much you need to know."

Chronos complied, sinking into one of the velvet chairs, his mind racing.

"I don't understand, Mother. I left for the academy… How could two years have passed?"

She looked at him with sorrowful eyes. "You disappeared, Chronos. The academy said you never arrived.

They searched, we searched—" her voice broke, "but no one could find you. The worst… the worst was assumed."

Chronos tensed. The academy didn't know? That meant… the Time Valour System erased all traces of my existence from that timeline.

He clenched his fists. If his family remembered him, then the system had chosen to keep their memories intact. But why?

"I don't know what happened, Mother. One moment, I was traveling to the academy… the next, I woke up feeling like no time had passed at all."

His mother studied him closely, her expression unreadable. "Are you sure, Chronos?"

He hesitated. Should he tell her the truth? That he had lived another life, only to return? That some unseen force had reversed time itself for him alone?

Before he could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. A deep, commanding voice followed.

"So the dead have returned."

Chronos turned to see his father standing at the entrance of the room, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.