Rael didn't sleep that night.
The world outside moved on—cars hovered, neon lights pulsed in the distance—but inside the Wynne Estate, time stood still.
He sat cross-legged on the attic floor, the diary resting in his hands like something sacred. His fingers traced the faded floral engravings on the cover. It was delicate, fragile—just like her.
With a breath that trembled like his soul, he opened it.
April 3rd, 1878
Today, the roses finally bloomed again. I painted them for hours. Mama says I get lost in the petals, but I think I just find myself in them. Music and colors—they're the only places where the world doesn't hurt.
Rael's eyes moved over her words like they were music written just for him. Her handwriting was gentle, flowing like a melody—each line breathing her essence.
April 14th, 1878
There's something wrong with this house. I hear things when I'm alone. Soft steps. A lullaby that isn't mine. I asked Father, but he only tightens his jaw and tells me to pray harder. But I don't fear it… whatever it is. It feels like someone is watching over me.
Rael paused. His skin tingled. His heartbeat slowed.
"She felt it too…" he whispered.
As if even in 1878… she sensed him.
He flipped further, deeper.
There were sketches—her art. A field of golden flowers. A boy with no face. A pair of hands reaching out through smoke and time.
And then, the page that shattered him:
May 2nd, 1878
If there is such a thing as a soul waiting across time, then I believe mine already misses him. I dream of a boy with silver eyes. He never speaks. But he watches me with sorrow, like he already knows how I'll end.
Rael's breath caught.
Silver eyes.
He had always been mocked for them—"Too cold, too strange." But now they weren't strange at all.
They were foreseen.
He couldn't stay still. He climbed down to the old music room he had found on day one. The tape, old and brittle, somehow slid perfectly into the dusty player.
He pressed play.
Static. Then… a voice.
Soft. Pure. Elira's.
She sang a melody no one had heard in over a century. Her voice was not of this world—it ached with beauty. It wasn't just a song. It was a cry. A whisper through time.
Rael fell to his knees.
Tears rolled down his cheeks—not from pain, but from a love that was impossible, yet more real than anything he'd ever known.
In that moment, the lights flickered.
And somewhere behind him… in the hallway upstairs…
A door creaked open.
Rael turned slowly.
A chill kissed his skin.
But what he saw wasn't a ghost.
Not a vision.
Not madness.
It was a shadow of her, just at the corner of his eye. Pale, glowing faintly, standing by the attic stairs.
Elira Wynne.
Or whatever remained of her.
And then… her lips moved.
She mouthed three silent words.
"Find the truth."