Chapter 193
But there was nothing.
Only the library routine continuing as usual.
And his solitude, which had felt comforting moments ago, now transformed into a chamber of torment where he became a prisoner of a perception he could not share with anyone.
So Ilux lowered his head even further, as if deeply absorbed in his own writing.
He allowed the voice—whether real or not—to be buried within him, becoming a private, smoldering mystery in the heart of silence.
There was no shouting.
There were no questions.
Only a new tension coursing through his veins, turning his studious calm into a paranoia-laced vigilance.
He knew, with a terrifying certainty, that asking would be the beginning of his downfall.
And in this academy, where reputation was everything, he could not afford to fall any deeper.
'She is gone. That is reality.
A voice cannot travel across such a distance.
This is nothing more than an echo of a weary mind, nothing more.'
"Ilux."
'Why are you still calling me?
Why does the tone grow heavier, more saturated with anger?'
Fooooh!
'I didn't do anything.
I stayed silent.'
"Ilux… Ilux… Ilux—!!"
Trying to forget was much like holding one's breath underwater.
The harder he tried, the more his body rebelled, forcing him back to the surface to inhale an unwanted reality.
Ilux tried to nail his concentration back onto the lines of text in his notebook, onto the curves of letters and the diagrams he had drawn, hoping they could serve as anchors to hold him against the current of that voice.
But the faint calling was not a single wave that came and went.
It was a relentless tide, rolling in again and again with a cruel, persistent rhythm.
Each time he thought the voice had faded into silence, it returned, slipping through the rustle of pages turned by other students or riding atop the low hum of the dim neon lights.
The tone did not change, did not weaken, retaining its horrifying auditory quality.
A vibration carrying the essence of the deepest anger, coated in hatred so dense it felt corrosive, gnawing away at the calm he tried to construct.
Ilux felt that his ears were no longer organs of hearing, but cursed echo chambers meant to reflect only one sound—the sound that should have been impossible in this place.
That voice, which he was utterly convinced belonged to Aldraya Kansh Que, was no longer merely a disturbance.
It had become a permanent backdrop to his reality within the library.
Imagine it: a teacher who had left with formal farewells, who according to rumor had returned to her distant hometown, now had her voice haunting the silent corners of this academy.
Logic screamed that this was impossible, that it was the product of stress, longing, or extreme exhaustion.
Yet the conviction at the core of his soul rejected such a simple explanation.
There was a terrifying authenticity in the quality of that voice, a resonance identical to his memory of Aldraya's voice, only now immersed in a dark, lethal emotional solution.
Each time the call repeated, it felt as though it was not only calling his name, but also sending small parcels of long-suppressed anger, a hatred matured in silence.
Ilux began to question everything he thought he knew about his teacher's departure.
Was the hometown merely a cover?
Had something bitter, something deeply wounding, occurred before that departure—something he had never even suspected?
Or worse, was this the residue of Aldraya's emotions trapped in this place, a psychic imprint so strong that he alone could hear it?
The surroundings slowly lost their definition.
The faces of his classmates, the colors of book covers on the shelves, the patterns of light and shadow on the floor—all of it faded into a blurred background.
The only thing sharp and real was the intrusive voice.
Ilux sat like a tense statue, his shoulders slightly raised, as if bracing for a blow that never came.
He controlled his breathing with difficulty, forcing it to remain steady and calm—a small performance for himself and for anyone who might happen to glance his way.
Inside, a battle raged.
One part of him wanted to cover his ears, scream for the voice to stop, or flee the library altogether.
But another part, larger and more curious, remained transfixed.
That part wanted to understand, to unravel the layers of anger within the voice, to know what could awaken such ferocious emotion from someone who had always seemed like a frozen lake.
Fear and curiosity collided in his chest, creating a tension that was nearly unbearable.
He was trapped between the urge to escape this terror and the compulsion to dive deeper into its mystery.
And the voice kept calling, over and over, tireless, carving his name into the silent air with ink made of anger and vengeance.
'Come alone, as usual.'
His head shook almost unconsciously, a small motion that dismissed not only the uncanny voice disturbing him, but also the social reality he faced within the library.
That motion marked the closing of an intensely solitary chapter.
Around him, slowly but surely, a new rhythm began to form.
The scraping of chairs, the zipping shut of bags, and footsteps moving in response to an unspoken command.
The assignment was finished.
The groups that had earlier clustered like living cells now moved together, condensing and gradually leaving their tables with stacks of papers and faint satisfaction on their faces.
They were a collective organism advancing toward the same goal.
And amid that flow, Ilux remained a motionless stone.
He did not need to wait for a closing discussion, did not need to coordinate who would carry the report, or exchange nods of gratitude.
His solitude in completing the task was absolute, from beginning to end.
He gathered his books, his now-filled notebook, and his neatly prepared presentation documents, all with automatic, efficient movements.
Without looking back, he knew there was no partner waiting, no shoulder he would lean against on the way out.
They were then guided—or more precisely, flowed together—toward a special room deeper within the belly of the library.
The room, though rarely used for large gatherings, was an open secret among diligent students.
A reservable group study room, more like an isolated mini classroom than a part of the open library.
Its location was hidden behind shelves of thick volumes on law and ancient history, as if the knowledge discussed inside required a barrier from the outside world.
Its solid wooden door stood open, swallowing the students one by one.
Ilux entered the room with a feeling different from the others.
For them, it might have been merely a presentation venue, the final stage of formality.
For him, the room felt like a small amphitheater where his solitude would be officially put on display.
The room contained a long table at its center, surrounded by chairs arranged to face a blank projector screen.
The scent of the room was heavier, a mixture of old wood, more static dust, and the cold air of an air conditioner rarely turned off.
The neon lights above shone bright and harsh, driving away all shadows and rendering every facial expression clear and impossible to hide.
To be continued…