Chapter 77

Chapter 77

There wasn’t much to do at a country estate like this.

Aside from strolling through the gardens or listening to music, entertainment was scarce.

Of course, she had brought several magic textbooks and even a few tools she hadn’t yet activated, so it wasn’t as if there was nothing to do—but today wasn’t a day for study.

“Huh? One’s missing here.”

As Rose’s gaze drifted along the bookshelf, she noticed an empty slot in the corner, as if a single book had been plucked out.

Curious, she stepped closer—and immediately realized what had once been there.

“Ah. That must’ve been where the album Maria brought from James’s room was kept.”

The surrounding shelves were filled entirely with photo albums.

Intrigued, Rose pulled one out and read the name embossed on the cover:

[Oksana Orvana Dautryche]

A Morgenian name—paired with the Dautryche surname.

It could only belong to James’s mother.

“Oh?”

Inside the album were a few scenic photographs, the kind one might take for a hobby, but most of the pages were completely blank.

She reached for the next album—it was much the same.

Landscapes, still lifes, snapshots of horses in the stable and rabbits in the garden; yet here and there, empty spaces where pictures should have been.

So Lady Dautryche must have been fond of photography, Rose mused.

It seemed she had started filling the albums but never finished.

After returning them carefully to their place, Rose lingered in front of the bookshelf for a while, pacing idly.

None of the titles called to her.

Something like History of the Endor Kingdom looked too dense to tackle, and the philosophical writings of the Logos were bound to be full of nonsense from a Mythos perspective.

As for The Canary’s Pure Love or Tales of the Twelve Maidens—those sugary romances felt far too close to home right now.

No. What I need isn’t that. Not love stories, not history…

“That vault in the Egard Monastery supposedly holds rare magical tomes no longer found in the Mythos world,” Iris had said.

“They say the vault contains answers to all of Mythos’s problems.”

Could that really be true?

Answers to every problem?

If that were the case… surely the Mythosi would’ve raided the vault long ago.

By the time she came back to herself, the room had grown dim.

Outside, dusk was sinking into the sky; her reflection in the glass looked faint and ghostlike.

With a small shiver, Rose turned away and made her way back to her room.

“Rose. Are you certain you don’t need my help?”

“It’s fine. I just need to check whether that crying sound is real or not, that’s all.”

At dinner, Rose downed cup after cup of coffee, speaking as if it were no big deal.

“Drinking coffee to stay awake—well, it’s not the worst strategy,” James remarked, before trailing off.

“Why do you sound so hesitant all of a sudden?”

“Because coffee’s a diuretic. You’ll be running to the bathroom all night.”

“Ugh.”

At least James had treated her as he always did. There had been no trace of the awkward tension that lingered between them earlier. Dinner went smoothly—on the surface, at least. Yet something about it left Rose unsettled, as if she’d swept an unresolved problem under the carpet and pretended it wasn’t there.

And she didn’t yet have the courage to lift that carpet and face what lay beneath it.

I’d sooner run down Romberton’s main street in my pajamas… though, of course, I’d use a disguise spell so no one would recognize me.

After finishing her perfectly normal meal and a few polite exchanges, Rose returned to her room and began her late-night preparations in earnest.

Maria had kindly brought her a large pot of coffee and a plate of chocolate-chip cookies—an excellent start.

Rose decided to pass the time until midnight not with her usual theory-heavy tomes, but with lighter magical texts: Legends and Magical Studies of the Southern and Western Regions and Pioneers of Formula Modification.

Ha! Past me deserves some praise for packing more than just textbooks.

Perfect.

Coffee and sweets—check. Engaging reading—check. A basin of cool water for splashing her face if she started to drift—check.

With all this, there was no way she’d fall asleep before midnight.

Confident, Rose leaned back against the pillows and opened her book.

But perhaps because of the long day, she found it impossible to focus. Her eyes kept drifting toward the small photo album sitting beside her bed—the one of young James.

Would she dream of him and his mother again tonight?

Probably, she thought.

Her dreams of them had become more vivid each night. And now that she knew Lady Dautryche had enjoyed photography, she could almost picture it—the woman smiling proudly at her son through the lens, camera poised in her hands.

That kind of dream would be nice, Rose thought wistfully.

The first time, she’d brushed it off as nonsense; the second, she’d been curious; the third, she’d begun to suspect it meant something.

Didn’t the elders always say that a wise Mythos never dismisses even a fragment of a dream?

Still, no strange omens or incidents had ever followed, so there was nothing to worry about… right?

Maybe I should try peeking into its memories, just once?

She set the book aside and fixed her gaze on the canopy post of the bed.

Objects that are used every day tend to absorb traces of memory; a bed like this, used nightly, would hold plenty.

That’s probably why she’d been seeing James’s memories in her dreams even without consciously using magic.

But dreams are dreams. Seeing the actual memories might be different!

Then her conscience kicked in.

That would be an invasion of privacy. A blatant one.

Ugh, curiosity… my eternal weakness.

Magic isn’t something to use just because you can.

Rose forced herself to stay rational, doing everything she could to fight the slow passage of time.

“Just… read the book. Read the book!”

But there were several facts she was conveniently forgetting.

First, Rose was the kind of person who could sleep anywhere.

Back in Linden, she’d managed to doze soundly even on the hard floor. The moment her head touched something soft—or even remotely flat—she was out cold.

Second, pulling an all-nighter was a skill that required experience… which she distinctly lacked.

And third, as she was about to discover, her brain’s craving for sleep could overpower any amount of caffeine.

“Ughhh…”

She hadn’t made it halfway through her book before her eyelids drooped.

Her stomach sloshed uncomfortably with coffee, and she wasn’t even sure the caffeine was working.

The clock showed 11:30 p.m.

Just thirty minutes left until midnight, but her head was already nodding.

“Ah… nooo…”

Mumbling incoherently, Rose collapsed back onto the bed.

Through her hazy vision, the clock’s hands drifted slowly forward.

If I give up now, James is going to tease me for this tomorrow.

The soft lavender scent of the linens wrapped around her. The pillow was perfectly cool and comfortable.

Her body sank deeper, drawn helplessly toward sleep.

And ten minutes before midnight, Rose’s eyelids finally surrendered.

Ding… ding… ding…

The grandfather clock downstairs began to toll twelve.

“Mmm…”

At that very moment, a chill summer draft slipped into the room, rousing her half-awake mind.

Had she forgotten to close a window?

Wait—no.

Why was the night air cold? July nights were never this cold.

Instinctively, Rose pulled the blanket up to her chin, wrapping herself tightly—

“……!”

Something brushed against her cheek.

Her breath hitched.

Once, twice, then again—slow, deliberate strokes along her face.

This wasn’t the wind.

It was a hand—ice-cold and unmistakably human.

Someone else was in the room.

Every nerve in her body screamed the same warning.

Her scalp prickled; cold sweat traced down her spine.

The protective spells should have been active—so how?

Her heart thudded violently, the sound pounding in her ears.

Who is it? How did they get in?

The intruder didn’t bind her or attack.

They only continued that eerie, tender motion—stroking her cheek as if she were still asleep.