The doors to the council chamber slowly closed after the dark-robed man entered, but the atmosphere inside grew even more tense. Raka was still seated upright on the throne, struggling to maintain a calm expression even as his thoughts spun endlessly. The troops sent south had vanished. Two hundred thirty-seven men. They had not died, been defeated, or retreated. They had vanished. The word seemed far too simple for something that should have been impossible for hundreds of fully armed soldiers. More troubling still, when the robed man stated the number of troops, Raka felt a strange throb in his head, as if something inside him recognized the number. He didn't know what. He didn't know from where. But the feeling made him even more certain that the phenomenon in the south was connected to him. He glanced at Elandor, who stood beside one of the chamber's pillars. The adviser showed no surprise. Instead, his face looked like that of someone who had just heard something he had feared for a long time.
“How long have they been missing?” Raka finally asked.
The robed man bowed his head. “Four days, Your Majesty.”
“And you're only reporting it now?”
“We were waiting for a sign.”
“What sign?”
The man fell silent.
Raka fixed him with a sharper stare. “I asked, what sign?”
“There are no signs of life, Your Majesty. No smoke from the camp. No footprints. No blood. We couldn't even find the tracks from their wagon wheels.”
One of the members of the Elder Council tapped his fingers against the table. “That's impossible.”
“And yet that's what happened,” the man replied.
The room fell silent again. Raka looked at the seven people seated before him. They were different in age, clothing, and appearance, but they all wore the same expression. Concern. They weren't merely afraid of something in the south. They seemed afraid of a certain possibility they didn't want to voice.
“The Southern Anomaly,” Elandor muttered.
Raka turned toward him.
A long-bearded council member immediately lifted his head. “Don't call it that in front of everyone.”
“Why?” Raka asked.
The man looked startled by the question.
Raka realized his mistake at once. A king was supposed to know the terms used by his own officials. But he had no choice except to pretend his memory loss had made him forget. “I mean, explain to me what you mean by the Southern Anomaly.”
Elandor glanced at him. He understood the small lie and chose not to expose it.
The long-bearded man finally answered. “The southern region has been undergoing changes for the past few months. Rivers flow backward on certain nights. Land that was once fertile turns black within hours. Several villages have reported that human shadows move on their own even when their owners remain still.”
The hair on the back of Raka's neck prickled.
“And that's not all,” the man continued. “There are places whose distances have changed. A merchant walked for an hour toward a village that was usually only twenty minutes away, but when he arrived, he found himself back on the same road. Some people claim to have heard their families' voices coming from the forest, even though those family members had died years ago.”
Raka couldn't say a word.
He remembered the voices he had heard when he first died.
Witness.
Witness.
Had those voices come from the same place?
“Has anyone come back?” he asked.
All the council members exchanged glances.
At last, Elandor answered.
“Yes.”
Raka turned to him at once.
“One person.”
“Who?”
“A soldier named Marek.”
“Where is he?”
“In the infirmary.”
“Bring him here.”
“No.”
Elandor's answer came too quickly.
Raka frowned. “Why?”
“Because he's not the same anymore.”
The words made the room feel colder.
“What do you mean?”
“He returned three nights ago. His body wasn't injured. His clothes were still intact. No wounds, no signs of battle. But ever since he came back, he hasn't spoken to anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because every time someone asks him what happened in the south, he says only one sentence.”
Raka waited.
Elandor looked at him.
“He says, ‘We never went south.’”
Raka felt something slam against his chest.
“But he went there?”
“Yes.”
“And he remembers it?”
“No.”
Raka stared at the table in front of him.
Pieces of information began to come together in a way he didn't like. People disappearing. A soldier returning without his memories. A changing region. The voices of the dead. The split-sun symbol. A Soul Witness moving between bodies.
Everything felt like part of one enormous puzzle.
But he still didn't know what picture it was forming.
One of the council members suddenly stood.
“Your Majesty, I recommend that we close every route leading south.”
“And what about the villages still there?” Raka asked.
“Our priority is the kingdom.”
“So we abandon them?”
“They may already be affected.”
“Affected by what?”
The man didn't answer.
Raka rose from his chair.
“I won't abandon my people just because we don't understand what's happening.”
Elandor stared at Raka for a long moment.
The council members exchanged glances as well.
Raka himself could hardly believe what he had just said. He wasn't a king. He didn't even know the people in this kingdom. Yet when the words left his mouth, something strange stirred in his chest. An impulse that didn't come entirely from his own thoughts.
Maybe this body remembered.
Maybe Ashwin would have said the same thing.
Or maybe, for a moment, Raka was beginning to become more like him.
“Your Majesty,” one of the council members said, “you only regained consciousness three days ago. We don't know whether your condition is stable enough for you to make decisions.”
Raka looked at him.
“If I don't make the decisions, who will?”
The man fell silent.
Raka sat down again.
“Don't close the southern routes.”
Several council members looked unhappy, but no one objected.
“But send scouts,” Raka continued. “Not a large force. Ten of our most experienced people. They mustn't go too far in. If they see anything strange, they have to turn back.”
Elandor nodded slowly.
“A sensible order.”
Raka breathed a sigh of relief.
But the calm didn't last long.
A sudden boom sounded in the distance.
Everyone fell silent.
A second boom followed.
Then a third.
The windows of the council chamber rattled.
The guards immediately drew their swords.
“What was that?” Raka asked.
No one answered.
Elandor ran to the window and pulled back the curtain.
His expression changed.
“What is it?” Raka stood.
“Your Majesty...”
Elandor stared south.
“See for yourself.”
Raka moved closer.
In the distance, beyond the city walls and the kingdom's towers, the southern sky had changed color.
It wasn't red.
It wasn't black.
A line of bluish light split the horizon from the ground to the sky, as if someone had ripped the world open with a gigantic knife.
Raka couldn't breathe.
Because in the middle of that light, he could vaguely make out a shape.
A tower.
Tremendously tall.
Black.
And a blue light burned at its peak.
Exactly like what he had seen in his memory moments ago.
“Elandor.”
“I know.”
“That’s the tower I saw.”
Elandor looked at him.
“Then it’s all begun.”
“What has begun?”
Elandor didn't answer.
Suddenly, Raka felt the same drowsiness as before.
At first, it was only slight.
His eyelids felt heavy.
Then heavier still.
He grabbed onto the table.
“No.”
Elandor moved toward him at once.
“Raka?”
“I don't want to.”
“What’s happening?”
“That drowsiness.”
Elandor froze.
“That’s impossible.”
Raka tried to remain conscious. He bit his lip until it hurt.
“I don't want to transfer now.”
Elandor gripped his shoulders.
“Listen to me.”
“I’m still here.”
“Raka, listen to me!”
The world around him began to tremble.
The council members' voices sounded farther and farther away.
The light from the window blurred.
Raka stared at Elandor in panic.
“How long will I be in this body?”
Elandor shook his head.
“No one knows.”
“If I leave, how do I come back?”
“Find the split-sun symbol!”
Raka forced his eyes to remain open.
“What does it have to do with the Tower?”
Elandor leaned closer.
“Everything.”
The world began to fade.
Raka heard the voices again.
Witness.
Witness.
But this time, one voice was different.
A woman's voice.
Very far away.
Very faint.
And for some reason, it sounded sad.
“Don't let them find you.”
Raka tried to ask who the woman was.
But his mouth no longer moved.
Before everything went completely dark, he saw something in the southern sky.
The black tower.
Its blue light.
And the split-sun symbol slowly opening like an eye.
Then his consciousness fell into darkness.
Raka woke up.
His breath caught.
He opened his eyes quickly.
The same ceiling.
The golden curtains.
The same bed.
The same body.
Raka fell silent.
He was still in the palace.
His hands immediately moved to check his face and body.
Still King Ashwin's body.
He looked at the mirror.
That old face was still there.
Raka exhaled in relief.
“So I haven't transferred.”
But something was different.
He still remembered everything.
The accident.
The darkness.
Elandor.
The council.
The Southern Anomaly.
The Tower.
Everything.
Raka climbed out of bed and walked toward the window.
Outside, the sun was still in the same place.
As if no time had passed.
He looked at the water clock on the table.
The sand inside showed nearly the same time as before he lost consciousness.
“How long was I asleep?”
There was no answer.
Raka turned.
There was no one in the room.
He walked to the door.
Just as he reached to open it, he heard footsteps outside.
The door opened.
Elandor stood there.
But the old man's face was pale.
Very pale.
Raka immediately realized something was wrong.
“Elandor?”
The man stared at him for a long time.
“You remember?”
Raka nodded.
“Everything.”
Elandor closed his eyes for a moment.
“Then we don't have much time.”
“Why?”
Elandor entered and closed the door.
Then he said in a very quiet voice,
“Because the Elder Council has just received word that Prince Rovan has begun gathering troops in the Eastern Province.”
Raka fell silent.
“He’s going to stage a coup.”
Elandor shook his head.
“Not only that.”
“What?”
Elandor looked him straight in the eye.
“He knows you’ve changed.”
Outside the window, the palace bells began ringing again.
This time, not to signal that the king had regained consciousness.
But to signal that something had begun.