Something of real importance

Taking a step toward Orion, the spectral figure emerged from the shadows, its form shifting with an eerie translucence. A burst of mana oozed from its being, rippling through the air like an unseen force pressing down upon Orion. The weight of it drove him to his knees, his breath hitching in his throat under the oppressive pressure.

"Look, kid, I don't have time for your ranting. Whatever reasons you have, keep them to yourself," the projection spoke, its voice laced with an unnatural resonance. "I already told Lisa once, and now I'll tell you the same. I left on a mission months ago. And judging by the fact that you're here, it seems I failed and died."

Orion's fingers curled into fists against the cold floor, his nails digging into his palms. His eyes burned with unspoken rage as he gritted his teeth. "You knew about the attack," he ground out, hatred and contempt lacing his words.

The projection let out a hollow chuckle, devoid of humor. "I know many things, kid. But knowing doesn't always make a difference." His voice carried an undertone of bitterness, a weight of regret that lingered in the silence. Then, without another word, the mana pressure lifted abruptly, releasing Orion from its crushing grasp.

The projection turned on its heel, walking forward through the grand, echoing corridor. "Follow me," he commanded.

Orion hesitated, his body screaming for him to lash out, to demand answers. But what could he do? This was nothing more than a mere projection, an echo of a man long dead. Nothing he did would reach his real grandfather, whose body had already turned cold in some forgotten corner of the world.

Suppressing the urge to scream in frustration, Orion forced himself to his feet and trailed behind. Their footsteps echoed through the vast hallway lined with towering doors, each bearing ornate signs: Weaponry, Smithy, training ground and more. Yet, the projection ignored them all, leading Orion instead to an unmarked, nondescript chamber at the very end of the corridor.

As they approached, the projection reached out, his ethereal fingers grazing the heavy iron door. A deep rumbling filled the air as ancient mechanisms groaned to life, unseen gears clicking into place. The walls trembled, dust cascading from the ceiling as hidden locks disengaged in a mechanical symphony. *Click. Click. Click.*

The door swung open with a slow, resounding creak, revealing a chamber lost to time.

Orion stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the dimly lit room. Strange engravings, intricate and arcane, covered the obsidian walls, pulsing faintly as if whispering forgotten secrets. The chamber smelled of age and something more—something almost… *hungry*.

But none of that commanded Orion's attention like the object resting at the chamber's center.

A colossal, pitch-black chest loomed before him, its surface unmarred by time. It sat encircled by an intricate pattern of runes, the engravings forming a web of protection, or perhaps containment. The silence within the room was suffocating, broken only by the projection's quiet voice.

"Approach the chest."

Orion shot the spectral figure a glare filled with loathing but obeyed nonetheless. His footsteps were cautious as he stepped into the web of runes, his presence triggering something unseen. The symbols beneath his feet flared to life, casting a radiant glow that bathed the room in otherworldly light. It was as if the magic itself was testing him, searching the depths of his being for something hidden.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the glow faded.

The projection's voice echoed once more, carrying an urgency Orion did not understand. "Open the chest, Orion, and take everything inside."

A sense of unease crept up Orion's spine as he reached for the lid. The metal felt ice-cold beneath his fingertips. With a firm push, the chest creaked open, revealing its contents.

Two books sat within its depths. One was wrapped in gold-trimmed leather, its surface pristine, radiating an aura of importance. The other, in stark contrast, was bound in dusky black leather, appearing worn and almost… abandoned, as if it had been hidden away to be forgotten.

Beside the books lay a torn fragment of a map, its edges frayed with age. Resting atop it was a thin black box, smooth and unassuming. Orion picked up the box first, attempting to pry it open, but the lid refused to budge. Frustration prickled at him, but he set it aside for now.

He ran his hands along the inside of the chest, searching for false compartments, hidden mechanisms—anything that might have been concealed. But there was nothing more.

With a quiet sigh, he gathered the books, the map, and the black box, storing them within his dimensional ring. Turning away from the chest, he moved back toward the projection.

The moment he stepped beyond the runes, the chamber transformed.

The intricate symbols flared once more, but this time, their glow turned a deep, malevolent red. A sound like a thousand whispers filled the air, followed by an eruption of crimson flames that engulfed the center of the room. The fire raged wildly, twisting and writhing as though alive, reaching toward the ceiling in an infernal dance.

A cold chill seeped into Orion's bones despite the heat radiating from the flames. He could *feel* something from them—an anger, a hunger, a *presence*. His breath hitched as an inexplicable dread settled in his chest.

"Ignore it," the projection commanded, his voice cutting through the trance-like pull of the inferno. "It is of little importance. Follow me."

Orion tore his gaze away from the living fire, casting one last glance over his shoulder before reluctantly following the spectral figure.

As they walked, the projection's voice echoed through the corridors. "Our Ablaze family was one of the two founding families of this ancient organization. The other was the Zeral family. Officially, our purpose was to protect humanity from the shadows."

A smirk ghosted across the projection's lips, filled with something between amusement and derision. "But protection was never the true reason for our existence. Our purpose is far more significant. Something of real importance..."

His words trailed off as they arrived at a grand chamber, its entrance marked by an inscription carved deep into the stone above.

*The Library.*

The doors creaked open on their own, revealing rows upon rows of towering bookshelves, each lined with tomes bound in ancient leather and gilded with symbols of power. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and the weight of knowledge forbidden to most.

The projection turned to Orion, his ethereal gaze piercing. "Inside, you will find the truth. But whether you accept it or not… that is up to you."

With those ominous words hanging between them, Orion stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the unknown.