Kael climbed the stairs to return home. The tension in him was palpable. He was exhausted.

  Causing such chaos is exhausting, he thought.

  He rubbed his face and kept climbing, step after step, until he reached the front door. He took a deep breath, placed his hand on the handle, and repeated to himself:

  “Come on… you can do this…”

  He stared at the door blankly.

  “Come on… you can do this… It’s almost over. Just one last thing to do…”

  He slapped his cheeks twice, turned the handle, and crossed the threshold. His legs trembled slightly. This time, he didn’t remove his shoes. He listened carefully. No sound. He waited a moment longer.

  His mother did not say her usual words. Nothing. Silence. Pure, total silence.

  The house didn’t even carry that familiar scent of warm cake anymore.

  He moved forward slowly, one step at a time, making no sound at all. He reached the living room. No one.

  In the kitchen? No one.

  Bathroom, his mother’s bedroom? No one.

  He returned to the living room. His saber lay on the table, the only remnant of something resembling normality… which, in truth, had never been normal.

  He picked it up and headed toward the kitchen door, the one that led to the garden. He opened it.

  The garden was there — intact. The tree, the flowers, the grass. Everything was intact. But beyond it — white. White everywhere.

  But where is she…?

  He searched once more, one last time, before facing the obvious.

  There was no one.

  He stood in the middle of the living room.

  “What am I even doing here… if there’s no one?”

  He went upstairs to his room — the only place he had not yet checked. But he already knew his mother wouldn’t be there.

  He entered. No one.

  He searched the room for something that might have changed.

  On his desk, a single book. Thick. Black.

  “Cause.”

  The four others had disappeared.

  He searched every drawer, every closet, under the bed. Nothing.

  They were gone.

  “Shit… what’s happening?”

  Only “Cause” stood there, perfectly upright, at the center of the desk.

  He set his saber down on the bed and took the book. The cover was rigid, black.

  Hoping to finally find something inside it, he opened it — without much conviction.

  He read:

  “Causes. Nothing exists without an origin.”

  And once again,

  everything vanished.

  Images, sounds, smells, sensations… everything tore through Kael in violent bursts.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Without pause.

  Without relief.

  A torrent of information flooded his nervous system every second.

  It was unbearable.

  He couldn’t move.

  He had no body.

  No shell.

  Only raw, violent sensations coursing through him like electric shocks.

  Then, little by little, everything calmed.

  The sensations faded.

  He found himself standing in the Weavers’ workshop.

  He was still wearing his white T-shirt, black shorts, white sneakers. But he was truly there: in the workshop.

  The surrounding din.

  The smell of heated silk.

  It all wrapped around him at once.

  A violent wave of nostalgia tightened his throat.

  He looked around, panicked.

  The weavers were busy with their daily tasks, walking past him without seeing him, without paying attention.

  He was lost.

  Completely.

  He turned his head frantically to the right, to the left. Nothing made sense.

  “What the hell am I doing here…?” he muttered, confused.

  The bellows were running at full force. The looms as well. But they were not the same as in his memories — older, more rudimentary.

  The weavers were sweating, their faces flushed with effort.

  Some of them were familiar to him… but they seemed younger, less marked by time.

  But… what’s happening? he thought.

  A weaver walked past him.

  He recognized her immediately.

  Connie.

  She looked younger too.

  “Connie!” he called out.

  No reaction.

  He repeated, louder:

  “CONNIE!”

  She turned around, smiled, then crouched down with her arms open.

  A child dashed right past Kael.

  “AUNTIE CONNIE!” he shouted, laughing.

  The child threw himself into her arms. She lifted him off the ground and spun him joyfully.

  Kael remained frozen.

  The little boy wore simple clothes: brown trousers, torn at the knees, a black long-sleeved shirt with an open collar.

  He had a wide smile.

  Light brown, messy hair.

  Eyes as black as ink.

  Round cheeks.

  A spark of life.

  Pure joy.

  Kael, overwhelmed, whispered:

  “No…”

  Connie set the child down and gently stroked his head.

  “Where’s your mother, Kael?” she asked.

  Kael — the adult — watched the scene, stunned.

  He clutched his head.

  “No…”

  The little boy pointed toward the entrance of the workshop.

  “She’s coming! I ran ahead — I wanted to get here first!”

  Connie smiled at him softly.

  Kael repeated:

  “No… that’s not possible…”

  Suddenly, a strong female voice cut through the workshop’s noise:

  “GOOD MORNING, LADIES!”

  All the weavers turned.

  Kael, eyes wide, did the same.

  A woman had just entered.

  Angelic face.

  Brown hair tied in a ponytail, resting over her shoulder.

  She wore the weavers’ work attire: a long dress held by a belt. The fabric was rough. The sleeves, long and straight, were rolled up to ease her movements.

  The dress was pale pink. A rare color in the Broken Crown.

  The weavers replied in unison:

  “GOOD MORNING, ORELIA!”

  Orelia, Kael’s mother, stood there.

  At the entrance of the workshop.

  She moved forward slowly, greeting each weaver one by one, a broad smile on her face.

  Kael remained frozen in the middle of the workshop, confused, shaken.

  No one seemed to notice his presence.

  No one.

  His mother approached.

  He reached out a hand toward her, as if to grab her, as if to stop her.

  She walked past him…

  Without even seeing him.

  Without so much as a glance.

  He turned, his eyes shining.

  He watched her continue on her way, serene, radiant, as if nothing were wrong.

  The words were stuck in his throat.

  Orelia stopped near Connie.

  Little Kael, clinging to his mother’s dress, looked up at her with starry eyes.

  Connie spoke:

  “Orelia, can you come to my office? I have something to tell you. It’s important.”

  Orelia’s gentle voice replied:

  “Of course.”

  She crouched down to her son’s level. A tender smile on her lips.

  “Go to my workshop, alright? And don’t make a mess. I’ll be right back.”

  The little boy nodded and ran toward the workshop.

  The same one adult Kael had once used to make Maria’s outfit.

  Orelia and Connie went upstairs.

  Kael remained there.

  Motionless.

  Lost.

  Then, slowly, Folded in on himself.

  Sat back on his heels, hands tangled in his hair.

  His face drained of color.

  And in a broken whisper, he murmured:

  “I… I went back to the past…”

  “…to my own cause.”