NOVEL NEXT Chapter 4: Chapter 3: Timeskip
--7 Year Timeskip--
The years passed by quickly. Seven years felt like nothing, almost like a dream that faded as soon as it was over. Time had a way of slipping by, unnoticed, and it had done so once again. It was 11 p.m. in Queens, New York, and the streets were mostly empty. Only the faint glow of streetlights illuminated the sidewalks, casting long, eerie shadows along the cracked pavement.
Most of the neighborhood was quiet, the hum of late-night traffic absent as everyone had retired for the night. In the distance, a faint breeze stirred the air, carrying the smell of rain that hadn't quite arrived yet. It was the kind of night where the world felt still, and nothing seemed to matter except the sounds of your own footsteps.
A tall figure walked slowly down the street. He seemed to stand out in the night's quiet. His skin was ghostly pale, almost like he hadn't seen sunlight in years, and his hair—half white, half red—fell in messy strands around his face, as though it were on fire. It looked strange, almost out of place in the modern world, but it didn't seem to bother him.
But the strangest thing about him wasn't his pale skin or fiery hair—it was his eyes. One eye was marked with the words "Upper Moon" carved into the iris, while the other bore the number "Three." Those eyes were filled with something dark and powerful, something that couldn't be ignored.
His clothes were just as odd as his appearance. A brown jacket, reminiscent of an old-school uniform, hung loosely on his broad shoulders, the sleeves too long for the way he wore it. A white belt was wrapped tightly around his waist, adding a touch of old-fashioned charm to his outfit. His pants were baggy and too long, dragging along the ground with each step as if they belonged to someone else entirely. Over everything, he wore a long cloak that trailed behind him, white near his neck, but the fabric turned golden as it reached the bottom, the jagged edges resembling flames licking upward.
The man's slow, deliberate steps took him down a narrow alley, away from the streetlamps and into the shadows. The air here smelled like garbage and decay, the alley littered with trash that had been left to rot. The walls of the buildings were covered in grime, making the entire place feel like something forgotten by time.
As the man walked deeper into the alley, the shadows seemed to grow longer, stretching to swallow him whole. The light from the street behind him quickly disappeared as he moved farther in, leaving him alone in the dark. The only sounds were the wind howling somewhere in the distance and a faint creaking noise—an old, abandoned sound that felt out of place in a city like this.
He reached a dead end. The man stopped and scanned the surroundings, his gaze sharp and calculating. There was no one in sight. He could hear nothing but the faint rustling of the wind against the trash strewn across the ground.
Then, with a subtle movement, he pressed his hand flat against the brick wall. At first, nothing happened. The wall remained cold and unyielding, but after a few seconds, something strange occurred. The bricks began to ripple as if the surface itself had become water. The wall started to fade, the bricks dissolving into nothingness, revealing a hidden door. Without hesitation, the man stepped through the doorway, disappearing from the alley.
On the other side, everything felt different. The air was warmer, cleaner, and there was a sense of space that was absent in the alley. He found himself standing in a wide, open courtyard. A large building stood in the middle, towering over everything else. It was four stories high, with windows that glowed softly in the dark, giving the place an almost eerie but peaceful atmosphere. The courtyard itself was lined with a small garden of flowers that shimmered under the dim light, their petals glowing faintly as if touched by magic.
But what really caught the man's attention were the training grounds. Steel mannequins stood in neat rows, but they weren't ordinary training dummies. These were bent and twisted, as if something powerful had hit them with an incredible force. Some of them were even sliced clean in half, the cuts so precise that they looked machine-made.
The place was quiet, but it felt dangerous, as though it was a training ground for something more than just physical practice. The air in the courtyard felt charged with the promise of violence, a place meant to hone strength and power.
The man paused for a moment, taking it all in. The silence weighed on him, but he continued walking deeper into the courtyard. His figure slowly disappeared into the shadows of the large building, as if he had become one with the night itself.
He made his way to the fourth floor of the building, where he stopped at a door. This floor was Muzan's territory. Caleb didn't need to knock—he already knew what was about to happen.
"Come in, Caleb. I know it's you," a soft, almost playful voice called from the other side of the door.
Caleb opened the door and stepped inside, the quiet click of the door closing behind him the only sound. The room inside was dimly lit, almost too quiet. The only real decoration was the dark, polished wood of the floor beneath his feet. There wasn't much furniture, just a few pieces here and there, but none of that mattered. In the center of the room stood Muzan.
Muzan was a tall man with pale, almost sickly skin and sharp, defined features. His black curly hair framed his face, and his plum-red eyes locked onto Caleb the moment he stepped inside. There was power in those eyes, but there was something unsettling about them, something ancient. His nails were sharp and blue, gleaming faintly in the dim light. Despite his youth, Muzan had an air of age about him, as though he had lived centuries, seen things most people could never imagine.
Caleb bowed his head in respect. "Sir Muzan."
Muzan raised an eyebrow, looking a little uncomfortable at the formal title. "How many times do I have to tell you? Just call me by my name. No titles. It's more casual that way."
Caleb straightened up, his expression serious yet respectful. "Understood."
Muzan sighed and gestured for Caleb to approach. "What brings you here tonight?"
Caleb stepped forward, his eyes shadowed with something he wasn't quite ready to say. Muzan's sharp gaze didn't miss a thing, waiting for Caleb to speak.
"Si... Muzan, you were right. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division is investigating our last mission. Elliot erased the evidence, but I think it's best if we lay low for a while," Caleb said, his voice steady, though a trace of concern lingered in his tone.
Muzan paused, considering the words. "Staying off the radar for a while sounds like a good idea. Our next move is set for London. Elliot has gathered critical files from Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We should keep things quiet for a few months," Caleb continued, already thinking about the next steps in his mind. He was always one step ahead, planning out the future in the quietest moments.
Muzan sighed again, a deep, almost exasperated sound. "I suppose you're right. When will Elliot be in Queens?"
Caleb shrugged slightly, a hint of uncertainty in his posture. "Not sure. But that robot is probably going through the files he took from Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. When we spoke earlier, he mentioned something about aliens... alien technology... and all that nonsense."
Muzan rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. "Okay, okay! I know he'll bring that up in the meeting. You don't need to mess with my brain, Caleb."
"Haha, it's okay to have a little fun every now and then, right?" Caleb grinned, though his smile faded when he saw the discomfort on Muzan's face.
Caleb's smile faltered, and his gaze shifted, his unease growing. "It's hard for me to laugh when you're... in this form."
Muzan chuckled softly, but it wasn't a full laugh. "You've got to remember, even walls have ears. Don't speak so casually."
Muzan's face grew serious, his expression hardening as if the atmosphere itself had shifted. "There are too many unknown methods in this world that could uncover our identities. We need to stay cautious at all times."
Caleb nodded, his face hardening into the same serious expression. "I understand. But right now, this castle should be safe, right?"
"It's safe for now," Muzan replied, his voice calm but filled with quiet menace. "But we can never be too careful."