The woman's smirk lingered as she reached for a small, leather-bound book on the desk. With a flick of her wrist, she opened it, her fingers gliding over its aged pages. The candlelight flickered, casting elongated shadows on the walls, as if unseen entities were listening in.
Eliard remained still, his senses sharpened. Every movement, every breath in this room held weight, and he couldn't afford to miss a single detail.
"You wish to know everything," the woman murmured, her voice like silk sliding over steel. "That's an ambitious request."
Eliard didn't flinch. "I don't make requests. I seek answers."
She chuckled, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. "Seeking answers is the first step to rewriting fate."
She closed the book with a soft thud and slid it across the desk toward him. Eliard caught it with ease, feeling the worn texture of its cover under his fingertips.
"What's this?" he asked.
"A ledger of knowledge," she replied. "Some truths, some half-truths, and some lies. It's up to you to separate them. But within these pages, you may find the first thread of your mystery."
Eliard opened the book carefully, flipping through the pages. The script was erratic, written in different hands, as if compiled by various authors over the years. Some entries were meticulously penned, others scrawled in desperation.
One passage caught his eye:
"Exemplars are chosen, not born. But sometimes, the cards slip beyond the dealer's control."
His fingers tightened on the pages. A warning? Or a clue?
The woman watched him, amusement flickering in her eyes. "You will find that power is not granted freely. Even a card drawn from the deck demands sacrifice."
Eliard exhaled slowly, closing the book. "And what did it cost you?"
For the first time, a shadow crossed her expression. "Everything."
A heavy silence stretched between them.
The floorboards creaked as she stood, her silhouette shifting against the dim candlelight. "You should leave. The longer you linger here, the more the unseen will take notice."
Eliard hesitated for a moment, then tucked the book beneath his coat. He had come looking for answers and left with more questions. Yet, he felt the first pieces of the puzzle locking into place.
As he turned toward the door, his mind was already racing ahead, dissecting every word, every hint of meaning.
"Eliard," the woman called after him.
He paused, glancing back.
She offered him a knowing smile. "Be careful. Some hands are meant to stay obscured."
A flicker of unease curled in his chest, but he merely nodded and stepped into the night, leaving behind the House of Whispers and stepping further into the enigma that had become his fate.