The man had vanished into the dark below, his footsteps swallowed one by one until gradually diminished.

  Only when the silence settled, broken by the occasional flicker of the lamps only, did the young mind finally speak.

  ‘Um…what now?’

  ‘...’

  Isidora’s brow knit in frustration. An ache pressed against her temples.

  Clearly, she didn’t need her other half to voice its questions periodically. They were literally the same mind, every thought passed between them instantly. Yet the young mind insisted on asking either way, as though she didn’t like the oppressive silence.

  The mature mind didn’t really mind it. Perhaps it was just a habit carried over from the space of emptiness where they had first awakened and the only way to keep them sane.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Magic trick?’

  Trick was far too light a word for what she had just witnessed. Isidora exhaled mentally, she contemplated the sudden turn of events.

  Or to be more precise, she waited for her younger self to blurt out something absurdly imaginative, yet somehow strangely plausible. That’s the only thing her young mind was good at.

  ‘Hey!’

  In the first place, why had she ever assumed the old man was normal?

  No, the time traveling had definitely messed up her mind. Initially, she had assumed she’d simply gone back into the past of her own world. That was the most reasonable explanation she could utter.

  Yet, what if that was not the case? In her original world, in the past that she learned, magic was not a thing. It shouldn’t exist in this era, yet.

  That was why she had unconsciously ruled out the possibility of using magic in this era.

  So, was “transmigration” even the right word anymore? Had she been naive in thinking she had simply traveled through time?

  The mature mind thought of two possibilities for this situation. It was either that the Government had been hiding a truth of this scale all along, masking the existence of magic of the past. Or this was an alternative world that was completely different from her original world.

  Regardless, one thing was certain.

  She’d grown complacent and let her guard down.

  The old man’s frail frame had tricked her into a false sense of security. She’d seen him too often as a senile figure. And it gradually led her to believe he was rather harmless, albeit with a few screws loose in his head.

  However, after today's turn of events, she knew now, this old man’s anything but ordinary.

  ‘That magic trick was quite frightening.’

  ‘And cool too!’

  What was that? Was that truly magic? Or some kind of concealed detonation technique? A controlled compression of air until it burst?

  Her mature mind began analyzing the ways to counter such a terrifying ability. But no matter how hard she thought, she couldn’t come up with a solution.

  If that man could shatter glass with a gesture from meters away, what chance did she have if he turned that same ability on her?

  The answer was simply too depressing: nothing. She had no way to defend herself from whatever that was.

  This also begged another question, would she die and simply cease to exist if her portrait were destroyed?

  Her gaze instinctively shifted back to herself, her “core”. Was this one of her weaknesses?

  If that was the case, then her only viable strategy lay in the distance. She could never allow her enemies near the portrait. The safest path was manipulating events from afar, avoiding direct confrontation at all costs.

  If anyone ever approached her main body, it would be over for her.

  Then again, that suited her just fine. A cowardly method of survival, it fit her nature. Isidora let out a quiet, bitter snicker at herself.

  Still, there was another troubling matter to consider, that was the old man’s unpredictable appearance. Why was he there at that hour?

  A man who constantly complained about his failing health, whose routines she had memorized, should have been asleep long before now. What had kept him awake? What had brought him to the staircase at that exact moment? And more importantly, how had he noticed anything amiss?

  Had she been exposed?

  The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine.

  ‘That’s unlikely.’

  Her mind drifted back to the shattered oil lamp lying in pieces on the floor. The faint glimmers of light from the remaining lamps reflected off the shards, but Isidora’s attention was elsewhere.

  The mature mind replayed the man’s words carefully.

  ‘The device malfunctioned…’

  If that’s what he had truly meant, then these lamps weren’t just for lighting, they doubled as some kind of alarm system.

  That would explain the constant flickering she had noticed before. It was a way to alert him whenever something crossed the staircase.

  Her mouse must have triggered the alarm when it stepped onto the stairs, prompting his sudden appearance. There really wasn’t a simpler or more logical explanation.

  Since she had stripped away her initial assumption that this was a primitive, backwater world, everything started to make sense.

  In her old world, such devices weren’t uncommon. They were widespread enough among the wealthy or well-connected, albeit in less mystical forms.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  Of course, there was another possibility, that he possessed some kind of uncanny sixth sense that somehow allowed him to predict her actions down to the exact moment.

  She frowned inwardly at the thought. If he truly suspected her, wouldn’t he have found her and acted decisively by now? That alone had cast doubt on the theory.

  Still, she couldn’t shake the memory of the gust of warm air she had felt through the mouse’s body.

  ‘Then the wind must have been from him, right?’

  ‘He’s really fast!’

  Was it even possible for a human to generate such a gust from that distance? Or was it something else?

  And how had he arrived so quickly? The interval between the first flicker of the lamps and his arrival shouldn’t have been more than ten seconds.

  That meant he’d already been somewhere close, possibly sleeping directly beneath the attic, or else the speed made no sense.

  ‘Or, did he already know something, but played feign?’

  That was plausible too. The old man was clearly no ordinary human. He might have already realized she had awakened, at least partially, and had chosen not to act immediately.

  After all, she’d left plenty of traces. Though they may have seemed subtle to her, they would undoubtedly raise suspicion in someone experienced in the extraordinary.

  ‘So, to summarize the situation’

  What did she learn from this whole ordeal?

  Isidora mentally organized her thoughts as though preparing a case report. As a seasoned investigator, jotting down every piece of information she obtained was second nature, even now. As one once said, old habits die hard.

  The operation had failed because she lacked proper intelligence on this world.

  Firstly, this was not the past of her old world, she needed to discard that assumption completely. This was a new world, and she had to treat it as one, with its own set of rules.

  Secondly, the old man was no ordinary human. Tonight's encounter confirmed that he was a dangerous individual with extraordinary powers. For now she could identify two, or rather three, of his abilities.

  Inhuman agility. Despite his frail appearance, he could move with speed that defied his supposed age.

  A capability to conjure a rather small explosion from a distance, within a radius as small as an adult palm. The maximum range and radius were still uncertain, but she could guess it aligned with his line of sight.

  He could also generate a warm breeze around him. The application was unknown, although she suspected this ability was tied to how he detected the mouse in the dimly lit staircase. Perhaps the breeze carried some sensory mechanism, allowing him to "see" even in low light.

  'And his eyes could grow red! Very scary!’

  ‘Right’

  Crimson glowing eyes. She had no idea what purpose this served, but it was enough to warrant cautious consideration.

  In hindsight, Isidora was quite lucky. When she first discovered her abilities, she had briefly entertained the idea of attacking him outright.

  If she really had tried, it would have been a disaster.

  Thirdly, she’d learned to be cautious of the oil lamps on the walls entirely. They were some kind of warning system. The exact mechanism was still unknown, but it was possibly a highly advanced magical tool of this era.

  However, since she knew what to expect from those lamps, Isidora could potentially make some preparations and use them against him in the future.

  Next, she turned her thoughts to the losses she had incurred during this operation.

  One of her precious animal bodies was destroyed. That left her with only two mice she could control.

  The loss was unfortunate, it was also her fault. Actually, to hasten her experiments and refill her energy, she’d killed off most of the others in the attic.

  After quite some time, their decomposing bodies had left a terrible stench that she hadn’t anticipated, prompting the old man to clean up the corpses himself.

  She also had risked exposing herself and had furthered the suspicion of the old man in the process.

  Objectively, it was quite worth it, judging by the amount of information she had obtained. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to celebrate.

  She guessed that man wouldn’t just sit idly knowing his ‘granddaughter’ had semi-awakened. So whatever his plans for her were, he would surely accelerate them now.

  And that wasn’t very favorable in the slightest.

  Isidora would have to plan her move carefully from this point onward, tread everything cautiously, and act only when the odds were in her favor. Just like what she was good at in the past.

  Well, ‘good’ might’ve been an overstatement. Okay at it, at least.

  ‘That complicates things’

  ‘Isidora doesn't like complicated things!’

  The mature mind could almost feel the headache blooming already.

  —

  The next morning began like any other. Sunlight filtered weakly through the attic window, casting soft streaks across the dusty floorboards.

  From below, the muffled clink of tools in the garden signaled the old man’s usual routine. His slow, methodical movements echoed faintly as he cleaned throughout the mansion.

  It was a rather strange situation, to say the least.

  Isidora had fully expected him to confront her this morning and question her directly about yesterday’s events. Surely, after what happened, he must have had his suspicions.

  If their roles had been reversed, she would have demanded answers immediately.

  Without a doubt, she would remain silent. She actually had a right to do that, ha, surprisingly!

  But she did not expect the day would proceed as usual.

  ‘Is this guy so old he already has dementia?’

  ‘Don’t you also have one?’

  ‘What? Where does that one come from?’

  ‘You don’t remember your name.’

  ‘...’

  She ignored the sarcasm; still, a pang of irritation throbbed faintly in her mind. Was her younger self always this cheeky?

  ‘It was ‘we’, not ‘you’’

  Anyway, she shifted her focus to the sound of his movements outside the attic door. What's it now?

  ‘?’

  This old man… He actually cleaned up the shattered lamp, so calmly?

  The mature mind was momentarily speechless. Apparently, he was tidying up the very mess he himself had caused the night before.

  ‘Why would he break it in the first place?’

  ‘Is it just to frighten us?’

  ‘Is it?’

  Was that really necessary? The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. Destroying your own property just to scare someone, yet later having to be the one to clean up yourself?

  ‘Isn’t this just… sad?’

  Not that she minded. If anything, she was oddly thankful for it, him showing off his power. It gave her a clearer understanding of him and his facade character.

  And so, two days passed, proceeding as peacefully as if nothing had happened.

  The old man didn’t even mention anything when he was chatting with her in his usual routine, didn’t ask any questions, and gave no indication that he suspected anything.

  At first, this calmness was reassuring. But as the days stretched on, it began to gnaw at her; the feeling grew more intense each passing day. The lack of confrontation was so eerie that it became nerve-wracking.

  At one point, it made her incredibly nervous. What if he was already planning something, or something was already happening, and he just didn't tell her?

  ‘What is he waiting for?’

  Isidora almost let herself believe that the old man had dismissed whatever suspicions he’d had about her. Maybe he had decided she wasn’t worth paying attention to.

  Only if he hadn’t decided to confront her directly the following afternoon and speak frankly.

  “I’m ashamed to say this, but Isidora, my dear child… We don’t have enough food for you anymore.”

  ‘?’

  ‘?’

  This made her headache intensify.