The world had changed. Cities now floated, cars whispered instead of roared, and people no longer watched sunsets—they streamed simulations of them. But none of that ever mattered to Rael Auren.
At just 22, he had built tech that revolutionized how memories were stored—devices that let people relive moments like dreams. He was praised, celebrated, envied. But in the quiet corners of his mansion, surrounded by chrome and silence, Rael felt… empty.
So, he vanished. A solo trip across the lesser-known towns of the old world, hoping to escape the noise of success.
That's when he found her house.
It stood at the edge of a forgotten town, half-swallowed by the arms of creeping ivy. Time had kissed its walls with cracks and memories. No one had lived in it for over a century. Locals called it the Wynne Estate, but no one spoke of it for long. They said it once belonged to a girl who died too young—Elira Wynne.
Rael should've walked away. But he didn't.
He didn't know why, but the moment he stood before the house, something inside him shifted. It was as if the air whispered, "You're home."
The very next day, he bought it. No negotiations. No inspections.
The mansion creaked and groaned as if waking from a long sleep. Dust blanketed every surface, yet it felt… peaceful. Rael spent hours wandering its halls, letting silence press into his skin. He felt like he was being watched—but not in a way that scared him.
Then, on the third day, he found the door to the attic.
It was locked. Rusted shut. But when he touched the handle, it swung open with a soft click, as if it had been waiting.
Inside, among the broken furniture and forgotten time, he saw her.
A photograph—faded, delicate—framed in worn silver.
A girl in a flowing dress, standing beside a garden in full bloom. Her eyes… they weren't just beautiful. They knew. As if they saw right through time and into him. Her lips were curled into the softest smile—not posed, not forced. Real.
Beneath the frame, in elegant handwriting:
"Elira Wynne. 1856 - 1878"
She was his age when she died.
Rael's fingers trembled as he reached for the frame. A strange warmth ran through his skin. He stared into her eyes for minutes… maybe hours.
Something inside him broke open.
It wasn't infatuation. It wasn't curiosity.
It was connection.
Behind the frame, he found a small box wrapped in blue silk. Inside, there lay a leather-bound diary, yellowed with age. And beneath it… a music tape. One he shouldn't have been able to play in his time.
Rael sat there in the attic, dust and shadows swirling around him, holding the memory of a girl who died 162 years ago.
And somewhere deep in the silence, he swore he heard a voice—not outside, but within him.
A voice soft and aching.
"Don't leave me here."