MYSTERY OF SAINT HILLER DORMITORY

That night was colder than it should have been, even though spring had begun to settle over the quiet town of **Havlen**, where Brian’s family lived. The night breeze slipped through the cracks in the windowpanes, carrying with it the scent of damp soil and fallen leaves. Inside the grand, aging estate of the Silvester family, silence hung heavy, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath for **James Nkono**, who stepped through the front door with a somber expression carved into his face.

In the warm glow of the antique chandelier in the parlor, **Linda** sat on the sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring blankly at the fire flickering in the hearth. Beside her stood **Viktor**, tall and stiff, his expression unreadable.

“Sit, James,” Viktor said quietly.

James lowered himself into the chair across from them. His eyes met Linda’s, then shifted to Viktor’s. He breathed deeply, as though the words he was about to speak required all the strength he had left.

“Where is Brian?” Linda asked, her voice hollow.

“Brian wants to go to Belgorov,” James said softly, but firmly. He did not offer more.

Linda turned sharply, as though the words had struck her across the heart. Her eyes welled with tears. She had known this moment would come—had felt it coming for years. But when it arrived, it was heavier than she had imagined.

She remembered the night **Silvester**, her husband, had left this very house, never to return. Never to be heard from again.

“I... I can’t stop him, can I?” Her voice was a fragile whisper. “It’s his choice. His destiny.” She spoke as if she knew in her soul that Brian was meant to follow the shadowed path of his father.

Viktor nodded solemnly. “I’ll contact Yosef. He’ll make the arrangements.”

**Yosef Frankenstein**, Viktor’s younger brother, was a man to be trusted. A teacher at Sad Nadziei High School and warden at **Saint Hiller’s dormitory**—a place where mystery, danger, and hidden histories thrived. Yosef was not just a brother. He was an ally.

“I’ll also book him a seat on the **Orion Express**,” Viktor added, gazing out the window. “That train will give him the entrance he needs. People must know he’s no ordinary boy. In his veins flows the blood of **King Leopold Evanovich**.”

The Orion Express—an opulent train reserved for elites. A single ticket could buy a house in the Havlen suburbs. But Viktor wasn’t thinking of money. He was thinking of legacy, of symbols, of Brian stepping into a hidden world on the footing he deserved.

But long before departure, James knew there was something even more important that needed to happen—a conversation between him and Brian that could not wait.

The following nights were filled with quiet discussions between the old man and the boy in a small study tucked away behind the main cabin. Surrounded by dusty books and the scent of aged wood, James opened pages of history no book had ever written.

“Saint Hiller is not an ordinary boarding school, Brian,” James said, staring at an ancient map on the wall. “You will witness wars invisible to the common eye. Wars between clans. Wars of power. Of truth and deception. And you… you’ll be right in the middle of it.”

Brian swallowed hard. “Why me?” he whispered.

“Because you are the last. The only one left of the bloodline strong enough to resist the old forces rising again.”

Those words echoed in Brian’s mind for days. But James knew mere blood would not be enough. The boy would need more than will—he would need strength.

And so, James summoned his two oldest friends: **Chandra**, the guardian of Southeast Asian relics, and **Han**, the shadow-lord of the East. Decades ago, the three of them had made a vow—if one of them fell, the others would carry on the fight.

“If you’re truly certain,” said Han, his tone grave, “then we’ll help. But you know the cost, James.”

Chandra lowered his head. “Transferring energy is no small feat. Your body might reject it. Or worse—your soul could fracture. You might… die.”

James gave a small, knowing smile. His eyes glistened. “Perhaps it’s my time. But if Brian can uncover the mystery of Silvester’s disappearance, then every sacrifice will be worth it.”

There was nothing more to say. The choice had been made.

---

On the eve of Brian’s departure, deep within a hidden chamber in the cabin house, the **ritual of energy transference** began. Candles burned in a perfect circle. The air thickened with incense. James sat cross-legged in the center, his body already trembling with effort.

Brian knelt across from him, frozen in fear and uncertainty. “What do I do?” he whispered.

“Be still. Open your heart,” James rasped. “Let me give you what remains of me.”

James brought his palms together in front of his chest. His eyes closed. The silence cracked open as a surge of energy burst from within. Flames formed a circle around them. James lifted from the ground slightly, and Brian staggered back under the force of the transfer.

The ancient energy—hot, alive, sentient—poured from the elder into the boy. It clawed and tested him, threatening to shatter his body.

An hour later, the light dimmed. James collapsed.

His breathing was shallow. His face pale.

Brian lay on the floor across from him, twitching, then falling still—unconscious.

---

When morning broke, Brian awoke in bed, dizzy and weak. He looked over and saw James resting nearby, his eyes open, but the light behind them was fading fast.

Brian rose and knelt by his bedside, taking the old man’s hand.

“Grandfather… I’ll find Silvester. I’ll uncover the truth,” he whispered.

James smiled. “I know you will.”

And then… his breath stopped. His smile froze.

James Nkono, mentor, friend, protector of the last royal bloodline of Blandenbergh, had passed.

A life’s journey devoted entirely to service had come to its end.

---

A week later, James’s funeral was held with no pomp, no procession, no music. Only **Viktor, Linda, Brian**, and a handful of those who truly knew who James was stood around his grave.

In the distance, unseen by ordinary eyes, **Chandra** and **Han** watched silently from a ridge, the wind curling around them like ghosts.

On his simple headstone, it read:

James Nkono.

“He hasn’t left,” Chandra whispered across the wind, his voice slipping unseen into Brian’s ear as the boy knelt before the grave. “He has simply moved… into something greater.”

After the burial, Viktor approached Brian. He placed something in his hand.

“James left this for you,” Viktor said.

It was a bronze medallion, bound in leather cord.

“He told me, if you ever need him—hold this medallion tight and call his name. He will come.”

James had given it to Viktor before the end, hoping that through this gesture, Viktor and Brian might finally begin to trust one another.

That night, as the Orion Express sped toward Belgorov, Brian stared out the window. Moonlight flickered over the hills.

And in that pale glow, he felt James.

Warm.

Watching.

Guiding.

And so, the journey toward destiny… began.