"A missing millennia...?" Claude muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as the weight of the revelation settled on him.

As much as he didn't want to believe such a thing could occur, he had experienced similarly strange phenomena before. The impossible was not just possible in his life—it was often a reality.

'I mean, erasing millennia of history seems unthinkable to the average person,' he mused, 'but then again, so does crossing over to another world...'

Yet despite his attempts to rationalise it, a nagging thought lingered in the back of his mind.

If someone—or something—had indeed erased such a vast expanse of time from history, then why? Why would they do it? And more importantly, how?

Claude's thoughts swirled in a vortex of uncertainty, each question deepening the chasm of unease within him. And amidst this storm, the words of Ag'ourth reverberated through his mind, sharp and foreboding.

"What?! A mage? How did a mage escape from that cursed place? It's under a temporal lockdown!"

Claude propped his chin on his hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. 'If I assume that this missing millennium is somehow connected to the subspace... then it no longer seems so implausible.'

The idea began to take shape in his mind, unsettling yet strangely logical. If time could be manipulated, then perhaps it could also be obscured, hidden away like a dark secret.

But no sooner had the thought crystallized than Claude shook his head, dispelling it. 'Whatever...' he told himself, pushing the notion aside. 'As fascinating as it is, it's not my main concern right now... I need to focus on finding out more about Elysium.'

His thoughts returned to the immediate task at hand. There was no use getting lost in the mysteries of the past when the present demanded his full attention.

With a sigh, Claude straightened up. There were answers to be found, and he would uncover them—one step at a time.

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Later in the day, having finished his work at the library, Claude found himself lying down on the simple, but comfortable bed in his room at the inn; letting the faint creak of the wooden beams above lull him into a rare moment of relaxation.

The soft murmur of voices from the inn's common room below barely reached his ears, and for once, the world outside seemed distant, almost unreal.

Just as he was beginning to drift off, there was a gentle knock at the door.

Claude sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his tousled hair. "Come in," he called.

The door creaked open, revealing Claire, the inn's kind-hearted proprietress. She stood there with her usual warm smile, her blonde hair tied back neatly, accentuating the softness of her green eyes. The years had touched her with the faintest lines of age, but they only added to the gentle, maternal aura she exuded.

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"Claude, I hope I'm not disturbing you," she began, her tone apologetic.

"Not at all," Claude replied, pushing himself fully upright. "What can I do for you, Claire?"

"Well," she hesitated, her hands clasping nervously in front of her apron, "I was wondering if it might be possible for you to begin tutoring my children. Is now a good time?"

Claude gave her a reassuring smile. "Of course. I'd be happy to start. Just let me gather my things."

Claire's smile widened, and she visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Claude. I'll take you to them. They're in one of the vacant rooms, all ready for their lesson."

A few minutes later, after grabbing some notes he had prepared beforehand, Claude followed Claire down the narrow hallway of the inn.

They reached the room at the end of the corridor, and Claire pushed open the door. Inside, two children waited. Jean, a lanky seventeen-year-old with unruly brown hair and sharp brown eyes, sat at a small wooden table, his fingers drumming lightly against the surface.

Beside him, Anne—her seven-year-old frame almost swallowed by the large chair she sat in—rested her head slightly to one side, her posture weary. Her brown hair framed a delicate face, and her green eyes, though large and striking, appeared fatigued.

Anne glanced up at Claude with a tired but curious gaze. She had never spoken a word since he arrived, and Claire had explained beforehand that she was mute—a condition that had baffled the local healers.

"Jean, Anne, this is Claude," Claire said softly, ushering him into the room. "He's going to help you learn to read and write."

Jean nodded curtly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed Claude. There was a guardedness to his gaze, one that surprised Claude, after all, he understood that externally he just seemed to look like and average scholar.

Frail. Weak. Gentle.

It was no surprise Claude found it odd how someone could instinctively be so guarded against him.

Anne, meanwhile, kept her gaze on Claude, curiously looking at her future teacher.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Claude said, forcing a smile as he set his books down on the table. He took a seat across from the pair. "We'll begin with the basics—letters, sounds, and then move on to forming words."

As the lesson progressed, Claude noticed that Jean, despite his initial reluctance, absorbed the material quickly. He was a sharp, quick learner.

However, occasionally, Claude caught Jean glancing over at Anne, his expression softening into something almost akin to worry, before hardening once more.

'Worry?' Claude almost thought he was mistaken.

Sure, he understood Anne's unfortunate conditions, but the way Jean acted was as if Anne was suffering from some sort of fatal disease.

Meanwhile, Anne followed along quietly, her small hands clutching the quill as she attempted to copy the letters Claude wrote for her.

Her green eyes, though bright, seemed duller now, and there were moments when she blinked slowly as if struggling to stay focused.

"Very good, Anne," Claude said gently, watching her closely. "You're doing well, but if you're tired you could take a quick break."

Anne gently shook her head, her gaze dropping back to the paper. Her movements, though precise, lacked the energy of a child her age. It was as if she were going through the motions on autopilot, her mind elsewhere.

As the lesson drew to a close, Claude couldn't help but feel that the first people he ever taught were rather odd. There was something off about the children— yet, Claude couldn't quite place his finger on it.

"Thank you, Claude," Claire said as she entered the room to collect her children. "They've learned so much already."

Claude forced a smile, hiding his thoughts and nodded politely. "It's my pleasure. They're both very bright."

As Claire led the children away, Claude's eyes lingered on Anne.

He might not be the most learned man in the world, but the child's condition piqued his interest slightly.

'She's mute... But isn't suffering any other significant ailment. Is her exhaustion coming from something physical, or is it more psychological? And, why have I never heard of an illness like this?'

As the door closed behind them, these questions only kept lingering at the back of his mind.