Under The Veil Chapter 7: Chapter - 7: End of a long day

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Chapter - 7: End of a long day He stepped up the short flight of stairs, stepping into the place that was now supposed to be his home. As the door clicked shut behind him, the air of the street was instantly muffled. Inside, the house felt cramped and heavy, smelling faintly of stale yeast, damp soot, and cheap lamp oil. Agastya’s eyes automatically swept the room with the cold, calculating precision of a killer analysing a new environment. He checked the sightlines, the shadows in the corners, and the structural integrity of the floorboards. To one side sat a round wooden table. Its surface was deeply scarred by years of knife marks and hot pans. Four mismatched, scuffed chairs were pushed in around it. A narrow window sat directly in front of the table, its warped glass smeared with city grime. In the centre of the table rested a handful of tin utensils. They were flipped upside down, resting against the wood—a strange, quiet household superstition he made a mental note to remember. Faded portraits hung crooked on the chipped plaster walls. A crude Aether-tube was bolted above them. The crystal rod buzzed softly behind its transparent glass, casting a cold, sickly blue glow over the room. Under that unnatural light, the faces in the cheap frames looked pale and exhausted. Just strangers, he was now supposed to call family. Across the cramped space, a narrow wooden staircase led to the upper floor. The steps sagged in the centre from years of heavy footfalls. Beside the base of the stairs stood a single, firmly closed door. The father’s room. Agastya stood perfectly still. The brass lock of the entrance door clicked as Eowyn stepped inside behind him, bringing a brief, biting draft of the outside air before shutting out the street completely. "I will bring dinner to your rooms," Elara said, tossing her shawl over a wooden peg by the door. Her voice carried the tired, mechanical efficiency of a younger sister who was used to carrying the weight of a poor household. She looked between the two of them, the dim light catching the exhaustion under her eyes. "You both go and wash up." Agastya simply nodded, mirroring Eowyn's silent compliance. Without waiting for another word, Elara turned and headed down the short hall toward the kitchen, her footsteps squeaking softly on the worn floorboards. He and Eowyn parted ways at the top of the sagging stairs, heading into their separate rooms on the upper floor. Agastya stepped inside his designated quarters and let his eyes adjust to the gloom. A simple wooden bed sat tucked into the far corner, directly opposite the door. On the adjacent wall, a narrow window let in the jaundiced yellow glow of the streetlamps outside. He shut the heavy wooden door behind him, the latch clicking shut, finally sealing himself away from the performance of family. A few paces away stood a small, sturdy table. Agastya walked over to it, his boots silent against the floorboards. Resting on the wood were two heavy lanterns, their metallic surfaces glinting faintly in the bleeding yellow light from the window. He inspected the nearest one. There was a small brass switch near the heavy iron base. He pressed it. Instantly, a sharp, cold blue light flared to life, radiating from the housed Aether crystal within and casting harsh shadows against the wall. He reached over and pressed the switch on the second lantern, letting the dual hum of the Aether rods fill the quiet room. Under the stark, unnatural blue illumination, the details of Astragan’s private sanctuary finally came into sharp focus. His gaze swept the rest of the room. A heavy wooden cupboard stood in the far corner. He needed to wash the grime of the bakery—and the lingering, phantom sweat of his own death—off his skin. He paused, his sharp mind searching for the layout of the house. ‘Where is the washroom?’ Closing his eyes for a fraction of a second, he mentally sifted through Astragan's residual memories. The answer surfaced immediately: there were