The first rays of dawn cut through the motionless city, gleaming against the mansion’s ornate stone fa?ade. Aion paused at the base of the grand staircase leading to the entrance, a flutter of awe—and something like dread—stirring inside his chest. This imposing structure would become more than just a roof over his head. It was a symbol of possibility in a world where nothing else moved.

  He exhaled slowly, his breath forming a pale cloud in the crisp morning air. “This is going to take everything I have,” he murmured. With a purposeful shove, he pushed open the mansion’s massive double doors. The echoing groan of the hinges seemed to ripple through the stillness, stirring up a swirl of dust motes in the first warm light of the day.

  Inside, an expansive entry hall greeted him—a relic of another era. Despite cracked windows and faded tapestries, the mansion’s grandeur was undeniable. Twin staircases curved up from the foyer, each step draped in a shroud of dust. Beneath mildewed sheets, abandoned furniture hinted at former opulence.

  Aion pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket and ran his gaze across the high ceilings and polished (though time-worn) floors. First things first, he reminded himself, flipping open to a blank page. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

  He toured each section methodically, scrawling notes and sketches as he went. The vast entry hall, with its lofty ceiling and open layout, felt like a natural nerve center for his new base.

  “Maps, supplies, maybe a command station here,” he murmured.

  “From this spot, everything else could branch out.”

  Adjacent to the hall lay a formal dining room where an imposing wooden table spanned nearly the entire length. Its surface was scarred by age, but Aion imagined it as a robust workbench—or perhaps a communal table for a future he couldn’t yet fully envision. A connecting kitchen—outdated but spacious—sparked possibilities of laboratory setups for cooking, chemistry, or agricultural experiments.

  Further exploration led him to the mansion’s library, and Aion halted in his tracks the moment he entered. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined every wall, hosting an untouched trove of books. Dust coated their spines, dulling the titles, but the sheer presence of so much knowledge radiated a quiet power.

  “This is it,” he whispered, fingertips lightly brushing a thick tome’s spine.

  He imagined hours spent poring over these volumes, gleaning everything from art and philosophy to advanced engineering. In that instant, the silence didn’t feel so empty; it brimmed with promise.

  Heading upstairs, Aion noted a series of bedrooms—some modest, some lavish—and paused in the largest suite. Tall windows overlooked a garden caught in the bloom of spring, silent and unchanging. A private space for rest and reflection, he decided, already picturing a desk by the window for quiet writing or contemplation.

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  But the ballroom seized his attention most. Dusty parquet floors, a chandelier frozen in mid-sway, vast echoes waiting to be filled. He could imagine using the space for large-scale projects, art endeavors, or even physical training. The open area felt ripe for any number of transformations.

  Not all discoveries were encouraging. In the basement, he found a corridor half-collapsed by crumbling beams and debris. Dim light revealed caved-in passages and mangled pipes, hinting at significant structural damage. That’s a whole other battle, he acknowledged, pen scribbling an urgent note in his notebook.

  Outside, the estate sprawled further than he’d realized. Paths wound through a once-manicured garden, now cloaked in wild overgrowth. A broken greenhouse clung to the side of the mansion, its shattered panes scattering sunlight in fractured patterns. A stable, an ornate fountain, and patches of what could have been colorful flowerbeds added another layer of intrigue.

  “This place is practically a kingdom,” he breathed, wiping sweat from his brow despite the chill. “A kingdom of work.”

  As he wandered the grounds, ideas flooded his mind: reviving the garden for crops, repairing the greenhouse for experiments, reimagining the courtyard as a sanctuary for quiet reflection.

  Back inside, he settled onto a dusty armchair in the grand hall, flipping his notebook to a fresh page. The sun rose higher, illuminating specks of dust in a golden haze. He sketched a rough blueprint:

  Entry Hall: Main coordination center.

  Dining Room: Large worktable or shared space.

  Library: Research and extended study.

  Ballroom: Flexible area for major projects or training.

  Bedrooms: Rest quarters, specialized labs or studios.

  Gardens: Agriculture, outdoor experiments.

  Every line reminded him of the immense labor ahead—structural reinforcements, plumbing and electrical repairs, horticulture knowledge he’d need to master from scratch. He closed his eyes a moment, taking it all in. A year? Two? A century? He had no real timeline anymore. All I have is time, he reminded himself.

  Yet instead of feeling crushed by the sheer magnitude, he sensed a spark of exhilaration. This is a way to matter, he thought—a means to build something in a world that would otherwise remain frozen.

  At length, he rose, brushing dust from his coat and gathering up his notebook. “All right,” he said, his voice echoing in the silence. “One step at a time.”

  He climbed the sweeping staircase, sunbeams stretching across the landing to greet him. In that warm glow, the mansion felt less like a decaying monument and more like a living entity waiting for his touch. Purpose thrummed in Aion’s veins, dispelling the long shadows of isolation.

  Yes, it would be a colossal undertaking. But in this suspended world, purpose was currency—and he had just found an endless reserve.

  Henry David Thoreau