ã€ŠOrsus Recordã€‹


 C0 Prologue

    People often remarked that memory was akin to a spider''s web, an intricate tapestry that danced beautifully while radiating the very essence of life. This web stretched and intertwined in convoluted patterns, not only within the confines of the mind but also resonating with the myriad emotions that painted the human experience.

    Just as the spiders danced a delicate ballet when crafting their silken masterpieces, so too did humans partake in a similar dance, weaving their memories with every step. Each gossamer thread of this vast web held fragments of the past, encapsulating moments and emotions, as if inscribing one''s very existence upon the canvas of the world.

    Within this delicate lattice, every nuance of life was captured. Each strand whispered tales of joy and sorrow, of triumphs celebrated and defeats mourned. The countless threads, each holding its unique story, intertwined and overlapped, creating a complex mosaic of existence.

    Yet, as with all things in nature, there was a fragility to this web of memories. Much like the spider''s creations that quivered at the gentlest breeze, memories too were susceptible to the ravages of time. They could become obscured by the ever-encroaching mists of forgetfulness, their once-vivid hues fading into obscurity. The fear of these precious moments being lost to the abyss was ever-present, casting its shadow and reminding all of the transient nature of their recollections.

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    Much like the diligent spiders of the mortal realm, who meticulously crafted their intricate webs, the denizens of these plains too wove the fabric of their memories. They captured every nuance, every experience, and added it to the ever-expanding tapestry of their existence. Each thread, delicate yet strong, held within it the essence of a time gone by, forever etched in the annals of the Ethereal.

    However, the beauty of this ever-expanding web came with its own set of challenges. As memories layered upon one another, they sometimes muddled the clarity of truth. The web, in its vastness, could entangle, leading one down paths of distorted perceptions and half-remembered dreams. The once-clear waters of recollection could become murky, with the lines between reality and illusion blurring, making it hard to discern one from the other.

    Over time, some strands would fray, their vibrant hues fading into the mists of obscurity. These were the memories at risk of vanishing, their intricate details eroding with each fleeting moment. Until, inevitably, we come to realize: memories consume us.

 C1 The Guide

    In the silence that enveloped the ancient dungeon, the groaning of stones and the screams of the fallen created a chilling symphony. He stood atop a pool of his victims'' blood, the bodies strewn haphazardly, crafting a grim tableau.

    There he stood, his once pitch-black eyes now transformed, the pupils a vivid blue indicating a consciousness seeping back in. His hair, previously black, gradually turned to gold, and his skin, once a deep shadow, now recovered, no longer as dark as before.

    As his awareness returned, he turned and surveyed his surroundings with those blue eyes, his gaze sweeping over each corpse¡ª one, two, five, nine. He recognized every lifeless face before him. This full awakening brought with it bitter memories¡ªmemories of the mission he had undertaken and the comrades who had now become victims.

    He vividly recalled the ten heroes from across different continents gathered by King Tytoal-ba to conquer the ancient dungeon in the Wetlands. Dunoa the Ashen, Goria the Giant, and Sophia the Second were the first three heroes to arrive in Tytoal-ba, followed by Rushoa, the twin Fiammie, Gargant, and Tunoa, each coming by a different ship.

    They were lured by leaflets pinned to guild boards or sent on missions by the kings from their own lands. The eight of them assembled in the royal hall, united by a common purpose: to plunder the ancient dungeon that Kaleb, the eldest son of King Tytoal-ba, had discovered. They were promised wealth and honor, for the legend stated that the dungeon had existed since the dawn of time, and whoever conquered it would receive a reward beyond imagination.

    If his count was correct, there were eight heroes, along with Kaleb, his assistant, and a guide named Fionn who entered the dungeon.

    The rhythm of his memory suddenly faltered, as if a shroud of mist descended upon his thoughts, slowly lifting as he tried to focus. Unexpectedly, he glanced down at what he was clutching so tightly; his pupils widened in shock when he realized it wasn''t a weapon, but rather a severed hand and a severed foot. Reflexively, gasping for breath, he threw them to the ground. His eyes darted around, scanning for any clue to the identity of these dismembered limbs. He examined every detail¡ªthe ornaments and the torn fabric still clinging to them¡ªeach a perfect match for what Kaleb used to wear.

    A shadowy image of Kaleb, in familiar attire, started to form in his mind. Questions with no answers raced through his head, desperately trying to piece together how and why these parts ended up in his hands.

    Becoming aware of his own state, he noticed he wasn''t wearing any clothes, and his hands and body were covered in blood. A chill crept through his bones, and in a panic, he rushed to find the nearest source of water. His eyes caught a glint of light from a puddle created by magic during the earlier battle. Without hesitation, he stumbled toward it, as if his soul hadn''t yet returned to him, fragmented by the horrors he had just witnessed.

    He stumbled into the puddle left behind from the battle, panic overtaking him as he began to wash away every drop of blood clinging to his skin. From his face to his entire body, he kept scrubbing, trying to erase the evidence of a brutality he couldn''t understand.

    "What happened?!" he wondered, his mind spinning. He couldn''t remember why he was holding pieces of Kaleb''s body, why he was drenched in blood, or why he was completely naked. Every time he tried to reach back into his memories, they slipped away, leaving him in a haze of uncertainty.

    His hands stopped scrubbing, but the ripples in the water continued to spread. Suddenly, a question came to him, clear and urgent: "Who am I?" It was strange, he should know his own identity, but at that moment, everything felt foreign to him.

    The ripples in the water slowly subsided, and he splashed his face, seeking clarity in the reflection that began to emerge. Finally, a face he recognized became visible in the rippling surface.

    He rose to his feet, a sense of disbelief gripping him. He was sure he''d seen that face before, just recently, very recently. Without wasting any time, he ran to the last place he remembered seeing it. His steps were swift, taking him back to the source of this newfound realization.

    He was out of breath as he stood over the corpse of someone he recognized. The condition wasn''t as terrible as the others, suggesting this person had died more peacefully, despite the gaping hole in his left chest.

    The dead man appeared young, around 16 years old, with an average build, golden hair, and blue eyes. He lay facedown, and through the hole in his chest, the dungeon floor was visible. Fionn paused, his body trembling as he slowly stepped back, shaken by the depth of the realization hitting him.

    "How is this possible?!" he exclaimed in confusion. He touched his own face and then looked at the golden-haired man before him.

    It was unmistakable¡ªthis was Fionn, the guide hired by Kaleb to navigate the dungeon. But that wasn''t what stunned him the most. He was still out of breath, his body quivering with a mix of fear and disbelief.

    He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Slowly, he crouched down, drawing closer to confirm what felt like an inescapable truth. His sharp gaze locked onto the features of the lifeless man lying before him, scrutinizing each detail to validate his suspicions.

    "No doubt about it," he murmured, his voice quivering as he swallowed hard. The person lying dead in front of him had the same characteristics as the one he had just seen in the water''s reflection¡ªit was his own face.

    The face he knew, the memories now slowly reconnected, and all the facts he assembled pointed to a shocking conclusion: he was, unknowingly, Fionn the Guide.

    Haunted by endless questions, he felt as if his mind was filled with an ever-growing puzzle. ¡°How could this be?¡± he muttered again, pure confusion written all over his face. Why did he, who shared the same face as the corpse in front of him, have blood all over himself? Who was the real Fionn, and how could he have forgotten so much about his own identity?

    The sheer weight of this information was overwhelming, making it hard to think clearly. The only clear thought he could grasp was that he needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

    ¡°I need to leave this place,¡± he said, his voice weary but resolute. He grabbed the clothes belonging to ''Fionn'' lying nearby¡ªa white shirt with a brown vest that had a large rip through the chest, front to back. Although the clothes were far from perfect, he wore them with a confidence driven by the need to survive. He also took a pair of gray trousers, ensuring to cover as much of his exposed skin as possible.

    He knew that wearing the heroes'' clothing might not be the best option¡ªit could raise suspicion from anyone he encountered outside. Even though the ''Fionn'' outfit he now wore wasn''t in great shape, at least it offered some form of camouflage.

    With the guide''s memories swirling in his mind, Fionn felt as if he was being driven by instincts older than himself. His steps grew more confident, his resolve strengthened with each passing second. He ran, following the footsteps of the heroes who had walked this path before him, each turn and corridor bringing him closer to freedom.

    He turned right, his pace relentless. From the heart of the dungeon to the entrance, there were only four more turns to go. Each step brought him closer to the light, and with every breath, he felt the oppressive dampness of the dungeon beginning to ease.

    "But where do I go?" Fionn pondered, caught in a dilemma as he sprinted toward freedom. The dark corridors felt drier, and the air grew fresher with each stride. The last turn passed, and he reached the entrance.

    Light pierced the darkness, flooding his vision after that final bend.

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    Fionn didn''t slow down, even as the light began to seep through the cracks in the door, revealing a dense wall of transparent energy that blocked his path. The closer he got, the clearer the barrier became.

    Suddenly, an eerie feeling washed over Fionn. Something wasn''t right. He strained to recall crucial details, fighting for any fragments of memory that might offer a clue. His steps halted right at the entrance, his face only inches from the transparent door.

    As he retraced his steps in his mind, Fionn realized there was a disturbing inconsistency in his memory. If there were nine bodies on the ground, and he distinctly remembered that ten people¡ªincluding himself as the guide¡ªentered the dungeon, then one person was unaccounted for. He knew his memory never lied, so the choice he had to make was clear: turn back or proceed through the barrier. It was all down to one step.

    "But who?" Fionn murmured, perplexed. "I counted everyone, there should be ten heroes, including Kaleb and his assistant, even Fionn the Guide." The feeling that something was seriously wrong tightened its grip on his heart, driving his anxiety to new heights.

    "If I go back there, the kingdom''s guards might be on their way to find Kaleb," he continued, weighing the unpredictability of time. What if the royal security was already en route? Or worse, what if they had already arrived?

    The air grew increasingly stifling, as if the atmosphere itself was pressing against his lungs. It wasn''t just from the fatigue of running; there was something more sinister creeping into his thoughts.

    Suddenly, Fionn caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. There was activity¡ªfaint, but unmistakable. Could it be a guard, or perhaps one of the other heroes he hadn''t noticed before? His heart raced, contemplating the risks of proceeding further.

    "Someone must have been overlooked," he whispered, speaking to the reflection of himself in the doorway. "There must be someone else... or something that''s still unaccounted for."

    He took a step back, carefully turning around, preparing himself for any possibility. But what he saw made him freeze in place, stunned by the horrifying sight.

    In front of him stand a man in a pitiable state. Deep wounds marred his body, his left arm hung limply, almost useless. His face was nearly unrecognizable¡ªtoo many injuries¡ªbut the color of his hair, a shade bathed in blood, was eerily similar to what Fionn remembered.

    Fionn gazed at the figure lying on the ground, and a ray of relief warmed his face as he recognized who it was. "You... Fiammie''s twin..." he said slowly, his voice filled with a mix of shock and relief. "How did you end up here? Thank goodness, at least someone''s still alive."

    The tension that had gripped him began to ease, his posture relaxed, and his breathing returned to normal.

    But the calm didn''t last long.

    Fionn, who had just felt relief at finding Fiammie still alive, suddenly sensed tension flood back into his body. The atmosphere around him shifted, the air grew heavier, and he began to struggle for breath. An aura of rage hung in the air, and its source was unmistakable...

    "DON''T COME ANY CLOSER!" Fiammie screamed, raising his hand as a faint red aura shimmered around his palm.

    Fionn''s heart nearly leaped out of his chest at the sound of the shout. Fiammie stood with his hand still raised, his expression a mix of fear and defiance. "Fiammie, it''s me! Fionn, your guide... You know me, don''t you?" Fionn''s voice carried a tone of desperation, trying to cut through the panic that was clear in Fiammie''s eyes.

    A faint, bitter smile crossed Fiammie''s lips, but his words were laden with deep resentment. "A monster pretending to be human," he said with a cold edge. "I saw what you did, you bastard. The real Fionn died when you slaughtered the other heroes."

    "You''re just a monster wearing his skin," Fiammie continued, his anger simmering. A heat began to gather in his hand, forming a ball of energy the size of a grown man''s fist, growing denser and hotter, like a miniature sun hovering in front of him.

    Fionn''s memories kept rolling through his mind, but he couldn''t grasp or understand the accusations Fiammie was throwing at him. He was certain of his identity¡ªhe was Fionn, the real guide.

    "Are you sure you''re not mistaking the monster who died for me? I''m the real Fionn," he said, trying to clear the misunderstanding. "Please, lower your hand. I can take you to the doctor I know, and then we''ll go to Tytoal-ba."

    But Fiammie didn''t move, his hand still raised, and the miniature sun he created became denser and hotter. The red aura that initially centered around his hand now started to envelop the entire corridor, making the atmosphere even more intense.

    The once-damp corridor walls began to dry and then melt from the intense heat of the energy ball. Fear was written all over Fionn''s face; he could step back and leave, but he knew he couldn''t just abandon Fiammie, not when things had escalated like this.

    "A creature like you should never be allowed to leave this dungeon!" Fiammie yelled, his voice echoing with determination. "It''s my duty, as the last remaining hero, to avenge my fallen comrades."

    ¡¸Insolo¡¹¡ªthe incantation left Fiammie''s lips, and the miniature sun shot toward Fionn. The distance between them was less than ten meters, and the blazing orb sped toward Fionn with terrifying speed.

    In that critical moment, Fionn froze in the corridor, his legs feeling as if they were rooted to the ground. He wanted to turn and leap to safety, but escape seemed impossible. The approaching miniature sun, the product of Fiammie''s rage, only added to the mounting pressure, but then¡ªunexpectedly¡ªa surge of memory washed over him.

    Almost by instinct, his hands moved. His right hand extended forward, while his left hand cradled his right, a gesture that seemed both strange and familiar. In a flash, a dense mass of dark energy began to form in front of his right palm, hovering and growing larger, taking on the shape of a softball-sized sphere of inky darkness.

    The distance between Fionn and the deadly ¡¸Insolo¡¹ quickly diminished, and with no other choice, he closed his right hand and then reopened it, as if pushing the dark sphere outward. The black ball shot forth with astonishing speed, creating a shockwave that threw Fionn back a few steps.

    The black sphere collided with ¡¸Insolo¡¹ and exploded through it. The once-menacing miniature sun shattered into countless fragments, disintegrating into dust without leaving a trace that could harm Fionn.

    Meanwhile, Fiammie was stunned by Fionn''s sudden counterattack. His shock was clear as the black sphere zoomed toward him, unstoppable. In an instant, it pierced Fiammie''s chest, leaving him with wide-eyed disbelief, unable to react.

    As Fiammie reached to touch the hole in his chest with his right hand, his confusion transformed into a sharp glare aimed at Fionn across from him. "You monster," he said with a sly smile, the kind that hinted at a bitter satisfaction, before his body slumped to the ground a few seconds later. The sound of his body hitting the dungeon floor echoed, a haunting noise that made Fionn freeze, overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness.

    "FIAMMIE!!!" Fionn cried, rushing over to cradle Fiammie''s fallen body. Panic and fear painted his face as he tried to understand what had just transpired. "Oh no, I''m sorry, I didn''t know what that was," he said, his voice trembling with remorse.

    The light in Fiammie''s eyes slowly dimmed, yet he managed a faint smile as he watched Fionn panic by his side. "What is this monster doing?" he wondered in his final moments. His last attempt to avenge the fallen heroes had failed, and he died at the hands of the guide he once believed was an enemy in disguise.

    Fionn felt the weight of Fiammie''s body growing lighter in his arms, a clear and unmistakable sign that life had left his friend''s body. "What was that..." he whispered, his voice choked with emotion, as tears began to stream down his cheeks, wetting Fiammie''s pale and cold face. "Reflex, just reflex. I didn''t mean to do that." His voice sounded hollow, as if he wasn''t entirely convinced by his own words.

    He raised both hands to the sky, as if seeking understanding or forgiveness from some unseen force, his voice filled with pain and regret, "He attacked me first, so I was defending myself." Yet as he spoke, he felt as if he was talking to an empty space, trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

    While looking at Fiammie''s lifeless body, Fionn kept repeating to himself, "It''s true, I was just defending myself," his voice trembling, trying to calm the turmoil in his heart and mind. Memories of the times he spent with Fiammie¡ªbefore and after they entered the dungeon¡ªbegan to flood his thoughts.

    He recalled the silly moments they shared¡ªlike when he accidentally made Fiammie slip in front of Kaleb, or when he spit out water when Dunoa unintentionally made a funny face. Those memories, once light and humorous, now tasted bitter, knowing that he had inadvertently caused the death of a friend and companion.

    And now, with Fiammie''s final scream accusing him of killing all the heroes, Fionn began to doubt everything. He struggled to recall the events that led up to this, searching for any memory that might explain what happened, but nothing surfaced. The urge to scream bubbled up, a release for his frustration and confusion, but he held it back with all his might.

    Standing on unsteady legs, Fionn steeled himself. In his despair, he created a narrative that might bring him some comfort or at least a reason to keep moving: "That Fionn over there is the imposter, the one who killed all the heroes. This tragedy happened because he disguised himself, and I, Fionn the guide, have to get out of here alive."

    "There''s nothing wrong; the heroes died because of the dungeon''s monsters, I woke up and knew the monster was dead, I was defending myself, and Fiammie died." Fionn repeated these words like a mantra, taking deep breaths, trying to reassure himself that what he did was justified.

    Now, he stood with more confidence, his body upright. He glanced briefly at Fiammie''s body lying in front of him, tears welling up in his eyes, but he fought them back with sheer willpower. Fiammie''s corpse sat slumped, his red hair blending with the blood around him, creating a bleak scene. The physical details remained the same as when Fiammie tried to attack Fionn, except for the large hole through his chest, with the dungeon wall visible through the gap.

    Pushing those images from his mind, Fionn turned and walked toward the dungeon''s exit.

 C2 Wetlands

    The lights from the buildings lined in rows flooded the city, reflecting the glimmer of memories from kiosks once familiar to him. Each step he took, every path he trod, was like opening an old, dusty book, where every page felt intimately familiar in his memory.

    Relentlessly, he looked left and right, sweeping his gaze over every corner of the streets that were no strangers to him. At this moment, he ran, relying solely on his instincts.

    Statues along the roadside, relics from the Wetlands folklore, showcased formidable merman figures, standing as guardians through the ages. The streets he navigated were packed with crowds and a tight array of old buildings, leaving little room to breathe. The large pillars supporting some of the older buildings stood strong, yet the once pristine white and cream marble facades had long since lost their luster and now bore silent witness to the decline of an era. The buildings stood closely packed, allowing only a narrow space between them, with only every six or seven buildings having a small alleyway to the side.

    The majestic past has been eroded, now the buildings are cluttered with patches from industrial remnants; scrap metal and glass repurposed as permanent cladding that wraps around every corner, turning the urban face of the Wetlands into a gloomy painting that has lost the radiance of its former glory.

    Bright yellow light paints the silhouette of Fionn and casts shadows over this urban town, which grows ever dimmer with marble colors eroded by haphazard patchwork done by the inhabitants, further compounded by the geographic conditions of the Wetlands situated beneath the sea. Visibility often restricted to just a few meters makes artificial lighting in the city vitally important, augmented by coral light that hides in the city''s crevices. Neon lights, glowing in shades of bright yellow and deep blue, cut through the darkness, drawing bold lines and curves against the backdrop of the city. This new layer of construction, made up of glass steel and composite plastics, attempts to heal old wounds but fails to capture the original essence. These materials, though less noble than marble, are more adaptable to the harsh marine conditions, towering high, creating skyscraper structures that strive to scratch the belly of the dome.

    For Fionn, this city is now nothing more than a collection of relics from a past long lost in sparkle, far outstripped by Tytoal-Ba. The Wetlands now rely solely on the leftovers from the city above and are slowly torn apart by the encroaching influence of industry.

    Fionn''s memory was abruptly interrupted when he accidentally bumped into someone, tumbling down with a surge of panic. The person, tall and clad in unique attire, appeared as a striking figure. Their clothes, made from recycled materials, were adorned with distinctive ornaments of iron, silver, even gold, creating the illusion of belonging to an intimidating elite. Yet, the outfit remained elegant and had become a trend among the Wetlands residents, far removed from any notion of shabbiness.

    "Watch where you''re going!" the person exclaimed in a sharp tone, remaining unyielding in their stance as they continued on their way, indifferent to Fionn still seated on the ground.

    Without hesitation, Fionn stood up straight, quickly patting the back of his pants to ensure no dirt had clung to him. His gaze then fixed on a towering structure in the center of the city, constructed from remnants of iron which, despite clearly being recycled components, still formed a structure piercing the sky. The tower, about 50 meters high and as wide as two buildings from Fionn¡¯s perspective, featured four spires symmetrically protruding from the rim of its crater-like top. Above it, a glowing orb hung, capable of illuminating the entire city, touching just the tip of the city''s sky dome.

    The Artificial Sun, as the Wetlands residents called it. Since natural sunlight never penetrated the depths where the city lay, the ancestors had decided to create a synthetic sun using magic. No one knew exactly how they did it, but what was certain was that this Artificial Sun had lit up the Wetlands for over a century before the industrial age arrived.

    Fionn continued his run, his mind focused on a single goal: heading to a place he certainly knew. Now, he trusted only in the pace of his feet, allowing his eyes to study the dome that sheltered the city.

    He looked up, observing the colossal ribcage-like structure that covered the city from one end to the other, as if it were an eternal bond protecting the Wetlands. According to his knowledge, the dome made of giant bones had been there since the day Wetlands was founded. The transparent magical barrier it created shielded the city and its inhabitants, holding back the water, the pressure from the vast ocean, and the threats from sea monsters lurking nearby.

    Without the Orcicea Dome, the Wetlands would not have survived to this day. This dome is the pride of the Wetlands residents.

    Fionn''s pace slowed to a halt when his eyes caught a street sign labeled "Deep Rotorua." Coral light illuminated the sign, making its lettering clear and stirring something within him. The panic that had once clouded his face now gave way to a look of relief.

    "My home is around here," he murmured softly, his voice barely audible. He began to steal glances, trying to recall and confirm which street seemed to beckon his memories. However, as he prepared to move forward, a strange feeling overtook him¡ªa sense of discomfort that gnawed at him, warning him not to pass through the front door as usual.

    This time, it wasn''t memory that provoked him, but an intuition urging him to find an alternative way to his home.

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    Quickening his steps again, his eyes darted around, searching for a staircase. Instead of taking the usual path, he chose to climb the stairs. His hands deftly scaled each iron step mounted on the side of a beverage vendor''s building. Fortunately, no one noticed him, allowing him to reach the roof without any obstacles.

    With every muscle screaming in protest, Fionn continued to forge ahead, pushing himself beyond the brink of exhaustion. Each smokestack he encountered on the rooftops posed its own challenge; he vaulted over them with the agility that reminded one of a wild cat weaving through obstacles. It wasn''t just one or two, but every chimney in his path was conquered with swift, precise movements that were nothing short of spectacular.

    As his momentum peaked, he inadvertently crashed into a pile of laundry. The clothes flew off, dancing in the wind like kites freed from the hands of children, creating a kaleidoscope of bright colors against the gray city air. With quick reflexes, Fionn jumped onto a clothesline, balancing perfectly as he walked across it.

    Not satisfied with just that, he continued his run, swiftly scaling building walls using pipes and other available structures. Building after building, he conquered, sliding from one rooftop to the next, running along edges, and leaping across gaps that could only be crossed with daring jumps.

    Fionn kept running, ascending a large ventilation shaft, and with a powerful leap, he soared across an open space, landing smoothly on a lower surface. Relentlessly, he moved on, navigating the urban labyrinth at an astounding speed, each movement merging with the rhythm of his racing heart¡ªten minutes that felt like an eternity.

    Finally, he arrived in front of his bedroom window. Almost disbelieving that he had made it, he paused momentarily, staring at the window with a deep sense of satisfaction.

    Carefully, Fionn searched for a gap to open the window. The moment he found his chance, he slid in without further delay. His exhausting run had finally paid off¡ªhis sore legs forced him to collapse onto the floor, his body and wet clothes spreading moisture around him, his breaths coming in gasps as he lay on his bedroom floor.

    Suddenly, the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs shattered the silence. Fionn started, hastily rising to his feet, though his head spun slightly from the slow return of blood to his brain. With quick reflexes, his hand grabbed his clothes and tossed them under the bed, attempting to hide any trace of his presence.

    Right after, he began to perform some stretching exercises, raising his arms above his head and bending forward, making sure his body appeared as if it had been sweating from intense physical activity.

    As he heard the footsteps drawing nearer, Fionn swiftly dropped to the floor and began a series of quick push-ups. He made his breathing intentionally heavy and rhythmic, creating the illusion that he had been engaging in strenuous exercise before the arrival of the person climbing the stairs.

    The door to his room opened with a decisive sound, and in front of it stood a middle-aged man, imposing in stature. He wore a black fedora atop his head, complemented by an elegant black suit and a crisp white shirt underneath. Further adding to his mysterious aura, he donned a cloak, the bottom of which split into four segments. In his hand, he held a walking stick topped with a carved Orca, enhancing his aura of wisdom.

    "Why aren''t you wearing a shirt?" the man asked, his tone more curious than angry.

    Fionn, momentarily startled by the man''s appearance, quickly recognized him. It was Paris, the eldest brother in the house, whose return from work at this time should indeed have been expected, so his presence didn''t overly surprise Fionn.

    "Workout," Fionn replied softly, trying to sound convincing even though he wasn''t entirely sure about his makeshift excuse.

    "Why didn''t you come out after I called you from downstairs?" Paris asked, his tone laden with expectation.

    "Eh, you called, bro?" Fionn responded, feigning surprise.

    Paris raised his eyebrows, clearly not fully convinced by Fionn¡¯s delayed response. "Yes, I called a few times. Didn''t you hear me?"

    Paris stared at Fionn for a moment, as if trying to dispel the earlier question before saying, ¡°Go take a shower and come down quickly, I''ve brought dinner.¡±

    Paris then closed the door and headed downstairs. Fionn exhaled a sigh of relief, grateful that his brother didn¡¯t probe any further. Nonetheless, a profound fatigue enveloped him; although he was freed from further questioning, a truly peaceful rest seemed far off.

    Fionn grabbed a towel hanging on the left side of his room, but his eyes were immediately drawn to a book lying on the table. It wasn¡¯t his¡ªa seemingly plain object, adorned only by a single sheet of paper with elegantly scripted writing, the loops and swirls of the letters dancing gracefully across the page, drawing him in with their beauty.

    Driven by deep curiosity, he picked up the paper, his eyes widening in astonishment. He should have remembered if he had ever penned such beautiful calligraphy, should have recognized the existence of this book, but no memory came to him at all.

    He clearly read the writing in that paper, a message seemingly meant specifically for him:

    "To my other self."

    Spurred by overwhelming curiosity, Fionn quickly opened the first page, then rapidly turned the subsequent pages one after another. His expression of astonishment grew more pronounced with each page turned.

    However, what he found only deepened his confusion¡ªthere was no writing at all within the book. It was completely empty, from the first page to the last he viewed.

    Frustration and bewilderment rolled through Fionn''s mind like waves. Why was there a book without content labeled "To my other self"? Was this some kind of joke?

    Next, Fionn took the book to the window, where the artificial sunlight of the Wetlands illuminated each page, hoping to discover some sort of ink that would only appear under a specific type of light. Still, the pages remained blank, devoid of any hidden messages or instructions.

    Fionn then looked for a pen, determined to fill the empty pages of the book with his own story if necessary. However, when he tried to write the first words, not a single drop of ink could stain the book''s paper. He was shocked, almost disbelieving that the ink left no trace on the paper at all.

    Confused, he grabbed another sheet of paper from his desk to prove that the pen he was using still worked properly. With a swift movement, he dragged the pen across the paper, and as expected, the ink flowed smoothly, forming lines and words without any obstruction.

    "It works here," Fionn muttered to himself, his brow furrowed in confusion.

    Fionn exhaled deeply, feeling stumped. "I better eat something," he said softly, thinking that filling his stomach might help dispel the fatigue and confusion swirling in his mind. With somewhat heavy steps, he moved toward the bathroom, planning to freshen up before eating.

 C3 Dinner

    The cold, damp wooden floor sent shivers through him, water cascading off his still-wet body. The concept of bathing was alien to him. In Fionn''s memory, bathing was a simple ritual: wash the body with water, lather with soap, then rinse again. Though simple, the effects felt extraordinary, as if all aches vanished, and the call of the bed became irresistibly stronger.

    Fionn stood before the mirror, mesmerized by his reflection. "Golden hair, dark red eyes, height..." he murmured, scrutinizing himself with a thoughtful pause. He did not grasp the concept of age, but his body seemed to suggest he was around sixteen years old.

    His dark red eyes gleamed like rubies, radiating a mysterious glow under the room''s light. His golden hair shimmered, creating an enchanting contrast. He continued to examine himself, trying to understand every detail of his newly noticed body.

    He lifted one of his arms, bent his elbow upwards, and flexed his bicep until its tone became prominent. The muscle bulged like a drawn bow ready to be released. Then, he attempted to flex his thigh muscle, hoping it would be as hard as marble, but he felt only the pliability of bamboo when it swayed.

    A look of surprise was clearly etched on Fionn''s face. He had assumed his thigh muscles were well-trained, given that he relied on his parkour skills and his legs to get home. Every leap and agile movement should have made his muscles strong and firm. However, the reality in the mirror was different from his expectations. As he continued to observe, his eyes fell on the most unfamiliar part of his body, the fruit hanging between his thighs, like a newly ripened banana. Curiosity crept into his mind, but he soon dismissed it, having never seen such a thing in his life.

    After engraving his own image into his memory, Fionn turned, ready to look for clothes, but his action was momentarily halted when his eyes landed on the neatly folded shirt and pants on the bed. Approaching the garments, he caught a whiff of a potent floral scent mixed with vanilla and a salty undertone, as if each thread had been bathed in the fresh aroma of the ocean''s edge. Fionn recognized this scent from his memory¡ªit was the distinctive fragrance of sea lilies.

    These sea lilies were no ordinary flowers; they only grew on the shores of Tytoal-ba, cultivated on the northern outskirts and thriving only in a specific type of sand. This unique scent was rare and seldom encountered elsewhere, especially in an underwater city like Wetlands, adding to the peculiarity of these clothes being in Fionn''s room.

    He furrowed his brow, sensing something amiss. Now, this scent enveloped the clothes on the bed. The question was, who had placed them here? Because just before he bathed, those clothes were not there.

    Fionn took a deep breath, letting the scent seep deeper, feeling a tickling sensation in his senses. He carefully picked up the clothes, feeling the softness of the fabric that seemed to beckon him to wear it. With quick movements, he put on the attire¡ªa comfortable white t-shirt for sleeping and soft fabric pants. A sense of familiarity emerged as the clothes enveloped his body.

    After dressing, he glanced at the mirror once more, ensuring his appearance. The clothes fit perfectly, as if they were made just for him. Fionn exhaled and stepped out of the room, walking down the long corridor towards the stairs. As he descended the steps, the scent of the clothes he wore still accompanied him, providing a strange sense of calm.

    Downstairs, Fionn heard a familiar chatter. Paris''s voice mingled with the laughter of someone well-known to him. Slowly, Fionn approached the dining table, curiosity tingling in his chest. When Paris saw Fionn, a warm smile spread across his face. "Ah, there you are! Come, let''s eat," he said cheerfully.

    Fionn sat across from Lon, his fourth sibling, while Paris sat at the right end, between them. They were close, and in front of them was a white plastic bag brought by Paris. The bag looked ordinary, yet Paris seemed proud of having brought it.

    Across from Fionn sat Lon, with long, disheveled hair, wearing an oversized blue shirt and shorts. His skin was smooth and fair from head to toe, even his hair shone black. It was no wonder, considering Lon always stayed at home, keeping everything in order. After all, he was the one who took care of the house when we were not around.

    Memories flooded Fionn''s mind, explaining why the house was always clean and the clothes on his bed were neatly arranged. All of this was Lon''s handiwork. Without Lon, the house would undoubtedly be a total mess.

    "This food type of food that you can¡¯t get in Tytoal-ba, you should be grateful I managed to snag it," Paris said with pride. His hand calmly reached for the white plastic bag and slowly opened it, revealing the food inside.

    Inside the bag was a dish called Pigeans Geprek. Our eyes widened in surprise at the sight of it. "Why are you so shocked?" Paris asked, noticing our expressions.

    "It''s just that I''ve heard the Pigeans birds flying over Tytoal-ba are notorious for their terrible taste. So, even though flocks of Pigeans often hover above, the people of Tytoal-ba usually have the task of culling some of these birds to control their population," Lon explained, raising an eyebrow with a serious expression.

    "That''s exactly why it''s in high demand. The food stall just opened and was immediately swarmed by everyone. Only they know how to cook Pigeans birds to make them delicious," Paris explained, his smile growing wider.

    The dish looked like chicken, breaded and fried until crispy. The fried Pigeans birds were then smashed with a mallet until their bones, meat, and breading were all crushed, served with several sauce options.

    "I chose the Tomato Lemon sauce, by the way," Paris said as he began to devour his meal eagerly.

    Fionn glanced at Lon for a moment, and before he knew it, Lon had also taken a piece. His surprise deepened as the taste of the Pigeans Geprek was not as bad as he had imagined.

    Fionn quickly sampled his portion, and his reaction mirrored Lon''s¡ªastonishment. He hadn''t expected the food to be this delicious. The crunch in every bite blended perfectly with the tenderness of the Pigeans meat, enhanced by the tangy tomato sauce and the freshness of lemon. It was perfect, no wonder it was so sought after.

    The magical flavor of the dish seemed to transport Fionn to another dimension, where each bite was a harmonious blend of texture and taste. The crispy coating around the Pigeans meat created a symphony that delighted the palate, while the tender meat inside added an elegant touch that was hard to describe with words. The tangy tomato sauce and fresh lemon added a layer of flavor that made it irresistible.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Tears almost welled up in Fionn''s eyes. Did he deserve all this? Taking over a stranger''s body, killing everyone but himself, and now pretending to enjoy a comfortable life like this.

    Paris, noticing the change in Fionn''s expression, simply smiled with understanding. He gently offered a plate of Pigeans Geprek.

    "It''s a shame Adonis and Ashsa can''t join us," Paris said with a slightly somber note.

    Fionn was startled, memories began flooding his mind as he ate the Pigeans he had just taken. Each bite brought flashes of recollections that seemed to come from afar.

    "Adonis and Ashsa are on duty guarding the northern breach. The Alteker are busy holding off threats there while patching the breach," Lon explained, his voice calm but serious.

    "Maybe in three days, they''ll be home," he continued, eating his food casually.

    Adonis and Ashsa had just been accepted as Alteker, if Fionn¡¯s inherited memories were correct. They were indeed strong, but their personalities could be quite troublesome.

    "Good thing they''re not here; we can finally have a peaceful dinner," Fionn said, trying to sound casual, though there was a hint of longing in his words.

    "You say that, but you''re lonely without them," Paris remarked, a slight smile playing on his lips.

    Fionn knew well that the presence of Adonis and Ashsa could turn the dining table into a small battlefield. They tended to scatter food and create chaos. When Fionn thought about the peace he longed for at the dining table or the soft bed that could take him straight to dreamland, he felt a bit selfish but knew it was the best for now.

    "I hope they keep working overtime, so there''s not too much laundry to do," Lon wished.

    "How''s Tytoal-ba?" Lon asked while chewing his food.

    "What do you expect from a prosperous city up there? Every day they keep coming up with new innovations," Paris replied, his tone slightly cynical yet full of admiration. "In fact, some robots came to my office to help stamp letters. Honestly, I was surprised by such a thing, but I can''t deny that it made my job easier."

    Paris said this with a small laugh, making his siblings relieved to know that Paris''s tasks were not weighing heavily on his mind.

    "Oh, and you guys shouldn''t go out too often. The tension between Tytoal-ba and Wetlands doesn''t sound good to me," Paris added, his tone turning serious, unlike before. This immediately caught Fionn''s attention, sparking his curiosity.

    "I heard the crown prince went missing when he visited the Wetlands. So, they sent royal guard here to search for him. The situation is pretty tense, so it''s best to spend your time indoors," Paris said with a serious tone.

    Lon merely nodded nonchalantly, as if Paris''s warning was nothing new to him. Being a homebody, he was accustomed to boundaries and preferred spending his time indoors. However, a sudden fear appeared on Fionn''s face. The perpetrator of the crown prince''s disappearance was here, merrily eating with his family¡ªhimself. His hand trembled as he put some Pigeans in his mouth, his face pale. His heart raced, and sweat poured down his brow.

    Paris observed Fionn closely, noticing every small change in his face and body language. "Are you alright? You look sweaty," he asked with a tone full of concern, as if he could feel the waves of anxiety emanating from Fionn. His eyes stared intently, trying to penetrate the layers of unease hidden behind his calm facade.

    Fionn swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. "The sauce... it''s spicy," he replied quickly, his voice slightly trembling. He tried to cover up the growing nervousness that was becoming harder to control. His words were an escape, attempting to divert attention from the big secret haunting his mind. His trembling hand still held a piece of Pigeans, and he struggled not to show how stressed he was.

    Paris frowned, sensing something was off. He was sure he hadn''t ordered any spicy sauce. However, seeing Fionn trying so hard to hide his feelings, Paris decided not to press the issue. "Well, then, drink some water," he said with a faint smile, trying to ease the tension. He turned his attention back to his food, trying to enjoy each bite while still keeping an eye on Fionn from the corner of his eye. Paris set aside his suspicions and returned to his meal, although a hint of curiosity lingered in his mind.

    Meanwhile, Fionn tried hard to maintain his composure. Cold sweat trickled down his temples, and his heart pounded like a war drum beaten fiercely. He felt as if he were on stage, under the spotlight that exposed his every move. However, he knew he had to stay calm, keeping his secret hidden. The guilt and fear enveloping his heart grew heavier, but he tried not to show it.

    Without realizing it, all the food in front of them had disappeared. Fionn himself hadn''t noticed how much Pigeans he had eaten, yet his stomach still felt unsatisfied, a sign that his energy had been completely burned out just to get home. The atmosphere at the dining table returned to normal, but the shadows of fear still haunted Fionn''s mind.

    Each last bite of the remaining Pigeans felt like a weight binding his stomach, yet strangely, it wasn''t enough to satisfy him. It was as if the hunger he felt wasn''t from his body, but from his restless soul. His vision blurred momentarily, his eyes staring blankly at the now-empty plate. The sounds of laughter and conversation around the dining table seemed like distant background noise, unable to dispel the fear enveloping his heart.

    Although the food was gone, the fullness he felt was peculiar. His body experienced a profound fatigue, like a runner who had crossed the finish line after a long race. Eating with his family should have brought him peace, but for Fionn, that feeling never arrived. Every sound at the dining table, every cheerful laugh, seemed like an echo bouncing off distant walls, unable to reach his heart, which was shrouded in anxiety.

    People say that eating makes you sleepy. This is entirely true because blood flow is directed primarily to the digestive system for processing food, causing the brain to receive less blood and resulting in drowsiness. This is what Fionn felt. His eyes began to feel heavy, as if weights were hanging from his eyelids.

    "I think I''ll head straight upstairs," Fionn said, yawning widely, trying to fend off the sleepiness that had become overwhelming.

    "Must be nice, eating and then heading back to your room," Lon remarked.

    "Don''t blame me; all the blood in my brain has rushed to my stomach," Fionn retorted without a hint of laughter. He held his full stomach, feeling the effects of the meal settling there, and continued climbing the stairs, ignoring Lon¡¯s annoyed grumble. "As if you''re the only one who''s sleepy," Lon muttered, rolling his eyes.

    "Just rest, Fionn. You look exhausted," Paris offered gently. "I''ll help clean up the dishes."

    Hearing that, Fionn didn''t stop his stride for a moment. He continued to hurry to his room, like a warrior running toward a final refuge. When he opened the door and entered, he immediately removed his footwear and all the clothing that impeded his comfort. He leaped onto the bed, ready to be embraced by the softness of the mattress that seemed to call him into its warm hug. Every fold of the fabric beneath him felt like clouds bearing the weight of the world, offering a moment of peace amidst the storm raging in his mind.He glanced at the book lying on the table, curiosity still haunting him like a shadow that refused to leave. Slowly, he closed his eyes, pondering the possibilities of what he might do tomorrow.

    "Maybe I could go to the city tomorrow," he thought. "In my memories, there''s an acquaintance who loves antiques. Who knows, this book might interest him."

    He also felt the need to see the state of the city. Until now, all the information he had was based on the memories of the body''s previous owner. "I need to see it for myself, feel the pulse of this city with my own eyes and ears," he murmured.

    However, he knew he had to be cautious. Paris had warned about the tension between Tytoal-ba and Wetlands, as well as the presence of Alteker searching for the missing crown prince. His mind was restless.

    The more he thought, the more he drifted off. His body was unconsciously pulled by the overwhelming sleepiness. The sounds around him began to fade, turning into soft whispers that soothed him. His heartbeat slowly became a lullaby, putting him to sleep and carrying him into the embrace of dreams.

    "Maybe tomorrow will be a long day," he whispered to himself before finally surrendering to the sleep that enveloped him, allowing himself to sink into an endless sea of dreams, far from the reality that weighed on his mind.

 C4 Toady

    "Where the heck is it?!" My steps quickened, as if something was right on my heels. I emerged from the morning haze, but the familiar sign for Mozi''s shop was nowhere to be seen. It was like the whole world had shifted. The more I walked, the more the streets I thought I knew felt utterly foreign.

    "Isn''t that kid the one who keeps walking down that alley? Could he be the one Alteker is after?"

    The whispers got louder, or maybe it was just my panicked mind playing tricks on me¡ªghostly voices lurking in my thoughts. Fatigue began to weigh me down, forcing me to sit on an old park bench. The bench was made of aged wood, painted a light green that blended in with the ocean-blue theme of the surroundings. The park lamps were always lit, their greenish glow bouncing off everything, making the place feel oddly fresh. The creak of the bench beneath me felt like it was responding to my presence, breaking the silence. Fallen leaves lay scattered on the pathways, adding a sense of faded nostalgia to the scene. The bench''s chill seeped into my back, tempting me to stay longer, at least until my mind stopped spinning.

    I tried to think¡ªnorth, I told myself. If I kept heading north, I should reach the Wetland Market. Mozi''s shop should be there, but for some reason, I couldn''t find it. No sign, no hint of anything that screamed, "Hey, I¡¯m Mozi¡¯s place!"

    I closed my eyes, trying to recall the alleys I had walked through, one by one. But they were all blurry in my memory, like footprints in the sand washed away by waves. Nothing seemed like a clue, nothing felt real.

    I looked down at the book I was carrying, my fingers gripping the worn cover slightly. "Should I just sell this thing?" I sighed, my voice barely a whisper, just enough for myself.

    I opened my eyes, and there was a stranger sitting cross-legged in front of me, like he had appeared out of thin air. He just stared at me in silence.

    I closed my eyes again, trying not to think about what I had seen. I tried to focus, tried to remember the alleys I''d walked through. I let out a small, ironic smile as I thought, "Am I really that desperate? Imagining the way to Mozi''s and then Mozi himself just pops up in front of me?"

    But when I opened my eyes again, the stranger was still there. His ragged clothes were covered in layers of grime, with multiple tears that hinted at years of wear and neglect. A long, battered umbrella with an extended handle¡ªalmost as tall as he was¡ªleaned against his back, its tip pressed into the dirt to keep it steady. His unkempt hair hung in thick strands over his face, the bangs falling chaotically, blending into a thick, wild beard and mustache. His face was nearly swallowed by the mess of hair, leaving only his eyes barely visible, peering out with a kind of quiet intensity. A small, weathered bowl sat in front of him, chipped and stained, a testament to the rough life he led. His head was tilted slightly upward.

    He lifted the bowl and held it out to me, the faint clink of a few loose coins rattling around inside. It was a simple gesture, but it carried a weight that caught me off guard.

    "Huh?!" I stared at him, my face clearly showing my surprise. Just my luck¡ªof course, when all I wanted was a break, the universe threw more nonsense at me.

    I reluctantly pulled out my koi-patterned wallet from my back pocket, opening it with a sigh, and handed him a few coins. Maybe, just maybe, this would help lighten my bad luck a little.

    He took the bowl back, looked down at the coins, and then... handed them right back to me.

    "What?! Does he think I''m worse off than he is? Sorry, buddy, but these coins are all I''ve got. I''m broke too," I grumbled inwardly.

    "Food..." he murmured, his voice so weak it nearly disappeared into the air.

    "Give me food. I can''t eat the metal you''ve given me."

    I wanted to snap back, "Do I look like your personal chef? Use some common sense and buy yourself some food." But instead, what actually came out was far softer.

    "I don''t have any food right now, sir," I said, my voice filled with pity.

    He repeated the word, "Food," miming an exaggerated motion of eating invisible rice from his bowl, as if he were eating nothing but air. He kept repeating it, over and over.

    Ugh, what did he think I was, a magician who could conjure rice out of thin air? I thought to myself, feeling my patience thin.

    I gave him an awkward smile, then slowly got up from the bench, intending to leave this oddball behind.

    But suddenly, his hand grabbed my wrist, sticky and uncomfortably warm, stopping me in my tracks.

    Oh gross, sticky! What was this guy''s deal? Was he really eating imaginary rice or was it real somehow? And after all that, he still wanted more from me?

    I glanced back at the hobo. He had put the bowl down, but he was still miming the same ridiculous eating motion. My gaze turned awkward. If he wanted to tag along while I looked endlessly for Mozi¡¯s shop, then fine, he could come. I grabbed his arm and started dragging him along with me. It wasn¡¯t long before he spoke up.

    "You''re looking for Mozi''s shop, aren''t you?" he said suddenly.

    I froze, my feet stopping mid-step, and his sticky grip slowly loosened.

    I turned around, crouching down to meet his eyes at the same level. "You know where Mozi''s shop is?"

    That guy stood up, and his tone had changed completely¡ªno longer weak or desperate. His voice was now steady and clear. "I can take you to Old Man Mozi, but only if you give me something to eat."

    Was I really getting blackmailed by a hobo?

    ***

    We were sitting at this noodle joint near the park. Honestly, I knew next to nothing about the food around here¡ªI''d just landed in this place, after all¡ªso I let the hobo make the call on what to order.

    He didn¡¯t hesitate for even a second. He walked straight in and ordered like he owned the place.

    "Two large bowls of Mushroom Fish Noodles. If there''s anything else, just give me a shout," said the waitress as she placed two steaming bowls in front of us.

    So there I was, staring into the abyss of my bowl while this guy was already busy devouring his food, not even giving it a second thought.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    He must have been starving¡ªlike, truly. But Mushroom Fish Noodles? I''d never heard of anything like that. I ordered the same thing because, well, I was clueless. But seriously, mushroom fish? It didn''t exactly sound like a five-star meal.

    I stared at the bowl. Apparently, this was some local specialty from the western ruins¡ªfish with mushrooms growing all over it. Basically, I was about to eat a parasite. Just thinking about it made my stomach churn.

    "Not eating?" he asked, side-eyeing me as he slurped away.

    It had barely been three minutes, and while I was still examining the mystery food in front of me, his bowl was already empty. Were we even the same species? He seemed more like a walking vacuum cleaner than anything else.

    "I''m not hungry," I muttered, pushing the bowl away slightly.

    Without hesitation, he grabbed my bowl and inhaled the rest like it was nothing.

    I gave him a weird, awkward look, but he didn¡¯t care one bit.

    "How did you know I wanted to go to Mozi''s shop?" I asked after a moment.

    "Were you following me or something?"

    He rolled his eyes behind his bangs, giving me a look that said ''Really?'' before saying, "Don¡¯t flatter yourself. I was just curious why you kept wandering up and down the same alley like a lost puppy," he smirked faintly, almost sarcastically.

    So, not only was I being blackmailed, but now I was getting stalked too? Great.

    "That book in your hand," he said, shoveling another mouthful of noodles in.

    "A worn-out book with an old cover. Who else around here would be carrying something like that unless they were heading to Mozi¡¯s antique shop? Maybe next time, try putting it in a bag or something."

    My fingers instinctively tightened around the book''s worn cover, as if to shield it. "It could be from a library," I shot back, trying to sound casual.

    "There isn¡¯t a library anywhere around here, kid. This is a market area, remember? Unless you''re trying to pass this off as a rare marketplace relic." He smirked, clearly enjoying himself.

    He stacked my now-empty bowl on top of his, then reached over for a napkin from the next table to wipe his mouth.

    If I hadn¡¯t pretended he was my dad, he probably would''ve ended up eating noodles out on the curb.

    "So, where¡¯s the shop?" I asked, my tone more impatient now.

    "Wow, in a real rush, aren''t we? You know, it''s rude to ask someone a favor right after they¡¯ve finished eating,"  he shot back.

    Aren¡¯t I the one being extorted here?

    "Let me see the book first."

    If I handed over this book, would he just keep demanding more? It wasn''t like I had much of a choice though. With a sigh, I handed the book over.

    He licked his fingers one by one¡ªleftover broth and all¡ªdespite having used chopsticks to eat. Gross.

    With those same fingers, he opened the book. His casual expression morphed into something serious as he flipped through the pages, scanning each one carefully.

    He suddenly slammed the book shut with both hands. "Nothing interesting," he muttered.

    Taken aback, I carefully took the book back from him, placing it gently on my lap.

    "What¡¯s so fascinating about that book anyway? No words, no pictures... even that magazine over there is more interesting," he said, pulling out a copy of "WetGirls," featuring a red-haired girl in a bikini, from somewhere inside his robe.

    Wait¡ªwasn¡¯t that this month''s risqu¨¦ mag? And why was she wearing a bikini underwater?

    "It''s not that there aren''t any words, it''s just that they can''t be written," I replied, trying to keep my cool.

    He laughed, almost a scoff. "What kind of nonsense is that? Are you just making excuses so it seems valuable?"

    As a waitress passed by, he quickly grabbed a pen from her apron pocket. "Here, give me the book."

    Shocked, I reflexively handed it back.

    He tried scribbling a few words on the pages, but no ink showed up. Then, he tested the pen on his own hand, and the ink flowed just fine.

    He nodded to himself, like he¡¯d figured something out, and stared at the book for a long while. I could feel something strange¡ªan intensity radiating off of him, thick and almost indescribable. His eyes seemed to glow beneath those unruly bangs.

    "No luck, huh," he mumbled, handing the book back.

    "What are you doing?" I asked, cautiously putting the book back on my lap.

    "I was focusing my mana into my eyes, trying to see what regular people can¡¯t. But still, this book¡¯s not revealing anything."

    "Back when I worked as a royal guard in the Papyrus Kingdom, we used special paper that absorbed ink so it couldn¡¯t be read with the naked eye. Messages would be hidden that way," he said, like it was no big deal.

    A royal guard? No wonder he knew this fancy restaurant, even though he looked like a complete hobo.

    "Why are you trying to see Old Man Mozi?"

    "Maybe he knows how to read it."

    He scoffed again. "There¡¯s no way he knows. You¡¯re gonna get zero information from that old guy." He made a big "zero" sign with his hand, really selling his point.

    "Old Mozi just knows history. If you wanna actually read that thing, you¡¯d be better off selling it."

    "How am I supposed to read it if I sell the book?!" I snapped. Geez, this guy was driving me crazy.

    "What''s the point of ancient knowledge anyway? I bet the book''s just filled with old stuff that''s not even relevant anymore. The world keeps moving, why bother hanging onto outdated knowledge?"

    If he didn¡¯t know the way to Mozi¡¯s shop, I swear I would¡¯ve shut him up right there. But the thing was, I couldn''t find a flaw in his logic, even if I knew it was wrong. But this, but that...

    Maybe my face showed just how frustrated I was, because this guy tried to lighten the mood.

    "Where did you find this book anyway?"

    "Home..."

    "?"

    "It''s been at my house for as long as I can remember. I don¡¯t even know where it came from."

    "Just a thought, but wouldn¡¯t it make more sense to find out where it came from first? Just in case Old Man Mozi turns out to be clueless."

    I stayed silent for a moment, letting his words sink in.

    "The cover looks really old¡ªmaybe Second Era old. Stuff from that time is supposed to be long gone."

    "If it''s really from the Second Era, you could make a fortune selling it."

    "If that actually happens, take me out for noodles again," he added with a sly grin.

    All he wanted was another meal.

    "So, where¡¯s the shop?" I asked, exasperated.

    He stood up as soon as I asked, and I followed suit. But then he blurted out,

    "Gotta take a leak. Wait here."

    "Why didn¡¯t you say that while we were sitting?"

    I plopped back down, watching as he disappeared behind the restaurant. Minutes passed, and he was nowhere to be seen.

    I looked towards the noodle shop¡¯s exit, and there he was, strolling out the door like nothing was wrong.

    "Hey!" I grabbed some money from my koi wallet, snatched the book from my lap, and dashed to the counter.

    "Thank you," the cashier called out, their voice fading as I bolted through the door.

    I looked left, then right. That guy was nowhere to be found.

    "Damn it, I got played by a hobo," I muttered angrily. No Mozi today, and now my cash was blown on noodles for this guy.

    My eyes landed on a soda can lying on the street. I kicked it as hard as I could, trying to vent my frustration.

    The can flew straight into a sign hanging on a pole in front of some random store.

    The sign crashed to the ground with a loud bang, and someone came rushing out of the shop.

    He was a big guy, short curly hair, a thin mustache on his face. His shirt was dark green, and his gloves and apron were covered in oil stains. He looked oddly familiar.

    "Who the heck knocked down my sign?!"

    The sign lay on the ground as he picked it up, and then our eyes met.

    The words "Mozi''s Antique Shop" were written on the sign.

    This guy was definitely it.

    Damn that hobo.

 C5 A Relic No One Remembers

    "How many times do I have to tell you? This book is worthless!" His voice cracked with impatience as he slammed the book onto the table. Dust, undisturbed for centuries, erupted into the air, swirling and dancing in the dim lantern light.

    This man has no appreciation for history, I thought.

    "Last week, you brought the same book, with the same question!" he barked, waving a dismissive hand as though I were some bothersome fly. "I told you everything I know. Now, begone!"

    But it wasn¡¯t me though.

    "You never mentioned the part where this book can steal memories," I countered.

    That got his attention. For a fraction of a second, his mask of irritation cracked, and an expression of raw surprise slipped through. Mozi turned sharply, leaning his elbows against the desk, fixing me with a stare so piercing it felt like he was rifling through my soul. ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± he said, his voice lower.

    I took a deep breath, feigning hesitation, and when I spoke, it was with a deliberately shaky tone.

    ¡°After spending a week consulting you about this book, I suddenly¡­ forgot everything about our meetings. I even got lost trying to find my way back to your shop. It was like¡­ like it had all been wiped clean from my mind.¡±

    It was a lie.

    ¡°Rubbish! Absolute nonsense!¡± he snapped, his voice rising in pitch. Yet beneath the bluster, I caught it¡ªa sliver of doubt weaving its way through his outrage.

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to lie,¡± he sneered, ¡°at least come up with a better excuse than that.¡±

    I shrugged nonchalantly, keeping my tone light. ¡°The only thing I could remember was your face. If you hadn¡¯t stepped out of your shop now and then, it might have taken me a year to find my way back here.¡±

    His eyes narrowed, scanning my expression like a jeweler inspecting a flawed gem. He was searching for cracks in my lie. Without another word, he grabbed the book, his fingers moving delicately over its worn cover. Slowly, he began flipping through the pages, each turn deliberate, as if the paper might crumble under too much pressure.

    ¡°Memory-erasing magic isn¡¯t ordinary magic,¡± he muttered, his voice losing its edge and taking on a grave, thoughtful quality. ¡°The Archiveline¡ªthe ones who meddle with memories¡ªalways leave traces. Symbols. Your memories weren¡¯t just lost¡ªthey were taken.¡±

    ¡°Taken?¡± I echoed, letting a note of feigned shock creep into my voice, though his words were exactly what I¡¯d hoped to hear.

    ¡°If your memories were taken,¡± he continued, ¡°then it means there¡¯s something in them that¡¯s important. Something that Magia needed. And if that¡¯s the case, it means you¡¯ve already been where they wanted to go.¡±

    He closed the book with deliberate finality, and when his gaze met mine again, it had shifted. No longer was it tinged with mere irritation. Now, suspicion burned there, sharp and dangerous, a warning wrapped in silence.

    ¡°Now you believe me, don¡¯t you?¡± I pressed, holding his gaze with just the right amount of intensity.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see any symbols here!¡± he snapped, his tone laced with irritation, but a hint of uncertainty lurked beneath his frustration.

    ¡°Maybe the symbols aren¡¯t visible,¡± I suggested, lowering my voice, emphasizing each word with precision. ¡°Just like the writing in this book.¡±

    Mozi let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose as if my presence alone was giving him a migraine. ¡°Listen,¡± he said flatly, his tone icy, ¡°I don¡¯t enjoy repeating myself, especially not to the same person twice. If you come back next week with this same nonsense, don¡¯t bother. You won¡¯t find this shop again.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to smirk. What a temper. I thought the customer was supposed to be king? Still, as long as he believed my story, his attitude didn¡¯t matter.

    ¡°So?¡± I finally pressed, my patience hanging by a thread.

    ¡°So what?¡± Mozi snapped, practically growling. ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡±

    ¡°What the hell?!¡± I nearly lost my temper but forced myself to stay calm, clinging to the thin thread of composure.

    ¡°Think about it!¡± His voice rose sharply, cutting through the dim stillness of the room. ¡°A blank book, no writing, no clear symbols. How can anyone expect to know its history?¡±

    I didn¡¯t reply. Instead, I simply pointed to the cover.

    For a moment, Mozi was silent, his expression shifting. Then, almost reluctantly, he pulled the book toward him. His eyes fixed on the faded cover with a newfound intensity, as though he were trying to unearth secrets he¡¯d previously overlooked.

    The book¡¯s cover was like an artifact from a time long buried¡ªa silent relic of an age that refused to reveal itself. Its colors, if they had ever been vibrant, had long since faded into a dull medley of ashen gray and earthy brown. The scent of age wafted up as he examined it¡ªa damp, musty odor reminiscent of forgotten cellars.

    In the center of the cover, faint and almost imperceptible, lay a symbol. It was a circle, enclosing a cluster of ancient letters, their forms blurred and indistinct, as though the very fabric of time fought to erase their existence.

    Mozi leaned closer, his fingers lightly brushing against the symbol. His sigh escaped again, but this time, the frustration was gone. What replaced it was a weight¡ªan unspoken burden.

    ¡°Kid, I don¡¯t like guessing when it comes to history,¡± he murmured, his tone subdued, contemplative. ¡°Everything I collect and sell has a history. A proven history.¡±

    Proven? So it¡¯s worthless?

    He glared sharply, his tone commanding. ¡°Listen carefully.¡± He jabbed a finger at the faint symbol on the book¡¯s cover. ¡°I can tell you this book is from the Second Echoes. Or maybe the Third. This symbol¡ªthese ancient letters¡ªthey resemble a corridor lined with bookshelves. It¡¯s strikingly similar to the crest of the Alenxandria family.¡±

    ¡°Alenxandria?¡± I squinted at him.

    ¡°Yes, the Alenxandria family,¡± he continued, his voice lowering to a near whisper. ¡°They were the first to gather books after the Archivers led their disciples to pillage the Law of Mahfudz. Those disciples? They were the ones who started the tradition of studying and preserving human knowledge. And one of their most devoted families was the Alenxandrias.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ The existence of the Alenxandria family is just a myth. Nothing but rumor¡ªlegends passed down through hushed tales.¡±

    ¡°And why do you think that is?¡± I pushed, my curiosity dragging me deeper into the conversation.

    ¡°Because everything about them was destroyed,¡± he stated firmly. ¡°They were slaughtered by their own subjects. Their mansion was burned to ash. Their books were looted and destroyed. Nothing remains but faint whispers.¡±

    I glared at him. ¡°If that¡¯s true, why didn¡¯t you tell me any of this from the start? Isn¡¯t that critical information?¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t I already tell you?¡± Mozi replied with a weary sigh, though steel laced his voice. ¡°Everything about the Alenxandrias is a myth. What I just shared are drunken tales I picked up from an old vagrant at pub. Even in historical texts, their name appears in just a line or two¡ªhalf of which is embellished fiction.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± my voice took on an urgent edge. ¡°If this symbol really does belong to the Alenxandrias, doesn¡¯t that mean some part of their legacy still exists?¡±

    Mozi gave a thin, cynical smile, his eyes narrowing as if mocking my naivety. ¡°Legacy isn¡¯t about leaving something behind for others. Legacy is about leaving something within them.¡±

    Then, almost lazily, he tapped the book¡¯s frayed cover. ¡°And there¡¯s no shortage of conspiracy theories about this family. Every book they owned was said to bear their crest. But some claim their loyal followers removed all those symbols before torching the Alenxandria mansion. They scattered the books¡ªsome were destroyed, others hidden far away, beyond anyone¡¯s reach.¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in my chest. ¡°So all the symbols¡­ they¡¯re gone?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what they say.¡± Mozi shrugged. ¡°But you know what¡¯s even more intriguing?¡±

    I didn¡¯t respond, waiting for him to continue, unwilling to interrupt.

    ¡°There are rumors,¡± he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, ¡°that one of the Alenxandria bloodline survived the massacre. They say that person is still alive¡­ even now.¡±

    His words hit like an arrow to my mind, lodging there with sharp precision. My gaze fell to the book in my hands, tracing the weathered creases and scars on its cover. An idea took root, cold and unsettling, gripping my thoughts.

    ¡°So¡­¡± I turned to Mozi, my voice low but laden with significance. ¡°If this book truly belongs to that family, doesn''t that mean it can only be written in¡ªor read¡ªby one of their descendants?¡±

    Mozi¡¯s grin widened, sly and almost taunting. ¡°Exactly. Congratulations. You¡¯re finally catching on.¡±

    Then what¡¯s the point of this damn book? I thought bitterly, frustration starting to bubble to the surface.

    "Enough," Mozi said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "What I told you is just a legend. The Alenxandrias might not have even existed, and that symbol on the book might not belong to them at all."

    I let out a long sigh and pulled the book back from the table. As I held it, my gaze wandered around Mozi''s shop for the first time since I¡¯d arrived. I realized I had been so focused on him that I hadn¡¯t fully taken in the extraordinary surroundings.

    The items scattered throughout the shop looked like treasures plucked from a thousand forgotten worlds, each one holding a story that could ignite the imagination. They weren¡¯t merely ancient or dusty; they radiated an almost eerie sense of history, as if every artifact harbored a secret too heavy to share.

    My eyes caught on a small statue encased in a glass orb. It was a mermain¡ªa sea-dweller¡ªholding a two pronged spear. The statue¡¯s faded colors gave it a ghostly charm, its curling hair adorned with delicate traces of moss. When I tilted the glass orb, the moss shifted gently, mimicking the movement of hair caught in an undersea current.

    ¡°Do you like it?¡± Mozi¡¯s voice suddenly broke the silence, startling me. I hadn¡¯t even noticed him move to my side.

    ¡°This statue¡­ what is it?¡± I asked hesitantly, pointing to the curious object.

    ¡°Mermains. They were the original inhabitants of these seas, long before the Wetlands were built. At least, that¡¯s what history says.¡± Mozi¡¯s voice softened as his gaze lingered on the statue. ¡°This dome¡ªthe Orcicea Dome¡ªexists because the mermains killed a creature that was destroying their waters.¡±

    The dome¡­ Orcicea Dome¡­ My thoughts raced back to the sight I¡¯d seen while fleeing the cave: the massive bones that supported an invisible energy field forming a protective barrier.

    ¡°What kind of creature did they kill to build the dome?¡± I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

    Mozi gave me a look that seemed to say, Shouldn¡¯t you already know? ¡°The creature was called Orcicea,¡± he finally said, his tone exasperated, like a teacher bored of explaining the same lesson. ¡°A beast that terrorized these waters since the founding of Tytoal-ba. Imagine a giant whale, twice the size of the Wetlands. Its body was jet black, except for white rings around its eyes. Its teeth were sharp as daggers, but its behavior was like a rabid dog¡¯s¡ªreckless, violent, and relentless.¡±

    I tried to picture it, though the sheer scale of such a creature was beyond comprehension.

    ¡°Long story short,¡± Mozi continued, ¡°Orcicea went on a rampage for reasons no one ever understood. It destroyed everything in its path, slaughtered most of the mermains, and terrorizing Tytoal-ba.

    Eventually, the king and nobles of Tytoal-ba struck a deal with the surviving mermains. Together, they united to take the beast down. Orcicea was bound, subdued, and then flayed. Its flesh was given to the mermains as payment, while its bones were used to construct the underwater dome that we now call the Orcicea Dome¡ªa fusion of the creature¡¯s raw power and the ingenuity of Tytoal-ba¡¯s scientists.¡±

    ¡°And the mermains?¡± I asked?

    ¡°They left Tytoal-ba,¡± Mozi said flatly. ¡°Their kingdom was devastated by Orcicea¡¯s rampage. Most of them chose to help build a new haven¡ªWetlands¡ªa refuge for exiles, outcasts, and those fleeing from the surface world. It was Tyan Flamino who led these surface dwellers to the Wetlands, acting as their guide and ruler.¡±I nodded slightly, processing all the information Mozi had just shared.

    This guy is a walking encyclopedia. I¡¯ll definitely come back if I have more questions.

    ¡°Does that mean there are ruins of the Mermain kingdom nearby?¡± I asked, my voice tinged with curiosity.

    Mozi¡¯s gaze sharpened, as if he were trying to decipher the motives behind my question. ¡°The ruins exist,¡± he said finally. ¡°They¡¯re to the west, about 15 kilometers from here. Right where this statue was found.¡± He gestured toward the Mermain figure still in my hand.

    I nodded slowly, imagining ancient, crumbled remains buried beneath the sea.

    ¡°But don¡¯t even think about going there alone,¡± he added, his tone carrying a clear warning. ¡°I recognize that look. You¡¯re planning to explore that ruin, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    I raised my eyebrows, feigning ignorance.

    ¡°The outer waters are not to be trifled with,¡± he continued, his voice heavy with caution. ¡°Do you know how many people haven¡¯t returned from expeditions out there? And lately, I¡¯ve heard the Alteker are guarding near the northern fringes. Something wrong in the sea.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the information, Mozi,¡± I said finally, keeping my tone polite but relaxed. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon.¡±

    His eyes narrowed as he studied me, then he asked, ¡°So, you¡¯re just going to admire that Mermain statue? Not planning to buy it?¡±

    I sighed inwardly. First, I¡¯d been shaken down by a street vagrant, and now him? At least he¡¯d given me something valuable in return.

    I walked to the counter where Mozi stood, casually leaning against the scratched wooden surface. I placed the Mermain statue on the table without a word. His hand immediately rose, fingers spread to show five.

    Five Rega, I guessed. I pulled out five gold coins, their surfaces engraved with the face of Andy Flamino.

    Mozi accepted the coins calmly, as if their weight meant little to him. His quiet demeanor signaled that the transaction was complete and I was free to leave. Taking the statue and the book, I turned toward the door.

    As I stepped out, the bell above the entrance jingled softly, marking my departure. The damp, briny scent of the undersea air greeted me once more, mixed with the ever-present tang of salt that seemed to seep into every breath.

    Not only had I received answers to my questions, but I also left with a new addition to my collection. A small satchel swung from my shoulder.

    Even if I was swindled twice today, coming to Mozi¡¯s shop wasn¡¯t a waste after all. I strolled down the narrow street, dimly lit by weak, flickering lamps. Going home seemed like the best choice. Next time I saw that hobo, maybe I¡¯d treat him to a meal as a thank-you, I thought idly.

    The faint murmur of distant voices drifted through the air, indistinct against the background hum of the city. Or maybe it was just the sea. Down here, it was hard to tell where sounds came from¡ªeverything felt muted, warped, like being underwater.

    ¡°...help¡­¡±

    The word slipped past me, faint and fleeting, almost as if imagined. I frowned and kept walking, my thoughts circling back to the book I carried. That book¡¯s useless in my hands, isn¡¯t it? I mulled over the possibility of selling it.

    ¡°...help¡­¡±

    The word again, a whisper barely louder than the shuffling of my own steps. I glanced around, but the narrow streets were empty, the dim light casting long, deceptive shadows.

    I shook my head and kept moving, attributing the sound to my imagination. But as I passed by a narrow alley to my right, something made me pause.

    A strange chill washed over me. The alley was cramped and dark, its jagged walls leaning inward like they were conspiring to block out the light.

    I squinted into the gloom, and just as I was about to dismiss it, the whisper came again¡ªclearer this time.

    ¡°Help¡­ me¡­¡±

    The voice was fragile, trembling, but it carried an unmistakable desperation.

    My instincts screamed at me to keep walking. Don¡¯t stop, they urged. This isn¡¯t your problem. But my feet betrayed me, rooted to the spot. The whisper pulled at me, faint but insistent.

    I swallowed hard and stepped closer, peering into the abyss of the alley. The air grew colder with each step, and my pulse quickened.

    Then, just as I crossed the threshold, the voice shifted¡ªclear, pleading, and so painfully human.

    ¡°Help me!¡±

    The words rang out like a cry of anguish, freezing me in place. My breath caught, and the world around me seemed to narrow, every sound swallowed by the dark void ahead.

    ¡°Where are you?¡± I asked, feeling sweat bead on my temples. The darkness was suffocating, as though no light had ever been allowed to touch this place.

    I kept walking, the cries growing clearer with every step. Then, finally, I saw it.

    A figure crouched on the damp ground, shoulders hunched and trembling. Long, tangled brown hair spilled over its face. Its small hands rubbed furiously at tear-soaked eyes.

    I squinted, straining to see through the oppressive darkness. A child? What could a kid be doing here? The place was silent, eerie, as if the world had stopped breathing.

    I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to turn back. But something about the figure felt¡­ wrong.

    ¡°Hey, are you okay?¡± I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady. The figure didn¡¯t respond.

    I stepped closer, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. ¡°Are you lost?¡± I asked, keeping my tone gentle.

    Still no response. But then, slowly, its head tilted up, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of its face.

    When it turned to look at me, I saw them¡ªthose eyes. Glowing red like embers, piercing through the dark.

    I knelt cautiously, bringing myself level with the child. ¡°Hey, are you lost?¡± I asked softly.

    It didn¡¯t answer.

    I extended a hand, offering to help it stand. But it stayed where it was, silent.

    It tilted its head further, staring at me with an expression I couldn¡¯t read. Then, it smiled.

    And then, everything shifted.

    BANG!

    A deafening noise rang out behind me, the impact vibrating through my skull. My body jolted forward as if violent blow that sent me staggering forward. Pain bloomed at the base of my skull, sharp and searing. My vision swam, the world tilting violently. Instinctively, I clutched the side of my head, only to feel something warm and wet trickling down my fingers. Blood.

    My breaths grew ragged as the alley spun around me. Still, I managed to look up at the child.

    It hadn¡¯t moved, still crouched in the same spot. But now, a faint smile curled at the edges of its lips¡ªcold,

    knowing. I stumbled, my strength draining fast, and collapsed to the ground. My vision darkened, but I caught a glimpse of the child rising to its feet.

    Then, another voice joined the fray, speaking to the child from somewhere behind me. I couldn¡¯t make out the words¡ªfaint, muffled, as though submerged underwater.

    As consciousness slipped away, I heard the child¡¯s voice, bright and cheerful, almost as if it were laughing.

    ¡°I did it, mister! Aren¡¯t you proud of me?¡±

    And then, there was nothing but darkness.

 C6 Cant Stand, Dont Blame

    The darkness ebbs away slowly as I open my eyes, my heavy eyelids dragging with the weight of a pounding headache. The world doesn¡¯t feel right; gravity pulls me in directions it shouldn¡¯t, and the faint rush of air brushing against my skin tells me something¡¯s wrong. It takes a moment to register: I¡¯m suspended, hanging somewhere. A dull ache claws its way into my awareness, memories of a blow flickering briefly before slipping out of reach. I glance¡ªdown? Up? Everything spins¡ªand I¡¯m greeted by a disorienting sight.

    Thick, weathered ropes crisscross the ceiling¡ªor floor¡ªlike the chaotic web of some colossal spider. Dim bulbs dangle lazily from coiled wires, their weak yellow glow illuminating swirling motes of dust in the stale air. The scene below¡ªno, above me¡ªis surreal: mannequins clad in brightly colored circus costumes stand frozen, their lifeless eyes staring into the gloom. Cracked mirrors reflect fragments of the bizarre tableau, while rows of splintering wooden chairs line the space like spectators to a ghostly performance. The faint aroma of caramel mingles with the sharp tang of oil paint, an odd, unsettling combination.

    Voices break through my haze, sharp and grating. ¡°We need to hand him over to the boss right now! You do know what happens if we¡¯re late, don¡¯t you?¡± snaps a girl, her voice high-pitched and tense. I manage to turn my head just enough to catch a glimpse of her. Ember-red eyes blaze with intensity, and her dark purple-dyed hair flares around her like a stormcloud. She stomps about in frustration, her movements erratic. She can¡¯t be more than sixteen.

    ¡°Relax, Aiden,¡± another voice cuts in, calm and unbothered. A young man leans back in one of the creaky wooden chairs, his messy black hair falling over his forehead as he tilts it lazily. ¡°You know the boss is performing right now. Handing this guy over would only interrupt the show. Besides, look at him.¡± He gestures toward me with a casual wave. ¡°We don¡¯t even know who he is. What if we¡¯ve got the wrong guy?¡±

    Aiden¡¯s response is disturbingly cheerful. ¡°If it¡¯s the wrong guy, we¡¯ll just kill him.¡± Her words cut through the room like a blade, her tone almost playful. ¡°But I doubt it. We¡¯ve been tailing him since he left the dungeon, and the book our master wants is still in his possession.¡±

    I try to steady my breathing, forcing down the panic rising in my chest. My hands are bound tightly, the ropes biting into my skin. Blood rushes to my head, making it hard to think, let alone respond. Still, I can¡¯t stop myself from glaring at the pair, my mind scrambling for a way out.

    ¡°Oh, please,¡± the man sighs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Anyone can own an old book. I¡¯d bet my last coin he¡¯s just some¡­¡± His words trail off as he steps closer, squinting at me. ¡°Hey, you. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    I try to answer, but my throat is dry, and the spinning world makes forming words impossible. All I can manage are faint, broken murmurs.

    ¡°See? He can¡¯t even talk,¡± the man declares, waving a dismissive hand. ¡°We should¡¯ve done more recon before grabbing him. If this is a mistake, I¡¯m not taking the fall.¡±

    Aiden¡¯s patience is clearly wearing thin. She glares at him, her crimson eyes practically glowing. ¡°What if the boss is waiting for this guy as we speak? That book is crucial for tonight¡¯s performance,¡± she snaps, kicking the chair he¡¯s lounging in. It creaks dangerously but doesn¡¯t topple over.

    ¡°Really, Aiden? Do you think your empty threats scare me?¡± The man, Ramlen, rose from his seat with deliberate laziness, brushing nonexistent dust off his trousers. The bits of real dirt stuck to the fabric, almost like they were teasing him for trying to clean it off.

    ¡°I¡¯m not bluffing, Ramlen. If we¡¯re late, you¡¯ll be the one explaining things to the boss. I¡¯m done covering for your sloth.¡±

    Ramlen¡¯s response was a dismissive shrug, though a flicker of irritation crossed his eyes. ¡°And if we¡¯ve got the wrong guy, you¡¯ll be the one explaining.¡± He stretched languidly, like an old man weary of the world. ¡°A quick nap sounds far more appealing than enduring your endless complaints.¡±

    Aiden glared, clearly about to fire off another sharp comment, but she stopped herself with an irritated sigh. By then, Ramlen was already strolling lazily toward the far exit of the room.

    ¡°I¡¯ll watch him,¡± Aiden muttered in a mocking tone, mimicking Ramlen¡¯s earlier words. ¡°As always, he naps while I do all the work.¡± With a frustrated kick, she struck the wobbly chair again. Its protesting creak echoed, unsettling a nearby mannequin that swayed slightly on its stand.

    Ramlen glanced back briefly before disappearing through the door. ¡°You¡¯re too uptight, Aiden. Why not have a chat with the kid?¡± He waved carelessly, not bothering to wait for a response, before the door creaked shut behind him.

    Silence reclaimed the room, broken only by the faint whisper of air slipping through frayed ropes. Aiden¡¯s jaw tightened as her gaze flicked to me, still dangling helplessly. ¡°Why not have a chat with the kid,¡± she muttered mockingly.

    Dropping into the rickety chair Ramlen had vacated, Aiden stared at me with narrowed, piercing red eyes, as if trying to unravel my thoughts. I met her gaze, though my head throbbed and I felt dizzy from hanging upside down, with all the blood seeming to pool in my head. I tugged at the ropes binding my wrists, testing for even the smallest weakness in the knots.

    ¡°Hostages don¡¯t get to talk,¡± Aiden¡¯s voice sliced through the stillness, cold and sharp. Gone was the earlier petulance; this was a predator speaking, calculating and unyielding.

    I smirked faintly, my thoughts tinged with dry defiance. ¡°What happened to the whining brat from earlier? And who said anything about talking?¡±

    Despite myself, I chuckled, a bitter laugh that barely reached my lips. ¡°Why are you so sure I¡¯m the right guy? Your friend¡¯s got a point¡ªthere are thousands of people in Wetlands carrying old books. Snatching someone fresh out of an antique shop doesn¡¯t guarantee you¡¯ve caught your target.¡±

    Aiden didn¡¯t answer immediately. Her eyes drifted upward, as though searching the ceiling for answers. Meanwhile, I kept working at the ropes digging into my skin, each movement calculated and deliberate.

    ¡°If we¡¯ve got the wrong person, we¡¯ll just grab someone else,¡± Aiden muttered eventually, more to herself than anyone else. ¡°The master said he¡¯d be here for the next seven days. We¡¯ve got time.¡±

    She rose slowly, each step deliberate as she approached my suspended form. ¡°Though, if this is another mistake, the punishment will be severe. But the master¡¯s anger¡­ it¡¯s for our own good. It drives us to work harder.¡± Her slender yet strong fingers grabbed a fistful of my golden hair, yanking my head to eye level. Aiden¡¯s fiery gaze burned with unsettling intensity.

    ¡°For you, however,¡± she continued, voice icy, ¡°the outcome is the same either way. If you¡¯re the wrong person, we¡¯ll kill you. If you¡¯re the right one, the master will. Your fate is sealed.¡± She released her grip abruptly, leaving a sting on my scalp.

    Swallowing hard, I tried to steady my breathing. This girl was unhinged.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it just the book you¡¯re after? Check my bag. It¡¯s in there. Honestly, I¡¯ve been meaning to get rid of it anyway,¡± I offered, my tone almost casual.

    Aiden laughed, but it didn¡¯t sound happy at all. ¡°The book isn¡¯t the only thing the master is after.¡± She sat back down, playing absentmindedly with the ends of her dark purple hair.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Leaning forward slightly, Aiden fixed me with a predatory stare, her index finger pointing deliberately. ¡°Maybe you haven¡¯t noticed,¡± she hissed, her voice as smooth and venomous as a serpent¡¯s, ¡°but we¡¯ve been watching you ever since you left that dungeon.¡±

    The words hit me like a hammer. They knew. My whole body froze, as if my blood had turned to ice in an instant. The world around me seemed to stop, leaving only the echo of that sentence ringing in my head. They already knew I stole this body!?

    The dizziness was wrecking my balance, making my mind feel like it was being clawed apart by invisible hands. But before I could gather any words to respond, Aiden spoke again.

    ¡°Maybe you think someone who hit your head with a metal bar and hung you up like this is a psychopath,¡± she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips¡ªa smile as cold as winter frost. ¡°You¡¯re the only one who survived that dungeon. The only one. And you¡¯ve been living like nothing happened?¡±

    Her tone was so smooth, almost a whisper, but every word stabbed deep, making my entire body tremble. I tried to speak, but my words were strangled by the fear swelling in my chest. Finally, I forced some sound from my throat, though it came out more like a broken scream.

    ¡°You saw it!?¡± I blurted, my eyes wide and my voice sharp with shock.

    Aiden stared at me for what felt like forever before shrugging. ¡°I told you, we¡¯ve been watching you ever since you first stepped into that dungeon,¡± she said flatly, as though it was just some minor detail.

    I racked my brain, trying to make sense of her words. ¡°Wait, you mean you saw me when I first went in there? When? How!?¡± The ropes creaked as I squirmed wildly, the anxiety pushing me to fight against my restraints.

    Aiden¡¯s irritation was plain on her face. ¡°What kind of question is that?¡± she shot back with a biting tone, shutting down the conversation curtly.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious! You know something even I don¡¯t!¡± I thrashed around, my body swinging back and forth, making the ropes dig even tighter into my wrists. The pain didn¡¯t matter anymore, panic had taken over.

    She sat down with an air of calm, her legs swinging idly above the floor, too short to reach it. Her glowing red eyes focused on the tiny fish swimming gracefully behind the glass of an aquarium, their movements perfectly in sync with the artificial current. She lifted her hand and tapped the glass with her finger. The sound echoed softly, breaking the suffocating silence in the room.

    A second tap followed, louder this time. The fish scattered, darting in every direction like clouds blown apart by a sudden gust of wind. But the girl only smiled faintly, a smile that somehow felt like a challenge.

    ¡°See?¡± she said, still not looking at me. ¡°Just like them, you¡¯re swimming in circles. No way out, no purpose. Just endless confusion.¡±

    Childish, I thought. But I knew they might be the only ones who knew the truth about me. Still, this girl remained a fortress of silence, her cold expression giving nothing away.

    I tried to read her movements, searching for any cracks in her icy exterior. But there were none. Her blank stare stayed fixed on the little fish, as if I were just a shadow in the corner of her eye.

    ¡°Hey, please. Tell me what you know. In return, I¡¯ll tell you what I know from that book,¡± I shouted desperately. But she didn¡¯t budge. Her gaze stayed on the fish, as if I didn¡¯t even exist in the room.

    ¡°Hey, can you hear me?¡±

    ¡°Hello? Your kidnapped guy is talking here!¡±

    ¡°Come on, I know you can hear me! Don¡¯t pretend to be deaf!¡±

    I sighed heavily, then tried again. ¡°You¡¯re really not going to talk? Is this part of some weird game you¡¯re playing?¡±

    ¡°Hello?! It¡¯s me, your kidnapping victim! The least you could do is act interested,¡± I added with a tone full of irritation.

    Silence. Only the soft sound of water from the aquarium filled the room. I huffed in frustration.

    ¡°Alright, you want to play it this way? You know, I can keep talking all night! I won¡¯t stop until you answer me! Hey! Listen to me!¡±

    Still no response. I started thrashing harder, my body swaying left and right, the ropes creaking as if mocking my efforts.

    ¡°Listen! I know you can hear me! You¡¯re not deaf, are you? Hey, I know you¡¯re there! Are you really going to ignore me like this?¡±

    Suddenly, she stood up quickly. The scrape of the wooden chair against the floor made a sharp, grating noise. Without saying a word, she walked to a small table in the corner of the room, her hand feeling around for something on its surface. Then, with quick steps and a sharp gaze, she strode toward me. Her glowing red eyes gleamed with a faint menace, freezing me in place. I instantly regretted calling out to her over and over.

    When she reached me, her right hand moved fast, shoving a damp cloth into my mouth. The smell of caramel mixed with cotton candy hit me like a punch, making me want to gag. The wet fabric covered my mouth perfectly, silencing me completely.

    ¡°I told you, didn¡¯t I? Don¡¯t talk,¡± her gesture commanded silence. ¡°I can¡¯t stand listening to you anymore,¡± she said flatly.

    I tried to take a deep breath, but the wet cloth pressed tightly against my mouth made each inhale feel like a struggle to avoid drowning. Aiden returned to her chair with unhurried steps, as if what just happened was merely a routine distraction. Her finger tapped the aquarium glass again, the rhythm slow but somehow deafening.

    I drew another deep breath, this time deeper, trying to calm the storm inside me. My thoughts raced wildly. The ropes around my wrists began to feel looser¡ªthe knots were tricky, but frustration gave me the strength to keep trying.

    I twisted my wrists slowly, creating a tiny gap between my skin and the rough rope. The fibers scraped my skin raw, leaving a stinging pain, but I didn¡¯t care. Aiden seemed completely absorbed by the fish, her eyes locked on their graceful movements behind the glass.

    Seconds stretched into what felt like endless minutes. I knew I had to move quickly, but not recklessly. With each tiny pull, the knot began to weaken. Sweat trickled down my forehead, dripping onto the cold wooden floor. Finally¡­ snap. One knot came undone. My hands were free.

    I held myself back from moving too fast, even though every part of me wanted to spring to my feet. Slowly, I began untying the ropes around my ankles. My fingers worked quickly but carefully, ensuring I didn¡¯t make a sound that might draw Aiden¡¯s attention. The damp cloth in my mouth muffled every heavy breath I struggled to keep quiet.

    When both my legs were finally free, I bit down on the cloth and yanked it out with a sharp motion. I held it in my hands, making sure it didn¡¯t fall and make noise. I glanced at Aiden again. She was still sitting, her finger tapping the glass with a steady rhythm.

    This was my chance. I took my first step, slow and almost silent. The old floor beneath me felt fragile, every plank like it was waiting to creak and ruin my plan. I knew the door behind me was the only exit I¡¯d seen. But it felt like miles away under the constant threat of Aiden¡¯s awareness.

    When I reached the door, I turned the wooden handle as slowly as I could. The hinge gave a faint squeak, shattering the silence like a death knell. I froze, every muscle in my body locked in place.

    Aiden stopped tapping the glass. The last tap hung in the air, then she spun around to face me. Her gaze was sharp as lightning, her glowing red eyes blazing like embers fanned by the wind.

    ¡°Hey, stop!¡± she shouted, her voice echoing through the room. She jumped to her feet, the old chair she had been sitting on clattering to the floor behind her.

    I didn¡¯t wait. I yanked the door open with all my strength, darting into the room beyond and slamming it shut behind me. My hands trembled as I leaned against the wooden door, trying to hold my breath.

    ¡°Don¡¯t go in there!¡± Aiden shouted from the other side, her voice a mix of anger and worry. My grip on the door handle tightened, but I couldn¡¯t help myself.

    ¡°It¡¯s not what you think. That room¡ªYou don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re walking into!¡±

    I hesitated, but the tension in the air pushed me forward. ¡°And you think hanging me up like some pi?ata was better? Excuse me if I don¡¯t trust you!¡± With that, I slammed the door shut, locking it with a firm click. Her frustrated pounding began immediately, but I didn¡¯t wait to see what she¡¯d do next.

    Before me stretched an endless room, its walls lined with countless mirrors. My reflection multiplied infinitely in their cold, glassy surfaces. Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? Was this what people saw at carnival mirror mazes? No, this was nothing like that. The air here was thick and icy, weighing down on me, making it hard to breathe. Something was wrong. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. The reflections weren¡¯t just images; they stared back, their eyes unblinking, their expressions subtly shifting as if they knew something I didn¡¯t.

    I took a step forward, and the sound of my movement echoed unnaturally in the stillness. Then, one of the reflections smiled. It wasn¡¯t my smile.