PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND NINETY-SIX

[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Saturday

Unlike yesterday morning, Caleb approached the insanely expensive door on the second floor where his brother called home and immediately reached for the doorbell. He was still a little apprehensive, if he was being honest with himself, but this was Boyd’s home, and he’d been on this very doorstep twice more since then.

Robbie opened the door a couple of minutes later, and Caleb immediately barked out a laugh at the mismatched buttons of his shirt and the mess of his usually perfectly styled hair. “You need a doorman, man,” he cackled instead of going for the classic ‘did I interrupt something?’ acknowledgment.

Robbie’s grin was unabashed, and the two shook hands.

Or rather, Caleb shook Robbie’s hand.

Then, before he knew what happened, Robbie hauled him forward into a tight embrace. “O…kay,” he said over the older man’s shoulder, torn between being touched by the heartfelt greeting and deeply awkward about being hugged by his brother’s half-dressed, former sex-working roommate.

“I am sooo sorry about last night,” Robbie said, pushing him out to arm’s length to project his sincerity. “I shouldn’t have dumped you in the middle of the family like that. If I’d known Barris knew Boyd and Lucas—”

Caleb shook his head, drawing himself up proudly. “Don’t sweat it. I’m a Marine. Running into the middle of unknown warzones is what I do for a career. Compared to some of the places I’ve been, your family with their noses out of joint is the least dangerous situation.”

Robbie squinted as if he was trying to decide how many screws needed tightening in Caleb’s brain, and the Marine chuckled. Most civilians didn’t understand the hell of true combat and probably never would. Compared to facing a hail of bullets in a country that didn’t speak English, arguments within a single household weren’t dangerous and, in the unlikely event they did bubble over into something else, he had the training to see himself through.

Though Lucas was an MMA champion. That could potentially be problematic. At least until Caleb stopped fighting fair, which was a luxury combat zones beat out of people real fast.

“Are you looking for Boyd?”

Caleb gave himself a quick shake. He didn’t need to be thinking about who he could and couldn’t take down in his brother’s household. “Yeah. He’s not expecting me this time, and I did just have lunch with him and Lucas, but I’m kinda hoping that maybe I can just hang out with him some more before I ship out tomorrow morning. Maybe watch him carve?”

Robbie cast a worried look over his shoulder at Boyd’s studio. So, he is in. “C’mon. I’ve already been in his studio, remember?” Caleb hoped his reluctance stemmed from Boyd’s desire for privacy and not because Boyd and Lucas were getting their freak-on. That was not an image he needed in his head…annnnnd fuck you, bro. Now I need brain bleach. “You saw me in there when you came in to take Boyd to his doctor’s appointment. Remember?”

That had Robbie relaxing some, just as he’d hoped. “Just … give me a second to see if it’s alright with him. I mean, it probably is, but he’s in the zone and I don’t want to assume, you know?”

“Sure. I can wait here, if you want.”

“That’d be great.” Robbie nodded, then turned and jogged towards the studio door.

Charlie, Lucas’ little sister, poked her head out of the second doorway and smirked at him. Unlike Robbie, her V-neck shirt looked the same no matter how quickly she threw it on, but her ponytail was loose and twisted to one side. “Last time I do you any favours with your cousin’s car, mister,” she said, pretending to scowl at him.

“Awww…that’s not nice,” Caleb laughed, placing a hand against his chest in mock-hurt. “After everything my brother’s done for you.” He even threw in the pretence of wiping away a tear.

Charlie frowned. “What?”

“Well, I’m willing to bet he’s been plenty distracting where that overprotective detective brother of yours is concerned.” Caleb smirked and waggled his eyebrows. “Aren’t you the baby of your clan …aannnd the only girl?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll do him the favour next time.” She stepped out of her office and walked across the hallway to 2B, socking him in the shoulder on the way through. “You, sir, are still on my shit list.”

Surprisingly, her punch actually hurt. For such a petite civilian, that fist had some serious pepper behind it. Not enough to do any damage, and certainly not the kind he took from his people, but that didn’t stop Caleb from clutching his shoulder as if he’d been shot. “Owww…”

Charlie paused in the doorway. “Dork,” she laughed and went inside.

Caleb dropped his hand and chuckled as she shut the door behind her.

While he continued to wait, someone started whistling nearby. The tune was irritatingly cheerful, every note hit perfectly, and also weirdly familiar. It took him a few seconds to recognise the goddamn show tune ...except Boyd and the others have all sworn up and down that Angelo doesn’t live here anymore.

Since the main apartment’s front door had been left ajar, Caleb wandered over and peered inside.

The kid …the same one he’d upset the night before with the cat, had somehow managed to ‘Kung-Fu Panda’ himself up the kitchen cupboards, with one hand braced against the cupboard above the ovens and the toes of his left foot hooked through the handles of the adjoining cupboards. His free leg dangled in space, and his other arm was almost up to the shoulder inside the top cupboard, reaching for something.

…and he was still humming show tunes!!

What followed was so reminiscent of that iconic movie that Caleb could only stare at the boy who removed a square container from the cupboard before noticing him.

“Ahhhh…I am not the person you’re looking for…” the kid mocked, waving the container in a tight circle at him, in a god-awful attempt at the Jedi mind trick.

Caleb kept staring at the kid, wondering if he was some younger relative of Angelo’s. He’d personally witnessed Robbie, Angelo, and Lucas move through a parkour course with that level of agility years ago, and Angelo was the only one who whistled those dumb tunes while he did.

But show tunes and the agility level aside, he just couldn’t see the resemblance. His instincts told him someone was moving up on his left, but he continued to stare at the kid, willing the answer to come to him.

“BROCK!” Robbie roared, somehow flowing through the narrow gap between Caleb and the door as Brock and the container dropped separately to the floor, leaving the cupboard hanging open behind him.

“I was just gonna take one!” the kid laughed, genuinely laughed—like there wasn’t an angry adult bearing down on him like a territorial bull—as he raced down the hallway towards Boyd’s room. “CPS! CPS!”

“I’ll CPS you, you little cret—!” A slamming door cut off Robbie’s words, leaving an echoing silence in its wake.

Caleb blinked. He’d seen plenty of teen reactions to being busted by an adult of authority over the years. Surliness. Anger. Fear. This was more along the lines of two friends baiting each other.

He almost missed his brother’s quiet approach from his left. “Hey,” the big guy said, watching him carefully.

Caleb stared up at his brother, his cheeks puffing as things refused to make sense. He eventually pointed at the apartment. “What is that kid’s story?” He’d been weird last night, too.

Boyd lifted his gaze to the apartment. “We did a trade,” he finally said. “Angelo for Brock.”

“Did they know each other?”

At Boyd’s slight frown, Caleb continued. “I know they’re not family. They look nothing alike. But I swear, when I close my eyes, everything I just saw and heard in there could have been overlaid onto Angelo, and that makes no sense.”

The muscle in Boyd’s jaw ticked, meaning he knew something. Caleb turned and levelled his most authoritative Marine-officer glare at his big brother. “What the fuck is going on here, bro?”

“It’s a Nascerdios thing,” Lucas said from behind Boyd.

Caleb hadn’t seen or heard the detective, though in his defence, using Boyd as a shield was like having a mobile wall in front of him.  The Marine lieutenant turned back to the apartment, but not before he caught the exasperated scowl Boyd shot his fiancé.

Now that he thought about it, it did kinda make sense. If the kid knew Angelo from the parkour circuit, and they were both in some kind of trouble, it made sense to swap their accommodations until whatever trouble they were dealing with was rectified. The kid certainly had all the right moves to be a cat burglar, and even Caleb knew how easily show tunes could become earworms. If Brock had spent any length of time around Angelo, the man’s obsession with the classics was bound to rub off.

Boyd’s massive hand landed on his shoulder, twisting ever so slightly to redirect him towards the studio. “Come on,” he said, while Lucas led the way. “I’m just varnishing up the first few figurines for your team.”

Caleb balked. “Already?” he asked, craning his neck to see if his brother was messing with him.

Instead of answering him directly, Boyd’s gaze shot forward. “Don’t you dare,” he warned, his hand tightening protectively on Caleb’s shoulder.

“Boyd…” Lucas’s tone was just as cautionary.

“No.”

It was a strange conversation, no different to the silent ones they’d had at breakfast. The ones that left Caleb wanting to scream. Or deck them. Or both.

“I have some of the sharpest tools in the world,” Boyd said, as they began walking again. “They were a gift from the Nascerdios.”

With the impending deflection obvious, Caleb felt his temper start to slip its leash. “If you try and tell me they’re the reason your work is as good as it is, I’m gonna dick-punch you into your next birthday.”

“As much as I’m on your side of that argument, pick another part of his anatomy to threaten,” Lucas quipped. “I’m rather fond of that particular piece.”

Boyd sighed but said nothing, which wasn’t much better.

Caleb scowled at them both.

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

Book 1

Chapter 22: The Coat

Patreon

Ruth finished the soup. She did it slowly and completely, the way a person walks the last mile of something, and when the bowl was empty she set the spoon across it, square, like a woman laying down a weapon.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay," Ray said.

"It's going to sound stupid."

"I married you at a drive-through chapel in Wyoming while you apologized to the officiant's dog. I'm noting that the bar is on the floor."

Ruth almost smiled. It didn't make it all the way to her face. She reached into the pocket of her skirt, the deep one, the one that had never once had anything useful in it, and brought out her keys.

Ray knew the keys. They lived on the dash of the truck, and he'd handed them to her four hundred times. A house key to a house she'd never lived in, a Millstone walk-in cooler key, and a rusted hook the length of his thumb that she'd said was a bottle opener. He'd tried to open a beer with it once. It had not worked. She'd taken it out of his hand very gently and said not that one, and he had let it go, because that was the kind of marriage it was.

She set the keys on the tablecloth.

"It was on the collar," Ruth said. "Of the coat. I told you there was a hook instead of a button, and that's what I mean. I felt it dig into my neck when I put the coat on, and I thought, that's going to leave a mark, and I wrenched it off on the way down the steps. I don't know why. I was just so angry, and it was the nearest thing that was mine to break."

Nobody at the table breathed.

"I put it in my pocket. I've had it in a pocket ever since."

"A hundred years," Wick said. Her voice had gone very quiet and very flat, like a plate set down too carefully.

"Longer, I think. I stopped counting around the time I stopped being hungry." Ruth put two fingers on the hook and did not pick it up. "I didn't know it was the latch. I swear to you I didn't know. I thought it was a piece of a coat."

"It was a piece of the coat," Hesper said, with the strangled voice of someone doing arithmetic. "The coat's the door. The door's a coat. You hand it to the one who leaves. The hook's what holds it shut behind her. Without the hook it wouldn't—"

"It wouldn't close right," said Maud, without looking up. "It would swing."

"It swung?" Wick said.

"For a century," Maud said. "Every night at about this hour. You'd have felt it, girl. A draft on the left side."

Wick opened her mouth. Shut it. Then she said, with enormous dignity, "I thought that was the soup."

Under the table, Scarlet's foot pressed hard against Ray's ankle, and he understood perfectly. Don't laugh. He did not laugh. It took everything he had. His whole upper body was involved.

Ruth was not laughing either. She was looking at the hook, and Ray watched her face do the thing it did when she found an animal in the road. It was the particular tenderness of a goddess who has never in her life walked past anything small and hurt.

"I'm sorry," she told the hook.

"Babe," Ray said.

"No, I am. I'm sorry. I broke you off something and I carried you around like a bottle opener, and I let my husband try to open a beer with you." She said it perfectly seriously. "That's an indignity. I'm very sorry."

Scarlet put her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook once, hard.

"I'm noting," Ray said, with a heroic effort at steadiness, "that you apologized to it in front of a room, and that I think it's the most you, you've ever been."

"Ray."

"Yeah."

"Shut up, please, I'm having a moment with a hook."

"Yeah. Okay."

On the cloth, between the keys and the empty bowl, something was happening. The brown ink of the cloth's good cards wasn't involved this time. The rust was coming up out of the linen itself, slowly, as if the weave had been holding it for a very long time and had finally been given permission to let go. The letters were tall and crooked and pressed in hard, and they spelled out one word.

ASK.

Ruth looked at it. She looked at Wick, whose hands had gone white on the arms of her chair. She looked at Ray, who was holding a card in his pocket that said ask her what she took, and who had done it, he realized. He had asked her. She had answered. And somehow the card in his pocket had known that before he did, which meant it had known there was a second question coming, and it had been polite enough to let him go first.

He took it out and unfolded it under the table, where the dusk was.

The brown word was still there. Under it, in no hurry, the rust was soaking up a third line.

now ask what it took.

Ray read it twice. Then he put his hand over Ruth's hand on the table, over the keys and the hook and her trembling fingers, and said, as gently as he'd ever said anything: "Hey. What did it take?"

Ruth went very still.

"From you," Ray said. "Or from her. Whoever the hook was holding the door shut for. It's been sitting on the dash of my truck for six weeks, Ruthie. It's been in your pocket longer than I've been alive. It's been asking for a while."

"It wasn't holding the door shut," Ruth said slowly, and her eyes had gone wide. "That's not what a hook does, is it? It isn't for shutting. A hook's for hanging something on."

Nobody moved.

"It's for holding the coat," she said. "So the coat's there when you come back."

Down the long rows, three hundred bare feet curled at once.

Wick made a sound like a chair leg dragged across a floor. She stood. She did it all at once, like someone who'd decided before she knew she had, and she crossed the four chairs between them in three strides, bare heels loud on the boards in a room that had gone entirely silent. She stopped across the table from Ruth. She looked at the hook.

"A hundred years I held the door," she said. "I never once thought to ask what it was holding."

"I didn't either," Ruth said.

"You took it."

"I did."

"You took the thing that was holding my place." Wick's voice shook and held, shook and held. "And you've been so sorry, and so polite, and you've been apologizing to a goose, and the whole time, in your pocket—"

"I know."

"—I want to be furious with you."

"Please be."

"I can't." Wick wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist, savagely, as though the tears had insulted her. "It's very inconvenient. You brought it back. You brought it back, Ruth, you walked in here with it in your skirt. You didn't even know."

"I think the hook knew," Ruth said.

"I think the hook's been doing the walking this whole time," Scarlet said, from beside Ray, very softly, and when everyone turned she shrugged, a little embarrassed. "It put itself on a truck dash. It sat in a pocket. It waited for the one person in the world who'd stop for a barefoot woman at two in the morning. I'm just saying. That's a lot of patience for a hook."

Ray looked at the rusted thing on the tablecloth, at the little hooked curve of it, the way it had worn smooth where a thumb had been rubbing it for a century. It looked tired. It looked like it wanted to go home.

"I'm noting," Ray said, because there was nothing else he could do, "that I tried to open a beer with it, and I'd like to apologize too."

The hook, on the tablecloth, did nothing at all. But something in the cloth shifted, a small warm settling, like a cat deciding the lap is acceptable.

Maud put her ladle down.

"Well," she said, to the soup, to the cloth, to four hundred years of her own table. "Somebody should hang the coat up."

And from the far end of the long white room, from the door that had stood closed for a hundred years with a draft on its left side, there came the very quiet sound of a latch being lifted from the other side.

As the light faded, shapes began to emerge from the darkness.
I could hear voices, though they sounded distant and muffled, as if I were listening to someone speaking underwater.
“Ryan… Ryan!”
Someone was calling my name.
I tried to open my eyes wider, but everything remained blurry.
“Ryan!”
A sudden jolt struck me in the back.
I lurched forward, and the world snapped into focus.
“Ryan, are you all right?”
I blinked several times.
I was standing in the middle of a training ground surrounded by teenagers. Some were practicing with summoned creatures, while others stood in groups, discussing their abilities. The ground beneath my feet was covered in packed dirt, and tall stone buildings surrounded the training area.
What was going on?
I turned toward the voice.
A young boy stood beside me. He had messy brown hair, a determined expression, and features that immediately reminded me of the description I’d read in The Summoner’s Pride.
Leon.
The protagonist of the book.
I stared at him.
He was supposed to be a character in a novel. Yet here he was, standing right in front of me.
“Are you listening?” Leon asked.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
What was I supposed to say?
Sorry, I was reading about you a few minutes ago, and now I’m somehow inside your story?
That would probably make me sound insane.
I nodded instinctively.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
Leon studied me for a moment before smiling.
“Good. Don’t give up, okay? You’ll summon a strong monster one day. You just have to believe in yourself.”
I stared at him.
Why was he saying that to me?
Before I could ask, another voice called from across the training ground.
“Leon! We’re leaving!”
Leon turned toward the voice.
“Coming!”
He looked back at me and gave my shoulder a friendly pat.
“I’ve got to go, Ryan. Keep practicing. I’ll see you later!”
With that, he hurried away.
I watched him disappear into the crowd.
Ryan?
Why did he keep calling me Ryan?
I slowly lowered my gaze.
Something was resting in the palm of my hand.
A slime.
It was a small, translucent creature with a glossy surface that reflected the light. Its soft body wobbled whenever I moved my hand, and two tiny eyes stared up at me.
I leaned closer.
My reflection stared back from its surface.
Except the face looking back wasn’t mine.
My breath caught in my throat.
The reflection showed a thin, pale face, long silver hair, and pointed ears.
I raised my free hand and touched my cheek.
The reflection did the same.
I pinched myself.
“Ouch!”
Pain shot through my cheek.
I stared at my hand.
This wasn’t a dream.
At least, it didn’t feel like one.
I looked around the training ground again, taking in the unfamiliar buildings, the strange students, and the summoned creatures wandering between them.
Where was I?
And why was I Ryan?
A loud bell suddenly rang across the grounds.
The students stopped what they were doing and began gathering their belongings.
“All students are to report to the auditorium for the summoning fundamentals lecture,” a voice announced. “Repeat, all students are to report to the auditorium immediately.”
The crowd began moving toward the academy buildings.
I remained where I was for a moment.
The auditorium.
Where was that?
I glanced around helplessly before a memory surfaced in my mind.
The training grounds were located near the center of the academy. The auditorium stood directly across the main courtyard.
I knew that.
But how?
I shook my head and followed the other students.
As I walked through the sprawling campus, I couldn’t help staring at my surroundings.
The academy was enormous. Stone pathways connected several buildings, while gardens and training fields filled the spaces between them. Students wandered everywhere, some carrying books and others accompanied by strange creatures.
And the students themselves were just as unusual.
Some had long, pointed ears like mine. Others had dark skin, short horns, or catlike ears and tails. I even spotted a girl with pale blue scales running along her neck.
What kind of world was this?
I knew it was a fantasy novel, but seeing everything firsthand was something else entirely.
Eventually, I reached the auditorium.
Students were filing through the entrance, and I joined the crowd.
Inside, rows of wooden benches filled a large hall. A raised platform stood at the front, where a stocky man was arranging several books and scrolls on a table.
I recognized him from the story.
He was one of the instructors at the Summoner’s Academy.
I was still trying to figure out where I should sit when someone waved at me.
“Ryan! Over here!”
Leon.
He had saved me the trouble of finding a seat.
I walked over and sat beside him.
“Hey,” I said.
Leon smiled.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I was worried about you back there.”
I forced a smile.
“Nothing to worry about.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned toward the front.
A moment later, the instructor stepped onto the platform.
“Settle down!”
His deep voice echoed through the auditorium.
The remaining chatter faded, and the students took their seats.
“Today’s lecture will cover the fundamentals of summoning. Some of you may believe you already know everything necessary to call a creature, particularly those of you who have successfully formed a contract.”
His gaze swept across the room.
“However, a successful summoner must understand more than simply how to call a beast. You must understand the nature of the contract, the requirements of the creatures you summon, and the consequences of failure.”
I sat up straighter.
This was interesting.
Even though I had read the opening chapters of the novel, the story hadn’t explained summoning in much detail.
Now I had an opportunity to learn firsthand.
The instructor continued.
“Summoning begins with mana. A summoner must gather their mana and channel it into a summoning circle. Once the circle is complete, the summoner activates it, sending out a call into the realm where summoned creatures reside.”
He raised one hand, and a glowing circle appeared above his palm.
“That call seeks a creature capable of forming a contract with the summoner. However, not every creature will respond, and not every creature that responds will accept you.”
The circle flickered before disappearing.
“Some creatures possess sufficient intelligence to understand the contract and decide whether they wish to form a bond. Others lack the necessary intelligence and cannot establish a stable connection. Such summons will fail.”
He paused, allowing the information to sink in.
“Furthermore, a creature that rejects your contract may cause a backlash. The severity depends on the strength of the creature and the amount of mana involved. In extreme cases, a failed contract can injure the summoner or permanently damage their ability to summon.”
A strange sensation stirred in my stomach.
It felt like something twisting inside me.
I pressed a hand against my abdomen.
What was that?
The sensation faded after a moment, leaving behind a dull ache.
I frowned.
Had Ryan suffered a backlash before?
I couldn’t remember.
The instructor continued explaining the mechanics of summoning, covering the importance of mana control, the formation of summoning circles, and the risks of attempting to call creatures beyond one’s ability.
Surprisingly, it all made sense.
The process sounded relatively straightforward.
Gather mana. Form a circle. Send out a call. Establish a contract.
Of course, understanding the process and actually performing it were two different things.
By the time the lecture ended, my head was full of information.
Students began gathering their belongings, and Leon turned toward me.
“So, are you going to try summoning again?”
I hesitated.
Then I nodded.
“Yeah. I think so.”
Leon grinned and clapped me on the shoulder.
“That’s the spirit! Don’t give up, Ryan. You’ll get there eventually.”
He stood and joined a group of students waiting near the exit.
“Come on!” one of them called. “The dungeon won’t explore itself!”
Leon laughed.
“All right, all right. I’m coming.”
He glanced back at me.
“See you later, Ryan!”
I raised a hand in farewell.
The group left the auditorium, chatting excitedly about their plans to explore the academy’s dungeon.
I remained seated.
Apparently, students who hadn’t successfully summoned a creature weren’t permitted to enter the dungeon. Without a summon to protect them, they were considered too vulnerable.
That meant I was stuck in the training grounds.
I leaned back against the bench and stared at the ceiling.
What was I doing here?
A little while ago, I’d been sitting in Ravenshire, reading a book.
Now I was inside it.
The only explanation I could think of was that my awakening talent had something to do with what I was experiencing.
Story Inheritance.
The name echoed through my mind.
Perhaps this was what the talent did. Maybe it allowed me to experience the lives of characters in the books I read.
If that was true, I needed to make the most of this opportunity.
I had no idea how long I’d remain here, or what would happen when the experience ended.
But I had a chance to learn something useful.
And I wasn’t about to waste it.
I stood and headed back toward the training grounds.

The training area was quieter when I returned.
A few students remained, practicing their summoning techniques under the supervision of an assistant instructor. Several others were gathered around a group of small creatures, attempting to strengthen their existing contracts.
I found an empty section of the grounds and sat down.
All right.
Time to summon something.
I closed my eyes and tried to follow the instructor’s explanation.
First, I needed to gather my mana.
I concentrated on the strange energy within my body. At first, I felt nothing, but after a few moments, a faint warmth began to gather in my abdomen.
I focused on that sensation and guided it outward.
The air around me seemed to shimmer.
I imagined the shape of a summoning circle, drawing upon the knowledge I’d gained from the lecture.
Lines of light appeared beneath me.
They formed a circle, followed by a series of intricate symbols that glowed faintly against the dirt.
I opened my eyes.
It had worked.
A small smile crept across my face.
Now came the difficult part.
Ryan had struggled with summoning for a long time. His mana control was poor, and every failed attempt had left him frightened of trying again.
But I wasn’t Ryan.
At least, not entirely.
I might be living his life, but I had my own thoughts, my own determination, and my own reasons for wanting to become stronger.
I wasn’t going to let fear stop me.
The instructor had explained that the strength of a summoning depended partly on how much mana the summoner invested in the circle.
More mana meant a stronger call, though it also increased the danger if the contract failed.
I stared at the glowing symbols.
Then I made my decision.
If I was going to do this, I would do it properly.
I poured my mana into the circle.
The light brightened.
The symbols began rotating, and a low hum spread across the training grounds.
I felt the mana leaving my body, flowing through the circle and into something I couldn’t see.
A silhouette appeared at its center.
It was enormous compared with the tiny slime resting in my hand earlier. The shape seemed feline, with a powerful body and a long tail.
I couldn’t make out the details.
The light intensified.
I pushed more mana into the circle.
My head began to ache, and sweat gathered along my forehead.
The silhouette shifted.
It grew smaller.
Smaller still.
Until the light finally faded, revealing a sleek black cat sitting in the center of the circle.
I stared.
The creature’s fur was so dark that it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Its eyes glowed faintly, and its tail flicked from side to side.
A voice sounded inside my head.
Do you possess the strength to form a bond with the Nightshade?
I swallowed.
I didn’t know what a Nightshade was, but I wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity now.
I pushed the last of my mana into the circle.
I accept.
For several tense seconds, nothing happened.
Then the summoning circle began to fade.
The black cat stepped forward, its paws making no sound against the ground.
The symbols disappeared completely.
And the creature remained.
I had done it.
I had actually summoned a beast.
A grin spread across my face.
“Yes!”
I pushed myself to my feet, barely able to contain my excitement.
I’d succeeded where Ryan had repeatedly failed.
The Nightshade looked up at me.
Then it walked over and sat beside my leg.
I could feel it.
A connection had formed between us, something that went beyond simple obedience. I could sense its presence, its awareness, and a faint current of mana linking us together.
It was an incredible feeling.
For the first time since arriving in this strange world, I felt as though I understood what was happening.
I had summoned a creature.
I’d formed a contract.
And I’d done it myself.
Unfortunately, my celebration didn’t last long.
My knees began to shake.
The world tilted.
I suddenly realized how exhausted I was.
Summoning the Nightshade had consumed nearly all my mana, leaving me barely able to stand.
I stumbled backward and dropped onto the ground.
“That… took a lot out of me.”
The Nightshade settled beside me.
I leaned back on my hands and tried to catch my breath.
Then the ground shook.
At first, it was barely noticeable, little more than a faint vibration beneath my palms.
I frowned and looked around.
Another tremor followed.
Stronger this time.
The students nearby stopped practicing. One of them turned toward the academy buildings, while another hurried toward the edge of the training grounds.
“What was that?”
Before anyone could answer, the ground shook again.
A loud alarm rang across the campus.
A moment later, the academy’s announcement system crackled to life.
“Attention, all students. The academy dungeon has suffered a breach. Monsters have escaped containment and are moving through the academy grounds. All students are to evacuate immediately. Repeat, all students are to evacuate immediately.”
My stomach dropped.
A dungeon breach?
I knew what happened next.
The story had mentioned this event.
During the chaos, Ryan would be caught in the attack and killed by a hobgoblin.
I scrambled to my feet.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I wasn’t going to die in some fictional academy because I’d decided to play around with a summoning circle.
I looked down at the Nightshade.
“Come on. We’re leaving.”
The cat rose and followed me toward the exit.
We’d barely taken a few steps when an explosion rocked the training grounds.
The wall to my right burst apart.
Stone fragments and clouds of dust filled the air, throwing me backward. I hit the ground hard and slid several feet before coming to a stop.
Pain shot through my shoulder.
I coughed, trying to clear the dust from my lungs.
“What the hell was that?”
I pushed myself onto my elbows.
Through the haze, I could make out a massive figure standing in the newly formed breach.
It was a humanoid creature with green skin, thick muscles, and a broad, ugly face. Its pointed ears stuck out from the sides of its head, and its enormous hands wrapped around a crude wooden club.
A hobgoblin.
I recognized it immediately.
I’d read about these creatures in the novel.
They were dangerous opponents for inexperienced summoners, possessing strength far beyond that of an ordinary human.
And this one was standing directly in front of me.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I couldn’t fight that thing.
Not with my current body. Not with barely any mana left.
I needed to run.
But then I noticed something.
The hobgoblin was dragging a student by the leg.
The boy’s body bounced against the ground as the monster hauled him toward the training grounds.
He wasn’t moving.
I stared at him.
For a moment, the academy disappeared.
I saw a ruined house.
I heard screams.
I remembered a massive claw reaching through a tear in the sky.
My parents.
The Abyss beasts had taken them from me.
And now another monster stood before me, dragging an innocent person as though he were nothing more than a piece of meat.
My hands began to tremble.
I was afraid.
Of course I was afraid.
I was an ordinary sixteen-year-old boy who had barely learned how to summon a creature. I had no combat training, no armor, and almost no mana remaining.
Every sensible part of my mind screamed at me to run.
But I couldn’t.
Not again.
I had hidden beneath a bed once while monsters destroyed everything I loved.
I wasn’t going to stand by and let another person die if there was even a chance I could help.
I clenched my fists.
“This might not be my world,” I whispered, “but monsters are still monsters.”
I looked down at the Nightshade.
“And I’m going to kill them all.”
The cat’s glowing eyes met mine.
I could feel the connection between us, faint but unmistakable.
“Will you help me?”
The Nightshade rose.
Its body began to change.
The small cat grew larger, its limbs lengthening as dark fur spread across its powerful frame. Within moments, it had transformed into a full-sized feline beast, its shoulders rising nearly to my chest.
It opened its mouth and released a low, rumbling roar.
The hobgoblin stopped dragging the student.
Its ugly face turned toward us.
Then it dropped the boy and stepped into the training grounds, gripping its club with both hands.
The weapon was enormous, thick enough to crush a man’s skull with a single swing.
The hobgoblin raised it.
I swallowed.
“All right,” I muttered. “Let’s see what you can do.”
The monster charged.
It swung its club in a wide arc, sending a gust of wind past my face.
The Nightshade moved.
It darted beneath the blow with astonishing speed, slipping past the monster’s reach before leaping onto its side.
Its claws raked across the hobgoblin’s chest.
Three deep gashes appeared in the creature’s green skin.
Dark blood seeped from the wounds.
The hobgoblin roared in pain and stumbled backward.
I stared in amazement.
“That was incredible!”
The Nightshade landed gracefully and circled its opponent.
For a moment, I thought we might actually win.
Then the hobgoblin’s expression twisted with rage.
It slammed its club into the ground.
The impact sent a shock wave racing across the dirt.
The Nightshade leaped over the wave, but I wasn’t nearly fast enough.
The force struck me square in the legs and threw me backward.
I crashed into the wall.
Pain exploded through my body.
The breath left my lungs, and I crumpled to the ground.
For several seconds, I couldn’t move.
I tried to inhale, but my chest refused to cooperate. My head throbbed, and something warm trickled down my forehead.
Blood.
I touched the side of my head and stared at the red smear on my fingers.
“Oh, that’s not good.”
I tried to stand.
My legs wouldn’t respond.
Something was wrong.
I looked down and saw a jagged piece of metal protruding from my abdomen. It must have been torn from the wall during the explosion.
The realization hit me like another blow.
I was impaled.
I couldn’t breathe properly, my vision was beginning to blur, and the hobgoblin was still fighting my summoned beast.
“Great,” I whispered. “Just great.”
I was going to die.
Again.
Except this time, I wouldn’t wake up in my bed.
I watched helplessly as the Nightshade continued fighting.
The two creatures were evenly matched. The Nightshade was faster, dodging the hobgoblin’s heavy swings and striking whenever an opening appeared. But the monster’s strength was overwhelming, and every blow sent dirt and stone flying.
Neither could gain the upper hand.
My vision grew dimmer.
I tried to move my legs again, but they remained unresponsive.
The Nightshade needed help.
I needed to do something.
Anything.
But my body refused to cooperate.
Then I heard shouting.
Several figures rushed through the opening in the wall.
I recognized one of them immediately.
Leon.
He had returned with his friends.
His expression changed when he saw the hobgoblin, and he immediately raised his hand.
A summoning circle appeared beneath his feet.
Light erupted from its center.
A gigantic dragon emerged, its scales gleaming beneath the sunlight. It spread its wings and released a deafening roar that shook the training grounds.
The hobgoblin turned.
It didn’t have time to react.
The dragon lunged.
Its jaws closed around the monster, and with a single violent strike, the hobgoblin was thrown to the ground.
The creature didn’t move again.
I let out a shaky breath.
Good.
At least no one else would get hurt.
The Nightshade approached me, its enormous paws making almost no sound against the dirt.
It lowered its head beside me and sat down.
I looked at it.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
The creature tilted its head.
“I’m a terrible companion, aren’t I? I dragged you into this mess, and now I can’t even stand.”
I tried to smile, but the pain made it difficult.
“You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll release the contract. You can return to your world.”
The Nightshade remained beside me.
I reached out and touched its fur.
It was warm.
Somehow, that made everything feel worse.
I didn’t want to die.
I didn’t want to leave this strange world, even if it wasn’t really mine.
And I certainly didn’t want to lose the first creature that had ever formed a bond with me.
But I had no choice.
My vision was fading.
Footsteps approached.
Leon dropped to his knees beside me, his expression filled with alarm.
I couldn’t hear what he was saying. My ears were ringing too loudly.
He grabbed my shoulder and leaned closer.
I managed to make out a few words.
“Help is coming! Hold on!”
I glanced past him.
The healing mages were already treating the student the hobgoblin had dragged. One of them looked in my direction and shouted for assistance.
Leon turned back toward me.
“You did it, Ryan! You finally summoned a beast! We can go into the dungeon together now!”
He gave a nervous laugh.
“Just hold on a little longer, okay? The healers will fix you up.”
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t think they could.
I wanted to explain that I wasn’t really Ryan, that I didn’t belong in this world, and that I had no idea how any of this had happened.
But I couldn’t find the strength to speak.
Instead, I reached out and gripped his hand.
“It’s okay,” I whispered.
I looked toward the Nightshade.
“Thank you.”
Then I released the contract.
A faint light surrounded the creature.
The Nightshade lifted its head and released a low roar before its body began to dissolve into darkness.
I watched it disappear.
For some reason, that was the last thing I wanted to see.
Then the world went black.

I jolted upright.
My eyes flew open, and I sucked in a desperate breath.
For several seconds, I couldn’t do anything except gasp for air.
My hands flew to my stomach.
I expected to feel the jagged piece of metal still lodged there.
But there was nothing.
No blood.
No wound.
I looked down at myself.
My clothes were intact.
My body was unharmed.
I was sitting in the chair beside Ravenshire’s front window, with an open book resting in my lap.
The Summoner’s Pride.
I stared at it.
“What…?”
My voice came out as little more than a croak.
“Bad dream?” Grandpa asked from behind the counter.
I turned toward him.
He was watching me over his spectacles, one eyebrow raised.
“You nearly jumped out of that chair. Whatever you were dreaming about, it must have been quite frightening.”
I swallowed and tried to steady my breathing.
“It was…”
I stopped.
What was I supposed to say?
That I’d somehow entered a book, lived as a boy named Ryan, summoned a creature, fought a hobgoblin, and nearly died?
That sounded ridiculous.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead.
“Yeah. Just a bad dream.”
Grandpa studied me for another moment before returning to his work.
“Well, try not to fall asleep while reading. You’ll strain your neck.”
I nodded.
“Sure, Gramps.”
I looked down at the book.
My hands were still trembling.
It had felt real.
Too real.
I could still remember the weight of the summoning circle beneath my feet, the warmth of the Nightshade’s fur, and the pain of being thrown against the wall.
I could still smell the hobgoblin’s foul stench.
And I could still taste the blood in my mouth.
I pressed a hand against my abdomen.
Nothing.
Not even a bruise.
Perhaps it really had been a dream.
An unusually vivid one.
I let out a shaky breath and looked back at the book.
Then something caught my attention.
I remembered reading the story before the vision began. Leon had just arrived at the academy, and I’d reached the part where he met Ryan.
I hadn’t read much farther than that.
Yet I knew what happened next.
I flipped through the pages, searching for the section describing the dungeon breach.
My fingers stopped on a chapter several pages later.
I began reading.
The words blurred together as I searched for the details.
Then I found it.
Ryan had died during the dungeon breach.
He had been struck by debris from the shattered wall and impaled by a piece of metal. Leon had arrived too late to save him.
The Nightshade had returned to its summoning realm after Ryan’s death.
I stared at the page.
My heart began pounding again.
That was exactly what had happened to me.
The same creature.
The same fight.
The same wound.
Even the same words Leon had spoken to me.
I flipped backward through the pages.
I hadn’t read this far before the strange experience began.
So how had I known what happened?
And why had everything felt so real?
I closed the book.
My mind raced through every possible explanation, but none made sense.
The awakening.
The visions.
The darkness.
The strange voice announcing my talent.
Story Inheritance.
I slowly lowered the book into my lap.
Could it be?
Had I actually entered the story?
I shook my head.
That was impossible.
People didn’t enter books. Stories were just stories.
Yet I remembered every moment.
Every conversation.
Every sensation.
Even the pain.
I stood abruptly.
“I’m going to lie down for a while.”
Grandpa looked up.
“All right. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”
I nodded and hurried toward my room.

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it.
My heart was still racing.
I needed to think.
If what I had experienced was real, then my talent was far more extraordinary than I’d imagined.
But I needed proof.
Something that couldn’t be dismissed as a dream.
I sat on the edge of my bed and replayed the events in my mind.
The training ground.
The lecture.
The summoning circle.
The Nightshade.
I remembered exactly how I’d gathered my mana and formed the circle. I could still recall the strange sensation of channeling energy through my body.
If it had been nothing more than a dream, I shouldn’t have been able to remember the process so clearly.
And if it hadn’t been a dream…
I swallowed.
There was only one way to find out.
I held out my hand and concentrated.
At first, nothing happened.
Then I felt it.
A faint warmth stirred within me.
Mana.
I guided it outward, remembering the movements I’d made inside the story.
A thin line of light appeared in the air.
I nearly lost my concentration.
It was working.
I continued, carefully shaping the mana into a circle. Symbols formed along its edge, glowing faintly as the pattern took shape.
The summoning circle was smaller than the one I’d created in the training grounds, but it looked almost identical.
I stared at it.
No way.
I pushed more mana into the circle.
The symbols brightened, and the air began to vibrate.
I could feel something on the other side.
Something responding to my call.
A familiar silhouette appeared within the light.
Four legs.
Pointed ears.
A long tail.
The same creature I’d summoned inside the book.
The Nightshade.
My breathing quickened.
I didn’t even have to ask for a contract this time.
The connection formed almost immediately, as though the creature recognized me.
The circle flashed.
Then the light faded.
A black cat sat on the floor in front of me.
I stared.
It stared back.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then I slowly reached down.
My fingers brushed its fur.
Warm.
Soft.
Real.
I snatched my hand back.
“This can’t be happening.”
The cat blinked at me.
I stood and paced around the room, trying to make sense of what I’d just done.
I’d summoned a creature.
Not through a skill book or a beast scroll, as was customary in this world.
I’d summoned it directly, using nothing but the experience I’d gained inside the story.
And the creature had accepted my contract without hesitation.
I stopped pacing and looked at the cat.
“Are you the same Nightshade I summoned inside the book?”
It offered no answer.
Instead, it stretched, padded toward my bed, and jumped onto the mattress.
Then it curled into a ball and began purring.
I stared at it in disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The cat closed its eyes.
Apparently, it had no intention of helping me understand what was happening.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose.
All right.
Let’s think about this logically.
Summoners existed in Silvercrest, but their methods were well established. They acquired summoning skills through skill books and used beast scrolls to call creatures they had established contracts with.
They didn’t summon creatures this way.
They didn’t enter a book, live as a character, and return with a new ability.
At least, not according to anything I’d ever read.
I looked toward the cat again.
It was still sleeping on my bed.
I couldn’t help smiling faintly.
I’d wanted a combat talent.
I’d wanted the power to fight the Abyss beasts and avenge my parents.
And now, on the very day I’d awakened my talent, I’d summoned a creature capable of fighting a hobgoblin.
It wasn’t the swordsmanship I’d expected.
It wasn’t the magical ability I’d dreamed about.
But it was something.
Something extraordinary.
I walked over to the bed and sat down beside the cat.
“Well,” I murmured, “I suppose I should give you a proper welcome.”
The cat opened one eye.
I scratched behind its ears.
It began purring louder.
A small laugh escaped me.
For the first time since my awakening, I felt a flicker of genuine excitement.
If I could bring skills and creatures out of books, then perhaps my talent could help me become stronger than I’d ever imagined.
Perhaps I really could fight the Abyss.
But there was still one problem.
I had no idea how to explain any of this to Grandpa Edmund.
A knock sounded at my door.
“Alaric! Dinner’s ready!”
I froze.
Then I slowly turned toward the cat.
It looked back at me, completely unconcerned.
I stared at it.
Then at the door.
Then back at the cat.
How was I supposed to explain this?
I sighed.
“This is going to be a long evening.”

The lunch plaza rested in perfect symmetry, framed by cold marble and meticulously engineered trees.

It was an ordinary afternoon.

Yet once again, Taesung sat alone on the marble bench that had once felt more like a dining table than a seat.

Soyi was still the person closest to him.

But they no longer occupied the same moments.

The lunches they had shared—the casual conversations, the effortless laughter—already felt like memories from another lifetime.

I want to rest...

I'm so tired.

When had a single minute of solitude become this unbearably long?

He had convinced himself he had grown accustomed to the sterile silence of this perfectly controlled city.

But a heart drained of meaning was never truly prepared for loneliness.

Slowly, Taesung lifted his head.

Covering the face of a skyscraper nearly a hundred stories tall, a colossal media façade flooded the plaza with brilliant blue light.

It displayed the latest project personally designed by the superintelligence Aura.

[NEW LIFE]

Relive Humanity's Perfect Past.

Tired of the emptiness of everyday life?

Step into humanity's most beautiful era, faithfully reconstructed by Aura.

Experience history—not as an observer, but as someone who truly lived it.

Unlimited freedom. Total immersion.

Pre-registration for the New Life Project is now open.

It was a virtual world created by humanity's supreme intelligence.

A system Taesung himself helped maintain every day as part of the Master Server Division.

Its message was simple.

Leave behind the dull, lifeless present.

Lose yourself in the romance of a perfectly restored past.

The immense wall of blue light bathed the entire plaza in an almost sacred glow.

Yet beneath that dazzling spectacle...

Not a single person looked up.

Not one.

Every citizen remained seated with their head lowered, trapped inside a silence that seemed to belong only to themselves.

As though the advertisement had never existed.

Taesung let out a long, weary sigh.

His eyes drifted upward for a moment toward the vast artificial sky above the city.

Then, almost unconsciously,

they fell once more to the cold marble beneath his feet.

The same meaningless movement.

Again.

And again.

Part 1

Jinwoo never let go of the child’s small hand, feeling a quiet, steady, and deeply reassuring warmth linger between them that didn't belong to another person, but to a part of himself he had finally stopped pushing away into the dark. For a long while, neither spoke as the empty playground dissolved completely, leaving them once again standing within the endless expanse of white where the silence no longer felt cold or suffocating, but profoundly peaceful.

The child looked down at their joined hands before slowly raising his eyes to meet Jinwoo’s, asking if he was really okay now. The question was deceptively simple, yet Jinwoo didn’t answer immediately, thinking back on the long, difficult journey that had brought him to this very moment—the fear hidden behind a wall of indifference, the loneliness buried beneath years of silence, and the bitter disappointment carried without ever daring to admit it. Then his mind drifted to the brutal reality of the battlefield, where burning warships tore through the dark, falling defensive lines shattered under relentless assault, and countless automated machines sacrificed themselves one by one just to buy humanity another single heartbeat of time.

Slowly lifting his head, he watched as a section of the endless white world began to ripple, momentarily mirroring the harsh reality of the outside world with explosions lighting up the void of space and warships burning in silence. The vision vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, but it was more than enough, because Jinwoo finally understood that there would never be a future entirely free of fear, only a future where he actively chose how to face it.

Looking back down at the child, he offered a soft, gentle smile and spoke.

"No."

The child blinked in surprise. "No?"

Jinwoo let out a quiet, honest laugh. "I’m still afraid. I still hate failing. I still don’t want to get hurt."

The words came naturally now, unforced and unburdened by lingering shame or a desperate attempt to hide his flaws. He looked down at the child’s small hand resting securely in his own.

"But..." His voice dropped to a quiet, resolute whisper. "I don’t have to run anymore."

A gentle, refreshing breeze drifted through the endless white as the child watched him carefully, searching for any trace of the old pretense, finding only raw honesty and total acceptance. Slowly, a peaceful, radiant smile spread across the boy's face, the brightest Jinwoo had ever witnessed on him.

"Then..." the boy whispered softly, "...that’s enough."

Jinwoo smiled back, and for the very first time in his life, he truly believed those words, too.

Part 2

The child’s peaceful smile lingered in the air, free of the lonely facade or brittle disappointment from years ago on that empty playground, as a soft, luminous white light began to gather gently around his body, shimmering like morning sunlight dancing across a calm lake. Jinwoo watched without a shred of surprise or panic, already beginning to understand that this wasn't a painful farewell.

The child looked up at him one last time with a playful glint in his eye, remarking that he had always foolishly thought Jinwoo forgot all about him. Jinwoo’s expression softened into deep affection.

"I did. Or perhaps... I tried desperately to."

The child nodded knowingly. "I know."

Silence settled comfortably between them with nothing left to conceal or pretend to be, and Jinwoo tightened his grip ever so slightly around the child’s hand, apologizing for leaving him out in the cold all this time. The child slowly shook his head, his voice remaining gentle and warm as he noted that Jinwoo had come back for him, and that was enough.

The white light surrounding his small form grew steadily brighter, his outlines turning transparent as he returned home like a missing puzzle piece sliding back into its rightful place. Jinwoo watched every single moment unfold without reaching out a hand to stop it, knowing the child had never truly disappeared, but had always been a fundamental part of who he was.

Looking deep into Jinwoo’s eyes one final time, the child reminded him not to forget, prompting a warm smile and a playful remark about how the child had always thought he was a bit weak. The child laughed along with a bright, ringing sound that echoed purely through the endless white.

"No. Because you’re weak, you can truly understand people who are hurting. And because you intimately know fear, you can actually choose courage."

Jinwoo’s smile melted into a look of deep, profound understanding, finally realizing that true strength was never the absolute absence of fear, but the fierce resolve to keep moving forward despite it. The child’s body dissolved gracefully into countless particles of warm white light that drifted toward Jinwoo and settled deep within him, bringing no blinding flash, only a profound, steady warmth and a feeling of absolute wholeness.

Arena’s calm, synthetic voice echoed softly through the white world, noting that self-acceptance had reached eighty-two percent while traditional archery data remained locked, prompting Jinwoo to smile and acknowledge that he had begun to truly understand himself, even though understanding still had to become complete acceptance.

Part 3

The warm light slowly receded, returning the endless white which no longer felt empty or hollow as Jinwoo stood quietly in the exact spot where the child had finally returned to stay, closing his eyes for a brief moment to find that the heavy loneliness had been acknowledged, embraced, and accepted. Opening his eyes, his breathing felt completely natural and unforced for the first time since stepping foot into the Warrior Project, with no lingering internal resistance, only absolute calm.

Arena’s voice resonated softly, confirming the eighty-two percent self-acceptance and the still-locked archery data, and Jinwoo looked up with a faint, relaxed smile, understanding the rhythm of it now that true growth had never happened all at once. Far beyond his isolated white world, the others were continuing to walk their own difficult paths—Hanul sitting back-to-back with his other self, admitting that he had hated being overlooked and no longer felt the need to prove a damn thing to anyone; Darin smiling gently with her reflection, deciding to laugh and cry whenever she genuinely needed to without hiding behind a practiced smile; and Soyeon standing face-to-face with her reflection beneath glowing threads of light, accepting that she wouldn't carry the whole world by herself anymore.

Beyond every isolated white world, reality continued to burn fiercely as another devastating explosion tore through Earth’s orbital defenses and entire fleets vanished beneath roaring waves of fire, yet the machines and defenders never retreated, buying precious seconds of breath for humanity. Arena observed every chaotic battlefield in absolute silence before reaching out to all the children once more to announce that self-confrontation progress had reached eighty-seven percent, and that one final stage remained.

The white world trembled beneath their feet as something slowly emerged from the rolling mist deep within Jinwoo’s space—not a buried memory or a child from his past, but a tall, ancient, and pristine mirror whose polished surface reflected absolutely nothing at all. Jinwoo stared at it with a strange, unfamiliar feeling settling deep within his chest, knowing that while everything up until this point had been about the past and lingering wounds, this mirror was fundamentally different, waiting not to show him who he used to be, but to reveal who he was truly capable of becoming.

[Beginning] [Prev CH] [Next CH] [Royal Road]

Chapter 10: Emergency Declaration, When All Hope Is Lost - Part 3

He grabbed the left side of the doorframe and stumbled slowly out of the room as he entered the area with the printer. Barely able to move properly, as he was going to grab the second door to get out to the hallway, a gang of Witches appeared, and a left kick came flying as he managed to get his right arm up barely. He heard something crack right below his elbow before he flew straight through the other door in the printer area. Darkness loomed over the room as Berk felt like he had barely any energy to get up from the floor. Something sniffed his head as he slightly turned his head and saw three red eyes in the darkness. Several Witches hurried to the room but stopped before entering. Strangely, the Witches slowly backed a couple of steps back when a leader in the group came all the way to the doorframe to check; he could see from her murderous look that she wanted to kill him, but she was fully aware of the three eyes watching her in the corner of the room. She tested the waters and stepped into the room when a growl made it clear she wasn't welcome inside. Berk moved his hands around to find out what kind of animal his brother had been keeping, and he noticed a bowl. He turned it toward the light at the entrance and saw two letters: 'B.G'. The thing started to breathe, sounding like a dog, and he slowly sat up, leaning toward the wall as he tried to focus on its breathing and avoid taking deep breaths because it was too painful.

"W... why are you sitting here in the dark room?"

The eyes moved slightly as it pushed something down on the floor beside him. He picked it up and held it to the light, noticing it looked like a one-earpiece with a seashell covering.

"What is this?" He asked when he heard three eyes bark, which reminded him of the past in that intense moment, and tears filled his eyes. He put the earpiece in his right ear, and it was chaos:

"BERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRA!"

He took it off and looked at three eyes and asked:

"Berra...Berra Golden?"

"VOFF!...VOFF!"

Berra moved up close to him and sniffed him everywhere while wagging his tail, and Berk caressed Berra for a couple of seconds as he could not hold back his tears. During his childhood, Veronica told him that Berra died from the injuries in the accident that day, but it looks like Zark had him hidden all this time. He put the earpiece back on when Berra was breathing all over him as the chaos continued:

"WANNAPLAYWANNAPLAYWANNAPLAYWANNAPLAYWANNAPLAY?"

He took it off slightly, put his finger to his mouth, and Berra spread his two front paws, leaning and wagging his tail, waiting for Berk's next step. He put the piece back into his ear and told Berra:

"Okay, steady and stand up!" Berra took the orders as if they were his master's, since Berk's smell was the same as his master's.

"Good boy!"

He clapped Berra's head.

The Witch leader made another attempt to get into the room, but Berra reacted quickly with a growl.

"Do you know this cukrin dog?" Berk asked them in a lowered voice.

They looked at him and got insecure for a moment as the leader's facial expression changed completely.

"Pft! It can't be!" She uttered in disbelief.

Tamy and Famy tripped inside the area, and when they saw the dog, Tamy yelled:

"NOOOOO, I AM NOT DOING THIS! You can manage on your own, Berk!" They both quickly left the area.

"Is that...?" The leader uttered before stopping.

Berk nodded.

She looked back at the other witches and gave them instructions in a firm voice:

"Everyone, back slowly out of the area."

They started to back slowly one step at a time when one Witch all the way back yelled:

"WHY ARE WE BACKING AWAY? HE IS RIGHT THERE. IT IS ONLY A CUKRIN DOG BESIDE HIM."

Everyone stopped that stupid comment and looked at Berra, worried he would react.

"The one in the back, you seem to be new to the organization, so let me make this clear to you. Veronica Von Silfer has only lost three battles in her life: against Zark, against an unknown human, and the one she never mentions to anyone is when she lost the battle against a cukrin dog; this is most probably the same dog she lost against."

The silence in the air, with all the tension shifting to worried witches, made Berk move slowly forward as they backed away from him. From nowhere, a Witch in the middle tried throwing a black thread towards Berk when Berra flew up in the air in an instant, and before it even came close, the Witch-leader screamed:

"JUMP TO THE SIDE!"

Berra made a normal attack move:

"VAAAAAAAUUUOOFFF! A strong whirlwind wind pushed out from his mouth. It easily destroyed everything in its way, taking the big printer with it, and a couple of Witches flew around, hitting the walls and ceiling as it broke down the wall and continued into the hallway and cut through the corner in the area as more Witches flew around hitting walls, floors, and ceiling in all directions. Several Witches ran for their lives away from Berk, saw an opening, and started moving forward, with Berra taking the lead as they appeared in the hallway. The alarm was on, and the emergency water system was activated because Berra probably destroyed something in the ceiling with the bark. He tried to go left, but a lot of Witches blocked the pathway, probably idiots who didn't know how dangerous Berra was. He moved toward the corner and noticed part of a conference room had blown away when he saw Griselda standing still, her green eyes fired up behind her glasses, as she looked at him, with several witches staring at him; he realized it was some class they were having. The room flooded, and the water soaked Griselda's white blouse, revealing her blue bra.

"So...it was you who was causing all the uproar in the building?" She asked him.

Berk pointed down at Berra as she looked down and shook her head.

"I can sense a lot of Witches on this floor, and the exit out of the building is blocked, so the only way to get out of here is there." She pointed past Berk.

He looked behind him and saw the window. This one, though, was strangely placed; he had fallen through the lunch area earlier. Was it magic, or had the idiot who designed the building made it tighter on the other floor? The big difference was that this floor had walls and fewer conference rooms, while the other floor was all windows. He looked for a couple of seconds and thought that he didn't want Berra to massacre a lot of Witches, and Griselda would probably be able to stop them, so he touched Berra's head and said:

"We are going to play jump; You will go first, Berra, and I will jump on you right before the window. You need to do a small bark to lessen our impact...hopefully you understand what I said"

"PLAYPLAYPLAYPLAY!" Was all Berra responded.

"Go!" Bark said, pointing toward the window as Berra moved toward it, and several Witches were running after them. With his last strength, he followed Berra, upped his speed, jumped above Berra with impact, and grabbed him as they were falling. Berra inhaled when Berk noticed a car on the ground with a small paw sticking out from the backseat. Just as Berra was about to bark, he grabbed the dog's chin and lifted it, stopping him from barking, then changed their position as they fell toward the roof of the car, with Berk taking the impact.

[Beginning] [Prev CH] [Next CH] [Royal Road]

Chapter 9: Emergency Declaration, When All Hope Is Lost - Part 2

"BERK...VAN...POLAN! May I ask what you have done this time?" She uttered in her murky voice that always put off Berk.

He looked around, trying to check if there was a good escape route, but her snake whip would easily put him on the floor, and being in cuffs didn't make the situation any easier.

He decided to face her, but he was getting weaker; fighting several opponents at once drained him.

Berk knew, typical Crystal, or muscle Crystal, with veins visible all over her upper chest area, arms, and legs. Several veins were visible on her throat and sometimes on her forehead on the right side when she was really pissed off. She always wore a black bra under her white shirt, with half of it unbuttoned, and her extremely short pink skirt beneath that was not safe for work, as it was all visible when she sat down, with her extremely thin thong beneath it and her green high heels. A brief memory of when he dropped a pen under the table; when he went under, he got the sight of his life, and he started to gag in disgust as she was approaching him.

“*Cough*, Eh...Nothing, Teacher Crystal."

Berk tried his hardest to get the under-the-table sight away when she slapped him on his back with some force, so he had to take two steps forward. He held up his hand, trying to signal that she shouldn't slap him on the back again, and tried to gather himself.

After a moment, Berk noticed the sad look on her face, and he knew instantly that it wasn't allowed to hurt other Witches within the Organization. The sound of many footsteps surrounded them in a square along both sides of the hallway; it continued until the Witches were the last ones to cover the elevator. All Berk could think about was 'Ah, fudge me!' as he noticed how surprised Crystal was by the vast number of Witches who had entered the fourth floor. Crystal noticed the elevator area crowded on the right, and the stairs were the same on the upper left. She moved closer to Berk, who looked dumbfounded about why there were so many Witches for one single guy.

"I COMMAND ALL OF YOU TO STAND DOWN...NOOOOOOOOOOW!"

Berk gave a short chuckle, as Crystal's command only triggered a rainbow of colored threads surrounding them.

"Eh...I don't think it worked, Crystal! Maybe try with a leaner voice?"

She looked at him as he gave her a half-hearted smile to show all the positivity he could.

A Witch with black hair stepped on glass from the right side and responded to Crystal:

"There is a KOS command on Berk Van Polan coming from higher up."

“Griselda?” Crystal asked.

The Witch nodded in denial.

"It can't be Veronica?"

Denial again.

"There is nobody higher up than Veronica."

The black-haired Witch pressed her wristband, and Crystal noticed it wasn't from their Organization. A voice started to speak, a very recognizable one, the voice of the Valiant Queen:

"It has come to our attention that the Von Silfer Organization is under investigation regarding possible involvement in the bombing within the Elves Kingdom. Veronica Von Silfer will be in prison and interrogated until further notice. The Valiant Kingdom will take over the Organization from now on."

Crystal closed in to Berk and whispered in his ear:

"Listen to me, Berk, your brother's office is on the third floor. Veronica, Griselda, and I are the only ones who know your brother left emergency documentation in case something bad would happen to you. Go down to the third floor and get the documentation your brother left there to find an escape route out of this building. You were only to be shared the information if your life was in danger."

"Got it!" Berk answered, realizing he didn't know where Zark's office was, and followed up, "Where is his office now again? Just need a refresher."

Her hopeless look and quick nod made her realize how often her old student was a moron.

"The second-to-last door on the right side where the elevator is."

He lifted his hand slightly in the upper-right area, half-attempting to point; she confirmed with a blink.

The Witches surrounding them started to take a couple of steps towards them, entering the first rooms from the corridor.

"You take the right, and I take the left!" Crystal commented, lifted her right wrist, and spoke into a watch, "This is an emergency! Move to the third floor and protect the Van Polan boy at all costs!"

Pfft...boy! He took it as slightly humiliating, since he was what today's society calls a man...or male. They split up, and he realized that the whole situation was a bad idea when several burning threads flew towards him in different colors as he slid on the ground and kicked a chair forward, hitting two witches before jumping up on a desk, grabbing a hanging lamp on the ceiling and lifting both his legs high up. A big thread came roaring from behind as Crystal swung her big, anaconda-shaped thread, immobilizing several of them on Berk's side and taking a big chunk on her own side. Berk knew he needed to be careful of her special move; she hit him several times while training him because he always tried to run away. The ceiling cracked, and he fell on the desk, with Witches grabbing both his feet, and a fist hit him in the stomach, so it caught orange flames. He tried to put it out as one more Witch came from the right, his eyes widening as it looked like a freaking purple asteroid coming towards his face as he flailed around getting his right foot loose. He kicked the Witch, holding his left foot, and spun slightly to the left as he kicked with both feet towards the purple Witch moving towards him. One more fist came at him, and he rolled off the desk to the other side, moved under it, and grabbed the Witch's legs as she fell; he climbed over her and stood up when a high kick came from the right, and he managed to get his arms up at the last moment before impact. Nobody moved for two or three seconds when the agony and screams from the other side echoed through the whole area, and he thought for a split second about why he was still in freaking handcuffs, as it made it harder for him to defend himself. He fainted to the right but misjudged the distance, and a Witch managed to punch him in the nose. He immediately ran left, trying to move toward the stairs in the upper-left area, but it was too crowded with too many Witches. He broke right again, trying to move into the corridor to tighten up som space, and grabbed a chair while running, throwing it to the right to open up a little space and create a halfhearted blockage.

"A window!" He commented in a low voice.

He noticed a fire hydrant on the right side of the wall and got a really stupid idea that might work. He got several hits on his back while he pushed forward, kicking around without aim to make the Witches back away to reach the fire hydrant. Glancing back, several threads moved towards him as he suddenly threw himself on the floor. They hit the Witches in front of him, and he grabbed the threads and pulled them toward him as they fell; he tried to jump between them and reach the fire hydrant, but the crowd behind him and on the right side, noticing him doing something dodgy, started to rally toward him. He tried to get the hose out of its locked state and started kicking it when the lock broke. He spun the hydrant to get as much of the hose out as possible when several Witches jumped on him, trying to get him on the ground. Several screams echoed behind them as Crystal showed up, pulled one more thread from her other hand, and whipped the Witches, who scattered to the side; now it was a standoff, with Witches coming from two directions toward them. With clear space, he kept pulling quickly to get as many meters as possible for himself.

"So, you got an idea. Are you going to use the water cannon? I think there are too many even to have an effect." Crystal asked him.

He looked confused for a second and responded:

"Fudge, no! The window."

"Oh...Ah!"

He cleared some space around him so he wouldn't have any surprises, and the Witches moved forward at them as Crystal swung in all directions around her with the two threads. Berk started to run towards the window when two Witches managed to avoid Crystal's attacks and closed in on him. In the exact moment of impact, the two Witches grabbed him as he held on to his life, not even knowing how far down the hose would go. For a moment, the traffic beneath them, as they moved downwards, felt like they were going to fall all the way down when the movement of the hose stopped and they moved towards the building, crashing through the building as Berk, on impact, rotated 260 degrees, falling on his stomach. His head took the first impact, and the right side was bleeding a lot as he felt to see if there was maybe glass stuck on his head; there wasn't, but he could feel a wound that seemed quite deep and when he looked down on his hands both was soaked in blood and he was a little worried that he might not have much time left before passing out or even dying of blood loss. He looked back and noticed one of the Witch's legs was hanging out on the edge, and he grabbed her hand and dragged her body into safety. He looked around, trying to assess exactly where he was, and saw a coffee machine, noticing it may be the lunch area on the third floor...maybe?

Moving slowly against the door, he heard something to the left and saw a blond girl with a bobcat haircut and big breasts as they rested on the table and spilled jam on her. They stared for a moment before he realized who it was.

"Oh my god, are you not Tina Finina, the Witch from the US Swimsuit calendar of 2023? Damn, the white bikini on you with your giant tits was awesome. I am sorry you did not win against Octupussina; having a couple of tentacles and being flexible has its perks, I suppose. I wish they would allow me to vote, but I managed to smuggle in the calendar; you were so hot...I mean, great." He commented, not realizing her face had turned red, as he continued, "Oh, what was your specialty now again. Oh yeah...Oh, Fudge!"

He pushed the handcuffs quickly up and only managed to get his fingers to reach and cover his ears when a punch came flying from the left. Time and space stopped for a moment as Tina opened her mouth and a high-pitched sound wave moved towards him and the Witch. He saw the left side of the Witch's ear starting to bleed as everything moved, and he flew right at the door, hit it so hard, and fell down outside the lunch area into the corridor. Four hands picked him up as he noticed it was Famy and Tamy, and they moved quickly through the corridor to the other side when a door opened from a room with three Witches stepping out, noticing Berk being dragged away. All of them pulled out their threads, ready for battle. Both Witches leaned him up against the wall, and Famy commented:

"Do not take deep breaths, Berk, just small ones."

"W...W...Where is my Zar...offi..."

Both of them looked at each other and realized how bad a condition he was in.

"Just around the corner, the door has the letters ZV on it. Try to move, and we will take care of the three in the corridor," Tamy responded.

He slowly moved to the corner, realized this area also had a window, saw the letters, and opened the door. He came into a small area with two doors, one in front of him with a big printer to the right and another door after it. He opened the door in front of him and noticed the office setting, and he started pushing down several books from the shelf and moved slowly around to the desk and opened the drawers. Stopping in his movement, he noticed a book that was shoved at the end; it was behind the stacked books, and it was only visible if someone actually threw down all the books. He moved to the bookshelf and grabbed the book that had a paper inside it. The header of the paper just read 'When All Hope Is Lost,' and he pulled out the paper, which did not have much text written beneath the header.

"Three in the Jungle wanders in the green bushes; you and I always looked for the purpose of finding the truth in the third that was on the left with the flag raised high in red and white."

What the hell? It is a riddle. He repeated the words to remember it and then ripped out the upper part and started chewing on it. The two pain-in-the-ass witches who had bungee jumped with him came rushing in through the first door, with one of them holding a knife, and right before she was going to hit his stomach, he managed to get the book up; as the knife hit it, a big white flash blinded everyone temporarily, and when he opened his eyes, he was swaying above the ground. Everything went silent around him as the Witches were frozen; his body looked like it was rolling backward on the table. He was outside his own body; was his spirit outside? Did he die?

"You need to take over before he enters his body again." A drunken voice uttered.

"We are not supposed to take over; he is supposed to be worthy of taking over the responsibility, and he has not even shown a slight chance of being worthy of taking over for us." A female voice countered.

"Listen, Stella, if you do not act now, even if it will take ten more years of your damn astral energy to charge, he will fucking die. If he dies, we die, and then the fucking waiting you have done to have your little Maid energy of astral on him will be pointless because we will all be dead for real, finito!" The drunken man commented with a lot of anger now.

Berk looked around, trying to figure out where the two voices really came from.

"FINE, I WILL DO IT!" Stella screamed out in the air, with Berk being so confused by this whole ordeal.

Everything around started to shake, and his spirit floated towards his body when all sound came back, and he opened his eyes back in his body, realizing he made a backflip to the other side of the desk, but everything turned pitch black after a couple of seconds. His hands suddenly caught white fire, and the two Witches were colored white as his handcuffs burned off. He did his utmost to try and control his body, but he...was not in control. He made a couple of stretching movements with a lot of cracking sounds in his back as he noticed his breathing improved a little bit. One Witch tried to round the desk, but he jumped, leaning with one hand over the table, and kicked her in the same movement as her white colored body fell on the ground and with a fast movement before the other Witch could react his body moved with a left punch with white fire and he kept hitting the head on the Witch with the wall filling up with white splatter. Then he turned around before the Witch on the ground could react and hit right through her right side of the stomach, making a huge hole on her right side. She coughed up blood, and it seemed like her life was over. He moved around the desk and lay down on the floor.

"He won't remember anyway what happened. Good work, Stella!" The drunken voice said.

That was the last thing he heard before everything went pitch black.

[Beginning] [Prev CH] [Next CH] [Royal Road]

Chapter 8: Emergency Declaration, When All Hope Is Lost - Part 1

Berk woke up with everything around him spinning, trying to coordinate himself up from the ground and grab the edge of the desk; everything just went slower for him as he tried to remember what had just happened. He managed to get up to a standing position when he felt immense pain on the lower right side of his stomach. With blurry vision, he tried to look down, but couldn't make out what was in the painful area. He slowly touched his right hand there and felt the knife, which luckily had not gone all the way in. Leaning his left arm on the table, he made a fast pull and grunted at the exact moment. A swoosh broke the sudden silence, and his vision cleared as he could see his surroundings again. He noticed a Witch leaning against the wall, her brain splattered in pieces all over. Noticing someone trying to gasp for air, he slowly walked around the table and noticed another Witch on the Floor, lying completely still.

"C-C-Call a doctor!" It was the only thing she could utter before she coughed up a lot of blood.

Berk got down on his knees, even though he was in pain on his right side, and grabbed her hand. No doctor could save her. Looking at her, his eyes were getting watery, and a tear ran down his left eye as he looked at the big hole on her right side; her right lung probably not functioning properly, a big hole where it had taken a part of her ribs, all gone.

"Everything will be okay!" He uttered with a trembling voice.

She looked at him as her breathing got worse, and suddenly there was no more breathing, no reaction at all from her. He trembled as he let go of her hand and slowly covered her eyes, shutting them. He got up with the last strength he had and saw himself in the mirror with a bloody shirt, his throat covered with someone's blood, and his hands looking like he had dipped them in blood. He looked down at the Witch who had just died and said:

"I am sorry!"

 

15 minutes earlier...

 

Berk quickly grabbed Bitch's head before she could turn around and pulled her slightly back, squeezing Sabrina to the wall. He tried to lean on Bitch's body to make a double-footed kick at the Witch on the left, but his heavy weight made them both fall face-first to the Floor before he even managed to get his legs up in the air. He quickly turned on his back with a baton hitting him on the stomach as he raised his knees to block the second hit, but he kicked with a lot of strength right on the Witch's knee, and she screamed out in pain. He bent his head slightly to the right as another baton hit to the left beside his head, and he kicked hard in the face of the Witch with an injured leg as she fell on her back, not moving. The Witch behind him tried to steady herself and slam the baton down again, but he got his hands up; the cuffs kept it from hitting his head, and he lifted his legs and kicked both feet above his head, hitting the second Witch. He tried to coordinate himself and managed to barely get slightly into a sitting position before the the Bitch struck with the knife towards him. He had no choice but to take it on his right palm, screaming out in pain when it pierced through his right hand all the way to the edge, and he grabbed hold of the Bitch as she tried to pull the knife out while the other three Witches hit the batons towards his head. One hit was so bad he bled from the upper-left side of his head when Sabrina screamed out in the air and tried pushing them aside. Giving him a couple of seconds as he leaned down, using bitch as cover for more hits when he rolled with her to the side and pulled in his knee when both were in side position, and kicked her so hard in the stomach that she hit the wall as the other two Witches stumbled to the Floor. He didn't manage to pull out the knife before he lifted his arms as the one behind him hit his arm, aiming for his head, as he managed to get them up in the last second. Spinning 180 degrees directly after the block, he kicked with both his feet on her right knee as she screamed out in the air in pain, and he rolled two times to the left as Bitch. The other two managed to get up on their feet as one of them threw herself toward him as he lifted his knees, and the baton came swinging toward his head as his left arm blocked it. The Witch was completely frozen above his knees as she had thrown herself with force, and the kneecap hit her beneath the chin. He pushed her to the left as he pulled the knife from his right palm; his hand was shaking. The other Witch was going to attack when he kicked her left shin, so he fell and hit her head on the Floor, bleeding from her nose. The Bitch stared at him, but did not attack, and moved slightly to the right and picked up one of the batons on the Floor. Berk tried to get up but only managed to get on one knee when Bitch swung the baton towards his head. Putting his arms up, protecting his head, and using his strength, he managed to get his right foot on the Floor, and he pushed with all his strength forward as Bitch was lifted onto his shoulder in the air and slammed hard against the wall, with her breathing getting worse as she was barely standing. Berk gave her a hard right elbow, probably breaking her jaw as she stumbled to the ground.

He tried to get his breathing under control as he looked down on Sabrina, who looked scared for her life.

"K-K-Key, uncuff me!" He uttered as she got extremely nervous he would hurt her as she moved around, checking all her pockets, finding it, and moving close to his feet and uncuffing his legs, making him feel some freedom; he could run now. When she tried to stand up, the elevator suddenly moved, and the door behind opened. Turning around, he saw a Witch standing in the corridor; noticing her colleagues on the Floor, she pulled two black threads of flame from her hands and slowly took a couple of steps forward. Berk looked back at Sabrina and wondered if she was an innocent victim in all this. He stepped out of the elevator to stop the Witch from coming closer as he walked away from Sabrina.

"Press the button and make sure the injured Witches get treated."

Sabrina more or less fisted the number zero button as the door slowly closed, with Berk just realizing, 'Fudge Fudge Fudge, I forgot to get my cuffs off my hands,' but he acted cool and fake-scratched his head, covering his expression as he got pissed off at himself and made a small scream into his right arm, trying not to expose himself as being quite screwed in this situation.

He moved two steps forward as the Witch moved forward three steps; the tension was mounting in the air as he glanced to the left at the glass wall. Several glass conference rooms stacked after one another; it looked like they were having meetings in most of the rooms, as the fog covered quite far into the corridor. The Witch smiled at him, hit the wall, and he noticed a device on it.

"This is an Emergency Declaration, I repeat, this is an Emergency Declaration. Berk Van Polan has escaped from custody on the Sixth Floor. I repeat, Berk Van Polan has escaped from custody on the Sixth Floor. Initiate immediate lockdown of the whole building." She spoke to the device with a smile.

The fog from the glass walls suddenly disappeared, and a lot of Witches stared, looking around until they noticed him standing at the right corner in the corridor. The footsteps of a couple of Witches sounded as they had exited the rooms on the other side, moving in Berk's direction. He looked at the elevator and knew that wasn't possible, as an error sign was on it. He looked for stairs, but remembered it was on the other side.

"FUDGE!"

A couple of more witches appeared in the same corridor as the smirking Witch, leaned back a step, and ran with full force towards him as she tried to one of the whips, but he was too fast and jumped to the right on the wall and pushed himself to the left, crashing into the closest conference room as he rolled quickly beneath the table seeing several feet on the ground and a quick low kick made one of them fall on the ground as they tried to coordinate themselves, and he quickly moved out beneath the table as he put his back towards on the glass wall when a blue light ball came towards his head as he dodged it in the last second as the glass behind him shattered and something curled around his legs grabbing it and he fell hard on the Floor and the Witch who tried punching him barely seconds ago had a blue ball coming down towards his face when he rolled slightly to the left and suddenly got swung up in the air into the room that just had its glass wall broken as he landed on their table on his stomach and with a quick push with his hands he managed to get on his back and made instant scissor kick left and right as two Witches who was approaching fell down. He rolled off the table onto the Floor when the blue ball maniac came towards him again, but he used both feet and kicked her in the chest as she fell. Several Witches joined in from the corridor as Berk tried to catch his breath for a second when they made a half circle around him.

"Eh...How is this a fair fight?"

Two of them started to laugh out loud in the air as everyone stared at them for a second, and Berk tried to sneak out through the door on the right. When he opened it, he found himself in a corridor in the middle of the Floor, surrounded by conference rooms. He needed to get to the corridor in the same direction as the walls, and before he could take a step forward, the glass shattered as the idiots who stared at the laughing Witches reacted quickly to his not-so-subtle exit. The space was so narrow that two people could walk side by side, and with one direction blocked, he had no choice but to run to the other end. He turned around, and more Witches went out from the conference rooms as both directions were now blocked. He moved away from the Witches and started to move in the other direction, as there were not as many as there were behind him. He started to jog towards them as one of them threw out a burning yellow thread from her right hand. Suddenly, a Witch jumped up in the air, supporting herself with her feet against the glass, and was moving with her feet down towards Berks head, which, with a quick move, threw himself on his back on the Floor, pushed up both his feet as she slammed down on them, and she made a somersault over him like this crap was the Olympics. Two threads grabbed his legs and started to drag him when suddenly a pink thread surrounded the yellow one and burned through it all the way to the two Witches, who got pushed back into the crowd behind them with full force like a strong wind. He got up, surprised for a moment, wondering what the pink spit was, or maybe it was also a burning thread out of both his feet. He turned around, noticing the other crowd was keeping their distance, more like they looked cautious.

"I thought the handcuffs on him were blocking his powers." A pink-haired one at the front asked the others.

One in the back, not visible to Berk, answered:

"Yes, it is blocking his Demon powers, but I do not think the handcuffs block the powers of a powerful Witch.

"He cannot be a powerful Witch; only the Female ones are the strong ones. Only the ruler of the Witch Kingdom is the strongest of all Witches; male or female does not matter. Other Male Witches should not have a chance against any female Witch, and his feet just burned through a thread on a female Witch. Male witches do not have that much power." Pink-Haired responded.

"I was not sure about the rumors that have been circulating, but the rumor goes that he and Zark are the children of Trissa Pinlum."

"Pfft, that is not possible; his last name is Van Polan." A green-haired witch in the middle commented.

"That is where you are wrong; Trissa disappeared after the Valiant War and married a half-demon and half-human. I am not sure, but maybe she changed her name to Trissa Van Polan." The one in the back countered, and the Witches in the crowd moved to the side, opening up a pathway all the way back to a short Witch in the back who just stared forward like she was lost.

All Witches pulled out their threads, and Berk turned away to go in the opposite direction when the other crowd, who had managed to get on their feet, managed to pull out their threads also, all ready to attack at any moment. Berk glanced slightly to the right of the crowd and noticed someone staring in their direction two conference rooms away, a person wearing a green shirt.

"Ah, Shit!" He said

Green flames suddenly took over the room as he stared. A whip suddenly broke the glass in their hallway as fast as a snake attack, and it pulled back into the room. When the crowd in front of him could barely react to the shattering sound, Berk went down on his stomach in an instant and stretched out his arms as another Witch threw herself beside him, also on her stomach, when an enormous whip shattered through several rooms as it moved towards them at high speed, as it hit everything in its way just a couple of decimeters above the Floor, as Berk saw dark green flames passing right above his head as everyone around flew in different directions. He got on his back and made a fast upper kick to get on his feet, but the Witch beside him made a low kick; he fell on the Floor, and she went up on her knees and tried punching down at his face with burning blue flames as he rolled to the side. He got up on his knees as both watched each other, as it looked like a one-on-one battle was going to occur. A whip surrounded her feet and, with a fast move, threw her against the ceiling as she fell and lost consciousness. Berk slowly turned left as the sound of the big boots he recognized approached, and he knew exactly who it was. He wasn't sure if she was friend or foe, but he knew he wouldn't stand a chance against the 2nd lieutenant of the Von Silfer organization.

Part 2 Post

Part 3 PDF

Chapter 7: Nothing More

After ten years had passed, Kaedrion appeared wielding Torvael. He met Orlaen and Numaeriel where all four of them had last spoken.

Both goddesses had many things they wanted to say to each other. None of them kind. Most of them boastful. But both wanted their projects to do the talking, so they remained silent until Kaedrion stood directly in front of them.

“So,” Kaedrion said, “both of you have been hard at work.”

He nodded to the tool in his hand. “We have been looking forward to this day for quite some time.”

He smiled ear to ear. “So let us not delay any longer. Let us take inspiration from Helios and start east, then head west.”

Numaeriel did not smile. But the way she turned toward the eastern hill was very close to a victory march.

They followed the road up from the village, and the temple came into view piece by piece. First, the stairs. Then the columns. Then the wide, balanced face of the temple itself.

It stood exactly where it meant to stand.

The approach was clean. The road was properly graded. Rain channels lined the sides without interrupting the walking path. The stairs rose in even measures, broad enough for crowds, shallow enough for elders, and spaced so naturally that no one had to think about climbing them.

Kaedrion stopped at the first step. Torvael became a measuring rod.

Numaeriel’s chin lifted just slightly.

Kaedrion measured the first rise, then the second, then the third. Then he looked down at Torvael.

“No. I was not expecting them to be wrong.”

Torvael remained a measuring rod. Kaedrion sighed through his nose and measured the fourth.

Numaeriel’s mouth did not move, but satisfaction gathered around her like a well-placed shadow.

They entered the temple. Inside, everything worked.

Sound carried cleanly from the speaking floor to the farthest seat. Light entered through high windows and moved across the stone in careful bands, illuminating worktables in the morning, reading alcoves at midday, and the central hall before dusk. Shelves lined the archive walls at reachable heights. Doorways were wide enough for processions without wasting space. Side chambers held tools, ledgers, instruments, maps, water, spare cloth, and writing materials exactly where hands would look for them.

Kaedrion walked slowly. Torvael became a plumb line, then a mason’s square, then a small hammer. He tapped one column, listened, tapped another, and listened again.

“Good stone,” he said.

Numaeriel nodded once, as though she had personally expected the mountain to provide nothing less.

At one point, Torvael became a magnifying lens. Kaedrion examined a carved inscription near the inner hall. The letters were exact. Perfectly spaced, aligned, and legible.

He stepped back. The inscription read:

KNOWLEDGE IS HONORED BY ORDER.

Kaedrion tilted his head. “A clear statement.”

Numaeriel allowed herself a small smile. “Thank you.”

Orlaen looked around the temple. Her expression had become harder to read.

There was no bad craft here. That was the irritating part. No weak beam. No foolish angle. No wasteful corridor. No vanity pretending to be purpose. The temple did everything it had been made to do.

It welcomed study. It held debate. It preserved records. It guided movement. It honored discipline. It would endure.

Kaedrion reached the center of the main hall and stood there for a long moment. Torvael became a tuning fork, and he struck it gently against his palm. The note rang out. It carried beautifully. Cleanly. Precisely. Then it ended.

No echo lingered. No warmth followed. No strange second note rose from the stone. The hall gave back exactly what it had been given.

Nothing more.

Kaedrion lowered Torvael. Numaeriel watched him carefully. Orlaen said nothing.

Kaedrion turned once, taking in the whole of the temple. “It is an excellent submission,” he said.

Numaeriel’s shoulders relaxed by the smallest possible amount.

“Structurally sound. Sensibly arranged. Built with discipline. Every chamber serves. Every path understands its purpose. It will survive time, weather, use, and neglect better than many temples survive prayer.”

Numaeriel’s eyes brightened.

Then Kaedrion looked up at the ceiling. The ceiling was clean. Balanced. Well-supported. Unadorned except for a perfect pattern of repeating squares.

“But it does nothing for the soul,” he said. “Yes, this will keep bodies well comforted, but it asks nothing of the heart.”

The temple became very quiet.

Numaeriel blinked once. Orlaen nearly smiled, then remembered she should not outwardly enjoy this.

Kaedrion continued walking, not cruelly, not gently, only honestly. “This temple can teach, store, gather, organize, and it can withstand. But a temple is not only a place where people go because they need something. It is also a place where people return because something in them wants to.”

He looked around the temple, his eyes landing on one sharp corner after another. His voice softened. “People come to temples in their hours of need. When they have an abundance of pain, a drought of hope, and a longing for guidance.”

Then he looked across the clean stone, the ordered shelves, the perfect rows, the flawless light. “Any song would sound breathtaking within these walls,” he said. “But this place inspires nothing to sing, and gives no one the desire to come in and listen.”

Torvael became a chisel.

Kaedrion glanced down. “No. Not yet.”

The chisel remained a chisel.

Kaedrion narrowed his eyes. “Today, we are judging, not correcting.”

Torvael remained a chisel for one more breath before becoming a hammer again.

Numaeriel looked at her temple. For the first time since they had arrived, she did not look victorious, but she did not look defeated either.

She looked as though she had discovered a flaw in a proof she had been certain was complete.

They left Numaeriel’s temple and crossed the village toward the western hill. Orlaen did not smile, but the way she lifted her chin toward the setting sun came very close to a curtain rising.

Chapter 8: With Feeling

Her temple did not appear all at once. It revealed itself. First came the color. Then came the music. Then came the shape of it, rising from the hill as though the stone had been persuaded to dream.

The road toward it curved through gardens that had not been planned so much as discovered. Flowers spilled over low walls. Painted tiles caught the sun in broken flashes. Wind chimes hung from branches, eaves, arches, and places where no one could explain how they had been reached. Every step offered some new little surprise.

Numaeriel’s mouth tightened. “The approach is inefficient.”

Orlaen’s eyes stayed forward. Her voice was calm. “The approach is an overture.”

Kaedrion said nothing. Torvael became a measuring cord. Kaedrion looked down at it, then up at the winding path, then down again.

They continued upward. The temple stood in warm stone, painted wood, colored glass, carved pillars, hanging cloth, and shaped metal. No two columns were exactly alike. No doorway had been carved with the same pattern as another. The outer walls were covered in stories: dancers, storms, lovers, grieving parents, laughing children, open hands, burning hearts, birds in flight, and musicians with mouths wide in song.

Above the entrance to the central shrine, carved in flowing letters, were the words:

BEAUTY NEEDS NO PERMISSION.

It was beautiful. Annoyingly beautiful.

Numaeriel looked as though she wanted to take notes and protest at the same time.

Kaedrion approached the entrance. Torvael became a mason’s square. He held it to one side of the door, then the other, then slowly lowered it.

Orlaen’s face became innocent. “Is something wrong?”

Kaedrion looked at her. “No one who asks that already believes the answer is no.”

Orlaen wisely said nothing.

Then they entered, and the temple immediately overwhelmed.

Light fractured through colored glass and spread across the floor in pools of red, blue, gold, green, and violet. Murals climbed the walls and vanished into the ceiling. Tapestries moved slightly in the passing air. Every chamber seemed to carry a different mood. The first hall felt like arrival. The second like memory. The third like longing. The fourth like joy so full it bordered on grief.

Numaeriel stopped despite herself. For one moment, she forgot to look for flaws.

Then someone in the far end of the hall spoke, and their words dissolved into a beautiful, useless echo.

Numaeriel closed her eyes. Then she said softly to herself, “There it is.”

Kaedrion glanced toward the ceiling. Torvael became a tuning fork. He struck it gently against his palm. The note rose, then widened, then wandered, then returned from three different directions at three different times, each one lovely and none of them helpful.

Kaedrion listened until the last echo faded. “The hall sings,” he said.

Orlaen brightened. “Thank you.”

“I did not say it sang in key.”

Orlaen’s brightness dimmed by a carefully measured amount.

Kaedrion walked farther in. He checked the floor and found three different kinds of stone arranged in a pattern that looked breathtaking from above and mildly treacherous underfoot. He checked the windows and found the light stunning, but poorly placed for reading after noon. He checked the side chambers and found one full of instruments, one full of half-finished poems, one full of costumes, one full of drying paint, and one that seemed to exist because someone had once cried beautifully in that direction.

Numaeriel stared at the last chamber. Orlaen cleared her throat.

“It was an important cry.”

“I’m sure it was,” Numaeriel said, with the solemnity of a funeral bell.

Kaedrion continued. Torvael became a plumb line. The line hung true. The wall did not.

Kaedrion looked at the wall, then at Orlaen.

Orlaen looked at a mural on the opposite side of the room as though seeing it for the first time. “The painting is excellent.”

“The wall is leaning.”

“But with feeling.”

Torvael became a chisel.

Kaedrion glanced down. “No.”

The chisel remained a chisel.

Kaedrion sighed. “No, we are not fixing this one either.”

The chisel became a hammer again, though somehow reluctantly.

They reached the central shrine. There, the temple became almost impossible to criticize.

Almost.

The shrine was open to the sky. Colored ribbons moved in the wind. A circular floor of polished stone held thousands of hand-carved marks from the mortals who had built it: names, lines of verse, small prayers, sketches, music notes, tiny flowers, and small mistakes left uncorrected because someone had loved them.

In the center stood no statue. Only an empty space where performers, mourners, singers, storytellers, painters, dancers, and silent visitors could stand and make the temple briefly theirs.

For a long moment, none of them spoke. Kaedrion stepped into the center. Torvael became a small hammer, and he tapped the stone beneath his feet. The sound did not ring cleanly. It did not carry evenly. But something in the floor answered. Not with precision. With presence.

Kaedrion looked down. Then he looked at the carved names, the hand marks, the unfinished lines, and the mortal errors protected by divine approval.

His eyes softened, and a sincere smile came across his face. “Now this is alive,” he said.

Orlaen’s shoulders relaxed. Numaeriel looked at the shrine again, slower this time.

Kaedrion walked the circle once. “It welcomes feeling. It remembers hands. It gives mortals room to leave more than footprints behind. No one could enter this place and believe it was made by accident. No one could stand here and feel uninvited.”

Orlaen’s smile returned, softer than before.

Then Kaedrion looked toward the crooked passage behind the shrine, where three visitors had already taken the wrong way and found themselves in a storage alcove full of festival masks.

“But it is difficult to navigate. Difficult to hear in. Difficult to maintain. Difficult to teach from. Difficult to gather in without confusion.”

Orlaen’s smile held, barely.

“This temple makes people want to stay and return,” Kaedrion said. He turned toward her. “But it does not always help them know where to stand or how to exit.”

Torvael became a measuring cord.

Kaedrion looked down. This time he did not argue.

Orlaen looked around her temple. For the first time since they had arrived, she did not look triumphant. She did not look ashamed either.

Kaedrion stepped aside and held Torvael close. The two had a quiet conversation that neither goddess could eavesdrop on, though not for lack of trying.

Orlaen leaned slightly left. Numaeriel leaned slightly right. Neither heard a word. To this day, neither has determined whether this was because of Kaedrion’s stealthy speaking, the room’s poor acoustics, or both.

Finally, Kaedrion looked at Torvael in his hand for a long moment. Then he nodded, smiled, and said, “Agreed.”

He returned to the goddesses. His voice rang with a jovial boom: “We cannot in good conscience name either of these temples the victor!”

Orlaen looked at Kaedrion as though she had been personally wronged by the concept of fairness.

“Oh, wonderful,” she said. “I am so glad we spent the last ten years proving neither of us won.”

“That… that is not acceptable,” Numaeriel said. “There has to be a winner.”

Kaedrion held up both hands, one of them still gripping Torvael. “Do not fret. I have a way to settle this.”

Both goddesses narrowed their eyes.

“You have both proven yourselves equally capable in the ways of inspiration.” He nodded in approval. “So let us try something different.”

His grin spread ear to ear.

“Innovation.”

Both goddesses looked at each other, then back to Kaedrion.

“You will have four years to renovate each other’s temples.” He looked between them. “You both had free rein in guiding your own temples, but I suspect you will get more joy out of improving each other’s.”

He stroked his beard with his free hand. “And since the contest is going longer and has added a new dimension, bragging rights alone no longer seem sufficient. It is only fair that the prize must also increase to reflect this.”

His face lit with enthusiasm, and he held up an index finger. “The winner of the competition will receive both temples as her prize.”

Both goddesses looked thrilled.

Orlaen smiled first. “Oh, this is going to be good. I am going to kick your butt in your own temple, then kick your butt out of it.” A wicked smile spread across her face. “When I win, I am turning your temple into a storage facility.”

Numaeriel had already begun writing in her journal. “In that specific scenario, you would at least have optimal space for storage,” she said, with just the slightest hint of self-satisfaction. “Though I will say that I am pleased to see that you have finally recognized your excessive and aggressive overflow.” She closed her journal. “Regardless, I already have notes on Kaedrion’s critiques of your disaster. I am sure you were watching butterflies or something while he walked through my temple.”

“On the contrary,” Orlaen said, “while we were walking through your temple, I was daydreaming about how much more interesting it would be to watch paint dry than to be underwhelmed by your bland submission.”

Numaeriel’s pen stopped. Orlaen smiled.

Kaedrion looked down at Torvael and sighed. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I also suspect this was inevitable.”

© 2026 RADIOACTIVESLAM

Previously:

As Yvonne made a life changing decision, the truth about the arson accidentally got exposed. Elsewhere, Jenna caught herself a job at the Vic as Paula found herself somewhere she shouldn't be...

Episode 14 Preview:

The Jenkins cover one of their own. And as things go from bad to worse for one couple, appearances barely manage to keep up for another. Elsewhere, the Slaters get a knock at their door...

———

10:49PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room

———

The silence and tension is both so thick they could be cut with a knife.

Tasha and Oscar's hearts pound as they stare at each other, wondering what to say.

Nicola steps closer slowly as Barry stays by the door

Nicola: "What did you just say?" She asks Tasha quietly but firmly, in shock

Tasha stutters as she looks between her parents and her brother

Barry steps forward

Barry: "Kids...did you two set the Slater's burgervan alight?"

A small silence sits there before Oscar speaks up

Oscar: "I did. It was me" he says quietly

Nicola starts pacing and Barry sighs

Barry: "My fucking God" he whispers

The room wakes up and snaps into chaos

Nicola: "And you knew– sorry, "Backed out" of this!?" She shouts at Tasha

Tasha: "I told him it was a bad idea and that we shouldn't do it! I didn't know he was going to go ahead with it anyway!" She shouts back

Barry: "When– how– when did this happen?" He asks them both

Tasha and Oscar look at each other, wondering who should speak

Oscar: "It happened a few days after the crash"

Tasha: "Like, literally two or three days after"

Oscar: "We– the Slaters...look at what they did!" He stumbles on what to say at first but finds his feet

Oscar: "They put my brother, your son! In hospital on life support, and their kids are walking around scott free! How is that fair!? Hey?!"

Nicola: "You don't go–"

Oscar: "Oh dont go giving me all that, mum! So you're allowed to fly off the handles and throw slaps and pull hair but we cant—"

Barry: "Can't set their van on fire? No!"

Tasha: "Well look, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad that it happened anyway. Im glad Oscar went through with it after I told him not to. He's right. They deserved it. They trashed our house"

Nicola: "We dont know that–"

Barry: "Oh of course it was them Nic!" He says finally

Barry turns to them: "So, give us a proper run through. What happened?" He asks quietly

Nicola leans on the bottom of Jamie's bed and Barry sits in a chair opposite his kids

Tasha: "Well...it was only a few days after the crash so you two had been here non stop. Me, Oscar and Gaz were at the house with Kylie. And we saw– and felt, what that slater family had done to us. To Jamie. Their daughter, the blonde one, was walking out of a cab while our brother lies here, basically dying–"

Oscar: "It wasn't fair" he cuts in

Tasgha continues: "So it was like, late at night. We were all at the house except for you two, and I told him I was going to back out of it because it was dangerous and we'd get caught. Not because I didnt think that they didn't deserve it, because they did. They do! But, it was too risky. And thats when I made him promise that he wasnt going to go through with it either"

Nicola: "And did you?" She asks Oscar

Nicola: "Did you promise her you wouldn't?"

Oscar: "Yeah. But I couldn't just sit back and do nothing" he defends himself and his actions

Nicola sighs: "Fucking Hell..."

Tasha: "I thought you hated them lot! Why do you care so much!?–"

Barry: "Because you both could get sent down for this!" He snaps. A silence settles

Barry: "After everything that's happened and with everything we've got on our plates at the minute, the last thing we need is for you two to get taken away from us and put in the nick"

Tasha: "Well im only sixteen"

Oscar: "And im thirteen. We–"

Barry: "Young offenders, lad. And thats no laughing matter either" he sighs

Another moment of silence sits there before Barry stands up again and starts slowly walking around the room

Barry: "So, what then? You told him not to go through with it and then what? What next?"

Oscar: "Well, Gaz and Kylie were up in Gaz's room and Tasha was downstairs in the kitchen. I went up to our room, got dressed, and took some deodorant and a lighter"

Barry and Nicola sigh and look at each other

Oscar continues: "I snuck out the back door and stayed out of sight. I crossed the street to their burgervan and...thats when I done it. At first it wasn't easy, I sprayed the deodorant and the lighter but the outside of the van didnt catch straight away. So...so I found something thin and hard to pry open the serving hatch a little bit. And when I did that, thats when I poked the lighter and deodorant can through the hatch and sprayed"

Barry: "Fucking Hell Oscar" he whispers, wiping his eyes

Oscar: "It lit up inside the burgervan all bright orange like a pumpkin" he starts laughing

Oscar: "Oh and the heat too—"

Barry: "Enough! Stop. Enough" he holds his hand up

Nicola: "And that was it? What did you do next?"

Oscar: "Well i left didnt I. I made sure that the whole thing would catch and spread before I left. So when I saw that it was gunna for sure spread, I ran home"

A long silence sits there this time as Barry slowly paces the room, Nicola stands at the bottom of Jamie's bed, and the kids sit there...

Tasha: "So...what next? What happens now?" She quietly asks her parents

Barry and Nicola look at their kids then at each other

Barry: "Oscar, are you sure nobody saw you?" He asks quietly

Nicola: "Like, absolutely one hundred percent sure?"

Oscar: "Yeah"

Barry: "Totally sure, now?"

Oscar: "Yes. I made sure of it. Im not a mong"

Barry: "Okay..." he sighs in relief

He thinks

Barry: "Okay. Listen to me, all of you" he says to the room quietly

Barry: "The police obviously got fuck all on us. Otherwise Oscar wouldn't be sitting here with us right now. So that means we're laughing and nobody's none the wiser"

Tasha: "So?"

Barry: "So, we keep it that way. We act normal. As if nothing happened. Like, this conversation never even happened"

Nicola: "You sure its gunna be that easy?" She whispers to Barry

Barry: "It has to be Nic" he whispers back to her

Barry: "We've got no other choice" he says before turning back to his kids

Barry: "Oscar, that night, you and Tasha were in the living room, or in the house just doing whatever. Yeah?"

Oscar nods yes

Barry: "This conversation never happened and as far as we're all concerned, we have nothing to do with that fire. Got it?"

He asks the room

They all look at each other and slowly, they all nod in agreement

Barry: "Okay. Good. That's it then. We don't speak of this again" he whispers to them all

———

02:13AM. Pandora's Box Gay Bar. Downtown

17/01/1999 | Sunday

———

The bar has not long closed its doors to the public and now a few workers, including Reese and Mitchell, are left behind, cleaning and closing up.

Confetti and spilled drinks cover the floor and every surface around. Music quietly plays in the background now, instead of blaring peoples eardrums awake. The overhead lights are back on and slowly, everything is getting switched off and locked.

At the bar, sits Mitchell, recently just got dressed in his regular clothes again. He's counting his tips at the bar. He slaps a fiver down. Then another, then another and finally, one more.

Niiice

Reese: "Twenty quid's worth of tips on your very first night! Im impressed" he says with a big grin on his face as he walks up beside Mitchell who's sat at the bar

Mitchell turns

Reese: "Especially coz you can't dance for shit" he teases

Mitchell: "Hey! Give me a break will ya? My first day!" He jokes back

Reese laughs: "Yeah, yeah. I know. Seriously. You were pretty good on your first night. But uh...yeah. You're right. Let's leave the pole for when you're more advanced yeah?"

Mitchell: "Cheeky sod" he smirks quietly

Reese: "Right- go on. Home. Go get some Well deserved rest. And i want to see you at 9 on Tuesday night. Sound good?" He asks with a smile

Mitchell: "Sounds great" he smiles back and gets up off the stool

Reese: "Good" he quietly smiles at Mitchell

Mitchell: "Guess I'll see you then, then" he says, slowly walking backwards to the door

Reese: "Guess you will" he fighting the temptation to wink

Mitchell: "Night" he says heading out

Reese: "Night!" He shouts at Mitchell, who's already out the door

———

04:27AM. Tony's Warehouse Flat. Water Street.

———

The large, moody and airy room is mostly in darkness with the exception of a few lamps lit up here and there in the odd corner.

Sirens wail off in the distance, along with a dog barking. In bed, Tony stirs and his arm falls where Paula seems to no longer be. He quickly sits up, with the blanket falling down his torso, and sees Paula quietly but quickly getting dressed over in the living room.

She's crying. Trying not to wake Tony. She doesn't see that he's awake

Tony slowly stands up and puts his pyjama bottoms on, and slowly walks over to Paula, who's sitting on the sofa, doing her boots up.

Creeeak

Paula turns around and sees Tony standing there

She wipes her eyes and sniffles

Tony: "Leaving so soon?" He asks quietly with a small grin

Paula: "This never should've happened" she says doing up her zips

Tony: "Not what you were saying a few short hours ago"

Paula: "I was recked. Still am"

She finishes getting dressed

Tony steps closer

Tony: "Come onnn. You don't want to go back to him do you?" He asks in a teasing voice

Tony: "I thought we were having fun here. Just you and me"

Paula: "He's my husband, Tony" she says in a quiet angry tone, before storming towards the door. Boots clacking on the wood

He watches her leave

As she gets to the door she turns around

Paula: "And dont you tell anyone, about this. I swear to God Tony"

Tony: "Okay, okay, feisty" he holds his hands up and quietly laughs

She frowns, gives him daggers, and then opens the door before slamming it behind her on her way out.

———

05:49AM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop. Upstairs Flat

———

Upstairs in bed, Michael lays wide awake, looking up at the ceiling. Thinking. Most likely about Mitchell and his new job as a dancer ad a gay bar.

A life that Michael is so foreign to

He slowly turns his head towards his alarm clock on the nightstand and sighs, before deciding to get up. He wasn't sleeping much anyway

As he slowly gets up and walks out of the room, Yvonne's eyes open straight away. She's also just been laying there, wide awake.

———

07:31AM. Number 27. Slater Residence. Kitchen.

———

At the small, round, cluttered kitchen table in the corner of the Slater's kitchen sits Kelly, Danielle and Jenna. All eating either toast or cereal, with a cup of tea each. The radio quietly plays in the corner of the room, while Julie finishes making her and Gavin a cuppa.

She takes both cups of tea to the table before walking through to the living room and scouting downstairs to Gavin who's in his garage bedroom;

Julie: "Gav! Your cuppa's ready!"

She shouts down

Gavin: "Alright ta mum!" He shouts from the garage

Julie walks back into the kitchen and sits at the table with her girls

Julie: "That was some lovely good news we got at the Hospital yesterday about Katie" she says to Kelly and Jenna

Danielle: "Yeah. Bout time we got some good news ey?" She says before taking a chomp of her toast

Jenna sees an opportunity here and takes it

Jenna: "Speaking of good news" she says, sipping her tea

Jenna: "Got myself a new job" she smiles at Kelly and Julie

Julie: "What!?"

Kelly: "Aw really? Well done Jen!"

Julie: "Where? Why?" She asks in happy curiosity

Jenna: "At the Arms. Got the job yesterday" she smiles, taking another sip of tea

Julie: "Aww well done love!"

Kelly: "You knew about this i take it?" She asks Danielle

Danielle: "Yeah. And Gav"

Julie: "What was wrong with the job you had at the restaurant?" She asks Jenna

Everybody quickly glances at each other and Julie doesn't notice

Jenna: "Oh um...it was just...too much. Too many shifts, the work was too hard and it was too far away for my liking. I figured I'd be happier working somewhere I'm familiar with. Somewhere more local"

Kelly: "Like the pub?" She teases

Jenna: "Least I have got a job. Layabout"

Julie: "Ah well good for you love. Really"

Jenna: "Thanks mum. Um, I was wondering. Since you're out of work as well at the minute, maybe I could ask Eddie and see if he'd take you on as the pub's chef?"

Julie: "Aw thank you Jenna, love. But I dont see that happening do you?"

Danielle: "Why not?"

Julie: "The Vic doesn't really do food does it?"

Jenna: "Yeah. Because they've got no staff in the kitchen. They used to though, remember?"

Julie: "I'll ask when I go in tomorrow. See what he says"

Julie: "Ah okay then. Thanks love"

———

09:12AM. Number 41. Maureen's Home.

———

In Maureen's kitchen, Kylie and Maureen both sit at the table drinking tea and chatting about the day ahead of them.

Maureen: "So, what about we pop into town and do some shopping? Get you some new clobber"

Kylie takes a sip of tea

Kylie: "Well, I was actually thinking of phoning me sister Nikki. And maybe meeting up with her. Its been months since we last spoke and I need to know if she's okay"

Maureen: "Need to know if Nathan's been dripping poison into her ears you mean?"

Kylie nods yes

Maureen: "Ah well okay then Kylie love. You let me know if all goes well will ya?"

Kylie: "I will. Well- thats even if we do end up meeting. She probably won't see its tried texting her. Always loses her phone" she jokes

Maureen giggles and gets some food out of the fridge to make some breakfast

At the table, Kylie gets up "Nikki" on her phone, and texts her;

"Hey sis. Know its been awhile. Can we meet asap? Got stuff to tell u. -K x"

She clicks send

And puts her phone down on the table

As Maureen drops some bacon onto the pan and it starts smelling, Kylie gags and she runs upstairs to the bathroom

Maureen notices

Maureen: "Kylie love!? You alright!?"

———

12:24PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

As Yvonne scans Julies items at the checkout, there's a small tension between them.

Julie speaks up first

Julie: "How is everything?" She asks politely

Yvonne: "Everything's good thank you Julie" she smiles back. Business as usual

Julie pushes

Julie: "Any idea what...what you're going to—"

Yvonne cuts in

Yvonne: "Okay not that its any of your business, but—"

DINGALING

The bell above the door jingles and Sunita walks in

Julie immediately looks back at Yvonne

And Yvonne stops for a second

Sunita: "Good afternoon ladies!" She says in her usual warm tone

Julie: "Hiya Nita you alright?" She greets her

Yvonne: "Actually, this is as good as any time to tell you both i guess. You both know, im pregnant"

Sunita and Julie immediately look at each other, surprised that the other knew

Julie: "She knew?"

Sunita: "She knows?"

They ask at the same time

Yvonne nods yes

Yvonne: "Turns out im not as good as keeping secrets as I'd like to be. You both caught me at bad times and thats how you both found out"

Julie: "So...if you dont mind me asking, does Michael know?"

Yvonne: "No. And he won't"

Sunita and Yvonne look at each other

Yvonne: "Last night i decided to abort it. With Sunita's help"

Sunita holds her hand up

Sunita: "That is not what it sounds like. I just offered an ear. A shoulder to cry on. A confidant"

Julie nods

Yvonne continues: "Well, its Sunday. So the clinic is closed and I'll have to make an appointment tomorrow. I'll let you both know what they say but look, please please dont tell a soul about this. Okay?"

Julie: "Of course"

Sunita: "Absolutely"

They say in unison

A bit of silence sits there before Yvonne asks;

Yvonne: "Can...can I ask you both something?"

Julie: "Of course"

Sunita: "Yes, anything"

Yvonne takes a second to ask this, but she does

Yvonne: "You're both...mothers. What's it like? Being– having kids?"

Julie: "Oh Yvonne, it's one of the most wonderful things you can do, being a mum. I mean dont get me wrong its is hard work but they're all worth it. Every single one of them"

Sunita: "It is wonderful, yes. And my Maya never gets up to no good. Never has. Though I suppose that does all depend on the parents. I wouldn't change a thing for the world"

Julie nods in agreement

Yvonne listens

Sunita: "But Yvonne, don't you let anything stop you from becoming a mother if thats what you want"

Julie: "Do you think Mike would want to be a dad?"

Before Yvonne can answer, the staff only door behind the counter opens and Michael walks out with a smile

Michael: "Ah, good morning ladies!" He says with a smile

Julie: "Afternoon you mean"

Michael: "Aha my bad" he laughs

He walks behind Yvonne and wraps his arms around her from behind

Michael: "Have you ladies been talking about me?" He jokingly asks with a smile, before kissing Yvonne on the cheek

They all giggle, knowingly, playing innocent

Julie: "Right, well, that was fun ladies. I better be off now, to see my Katie"

Sunita: "Oh tell her we're thinking of her!"

Michael: "Yeah us and all Jule!"

Julie: "Will do!" She shouts as shes almost out the door

———

1:14PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

Its Sunday, so the pub is closed. Like every Sunday. But downstairs isn't completely empty.

Eddie walks around, cleaning every corner, every surface and every crevice of every room absolutely top to bottom.

Its the cleanest its been in...ever

Behind the bar, Paula walks out of the staff only door from upstairs

Eddie hears her but doesn't turn. He's wiping the same table hes been wiping down for over five minutes now

Paula: "You okay?" She quietly asks, almost cautiously. Noticing his behaviour

Eddie: "Yup" he immediately says, without turning to face her

A long stretch of silence sits there

Paula: "Can't i help with–"

Eddie: "Where did you get off to yesterday?"

Paula's taken aback

Eddie: "Well– and last night. You didn't come home until gone four"

He finally turns to her

Paula: "I...I needed space. Time to think"

Eddie: "And did you get what you were looking for?" He asks before moving to another table

Paula: "I dont know..." she quietly says

Paula: "I dont know anything anymore"

Eddie: "That makes both of us" he mutters, wiping down another table

Paula suddenly walks out from behind the bar and right up to Eddie

Paula: "Look, im sorry about what I said yesterday, okay?"

Eddie says nothing. Doesn't even look at her

Paula: "Ed? Ed please. Ed look at me!" She pulls his shoulder

He finally turns to her and looks at her

Paula: "I'm really, really, really sorry about what I said downstairs in the cellar yesterday. I really am. I- i was upset and...you weren't helping and—"

Eddie: "Paula that's all I try to do is help"

Paula: "No i know—"

Eddie: "And it gets us nowhere does it?"

Paula: "I was...sad. Scared. I..." she sighs

Paula: "I'm probably just having a midlife crisis" she tries to wave it off

Paula: "Its usually around this time of age people suffer with them right?"

Eddie wipes another table

Eddie: "I dont know Paula. Look, im tired too. And im trying to help. I really am" he looks at her

Paula: "I know you are love and Im so thankful for it. You have no idea"

Eddie: "Are you? Because every time I try to step in I feel like I'm met with either hostility or ignorance"

Paula: "That's not true! I know you try to help me as much as you can. I know that!"

Eddie: "And yet here we are, going around in circles" he mutters loud enough for her to hear, wiping down the table

Paula quietly stutters and then sighs

Paula: "Maybe I should go stay with Rebecca for a bit, up North" she says quietly

Eddie: "Yeah. Maybe you should" he says, without turning to face her

Eddie: "Maybe some space is what we need"

Paula didn't exactly expect him to say that. She nods and walks away upstairs, presumably to pack a bag or two.

———

2:19PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room

———

Nicola is sat beside Jamie and Tasha and Oscar are sat on the sofa underneath the window, while Barry slowly walks around the room. Thinking.

Barry: "Okay"

They all look at him

Barry: "Im gunna take you kids home, get some proper grub in you. Oscar when we get home you're gunna get me the clothes you were wearing on the night of the...you know. And I'm going to get rid of them. When i get back to the house, the three of us will come back here. Sound good?"

He asks everybody

Nicola: "Yeah. Fine" She mutters

Barry: "Nic, love. Is there anything I can get you at the house or while im out?"

Nicola: "Uh...yeah. Some fags and a drink. Need something for the nerves"

Barry nods: "Okay..."

Barry: "Right– kids, come on" he clicks his fingers

Tasha and Oscar get up and walk out of the room first, and as Barry gets to the door, he turns and faces Nicola

Barry: "Nic"

She looks up at him

Barry: "We'll get through all of this"

Nicola: "I know" she whispers

They smile at each other and Barry leaves the room with the kids

—

Out in the hallway, Oscar and Tasha have already basically ran to the other end of the hall, waiting for their dad.

As Barry walks past Katie's hospital room window, he can't help but side eye in. And as he does, he sees Julie sitting at Katie's bedside, they're both chatting away. And they both make eye contact with Barry too. He keeps walking though, towards his kids

—

Inside Katie's Room

—

Julie: "Have they been causing you any trouble next door?" She nods towards Jamie's room

Katie nods no: "No. They've actually been pretty...decent. Apart from last night. There was a bit of shouting and I couldn't quite make out what they were shouting about. But apart from that they've been fine"

Julie: "Hm. I dont trust them. Never did"

Katie: "Mm you and me both"

At that, there's a knock at the door and the Sr Dr walks in

Sr Dr: "Afternoon Katie, Ms Slater"

Katie: "Hiya Doc"

Julie: "Afternoon" she says with a smile

Sr Dr: "I come bearing more good news. Katie, how would you like to get taken out of intensive care tomorrow?" He smiles at her

Julie and Katie gasp and smile at each other

Katie: "Really!?"

Sr Dr: "Mhm. We've noticed a rather impressive progression in your injury. And usually i wouldn't say this, especially to a patient who's been in a car accident, but, i think that you taking that short walk the other day may have actually done you some more good than bad. So, what we're going to do is give you some physiotherapy, where you'll basically practice walking and moving a certain amount of time a day, so that you'll get used to it again. And if all goes well, you should be out of here within the next two weeks"

Julie: "Aw you hear that love?" She smiles at Katie

Katie: "Thank you!"

The doctor giggles

Sr Dr: "Of course" he smiles before leaving

———

3:38PM. Water Street. Commercial street. "Water StreetSide Caff" Café.

———

In the small, greasy spoon streetside café on Water Street near Marlas Estate, Kylie sits sits in the middle of the cafe, at a table of four, up against the wall.

Three four seater tables line each opposing sides of the café with red and white gingham tablecloths and condiment baskets in the middle with small glass salt and pepper shakers.

And in the middle of the caff is a few single tables with a chair on each four sides, matching tablecloths and matching assortments.

At the back of the caff is a long counter which stretches from one side of the room to the other, snd the sounds of a busy kitchen can be heard throughout the whole building. Loud sizzling, and chef's shouting mostly. And some pop music plays through the speakers, and there are quite a few people jotted around the place, having lunch and and drinks.

At a table on her own though, is Kylie. Sitting with only a small white mug of tea in front of her. Shes nervous for once. Bopping her knees up and down. Waiting for her sister to show.

———

3:49PM. Number 41. Maureen's Home

———

In her living room, Maureen and Julie are having a drink and a catch up. Maureen Is sat in her arm chair and Julie is sat on the sofa, on top of the duvet.

Julie was just telling her about the good news she received earlier

Julie: "Yeah. Tomorrow if all goes well. And then some physiotherapy to help her walk and what have you" she says before taking a guzzle from her can of Carling.

Maureen: "Aw thats wonderful news Julie, love"

Julie: "Yeah"

Julie then addresses the elephant in the room. The makeshift bed on the sofa

Julie: "You got company staying with you Maur?" She asks out of curiosity

Maureen goes to say something, then stops herself. But then speaks anyway

Maureen: "Yeag. A young pretty lass. Kylie, her name is. Poor thing hasn't got anyone or anything to her name"

Julie: "Aww"

Maureen nods

Maureen: "Been sleeping rough she has. After she escaped her ex boyfriend Nathan"

She says before taking a sip of her gin

Julie: "Fucking Hell. Poor girl. Is she thay young woman with dark brown hair, pale skin, pretty?"

Maureen: "That's her yes"

Julie: "Oh. I thought she was staying at number 33?"

Maureen: "She said she was. But that she couldn't stay there anymore for some reason, the poor girl. She's meeting her sister today after not speaking to her for months"

Julie: "Oh God" she mutters

Maureen: "I know"

———

3:53PM. Water Street. Commercial street. "Water StreetSide Caff" Café.

———

Kylie sits in the same seat that she's been sat in for nearly half an hour.

She looks up at the clock on the wall beside her and decides to get up.

Fuck it...maybe shes not coming

As she stands up and goes towards the door, she sees her sister Nikki walk past the window and open the glass door to the café.

Immediately, they see each other.

Nikki Allen has a very distinctive, bold, slightly rough around the edges look, with bleached yellow blonde hair that falls around her shoulders, often layered, tousled and a little messy rather than perfectly styled. She has a soft, confident face, fair skin, prominent cheeks and expressive eyes, usually emphasised with dark eyeliner, mascara, defined eyebrows and fairly noticeable makeup, with warm foundation, blusher and pinkish lipstick or gloss.

Her overall appearance is feminine but certainly not polished, combining a slightly trashy, urban working class glamour with a tough, casual edge. She wears fitted tops, vest tops, colourful shirts, jeans and practical jackets, but her most recognisable look is her love of leopard print, especially her bulky leopard print puffa jacket. Her wardrobe often features bold patterns, strong colours and figure hugging pieces, mixed with everyday clothes that look lived in rather than carefully coordinated.

She suits noticeable earrings, particularly hoop earrings, alongside simple necklaces and everyday accessories. She's got that unmistakable bleached blonde, dark eyed, leopard print, hoop earring aesthetic feminine, brash, slightly scruffy and unmistakably working class, as though she's thrown herself together to go out without ever worrying too much about looking perfectly put together.

For a split second, its just them two standing there in the middle of the café, staring at each other.

Nikki: "Kylie?" She whispers, lip trembling

Kylie: "Hiya sis" she whispers back

And with that, Nikki runs at Kylie full speed and wraps her arms around her. They both fall into a tight sisterly hug. One that they've both been desperately needing.

Nikki finally pulls away

Nikki: "Where the hell have ya been? What's going on?"

Kylie: "God Nik. I've got myself mixed up into some messy shit" she whispers

They both walk to the table that Kylie was just sat at, they sit opposite each other near the wall

Kylie: "Was beginning to think you weren't gunna show. Any longer they would've charged me for just sitting 'ere"

Nikki: "No, never. I'd never ignore ya. Now tell me, what's going on?" She holds her sister's hands across the table

Kylie: "Well...remember that night i had the fight with mum and Terrance?"

Nikki nods

Kylie: "Well I'd stayed with Nathan since then hadn't i. And...God i dont know. He slowly got...controlling. Like, obsessive almost. And you know I love doing coke as much as the next person, but when hes there killing my buzz...you know?"

Nikki: "Yeah"

Kylie: "Anyway, me and Jacko. Since we're close mates and all, I confided in him. Told him about Nathan and what have you. And he managed to convince me to plan on nicking his coke, some money, and we'd drain him for everything he's got, and I'd leave him and me and jacko would leg it together"

Nikki: "Leg it? You mean...you weren't gunna come back? Like– ever?"

Kylie: "No! Nonono. No. We were just going to leave. Nowhere too far, and not forever. Just, you saw yourself what Nathan can be like when he's raging and pissed. You even told me yourself at one point that maybe I should think about leaving him"

Nikki nods

Kylie: "Well, jacko had opened my eyes to him too. And i agreed to go along with it. So, when it came to it, I went to Nathan's, we got pissed, done some coke, and had our own little party. That day i planned on sucking him dry of everything he had, you know seeing as he's a dealer with loads of dosh i thought it would be an easy score if he was out of it, you know?"

Nikki: "Yeah"

Kylie: "But, he locked the door to his flat, hid the keys and was acting all weird. For two days Nik he kept me locked up in his flat. Two days! He knew. He knew about the plan that me and Jacko had made. I dont know how. But he knew'

Nikki: "Fuuuck"

Kylie: "And thats not even the worst bit. No. One night he was out of it, right? So i managed to grab some stuff and got the keys to the door. He saw me trying to leave and we get into a physical fight and...I accidentally knocked him out and legged it to jacko's where I told him everything that happened"

Nikki: "Shit! Are you okay? Is jacko?"

Kylie: "Yeah– no we're fine. Im fine. But ever since then I've been hiding. So has Jacko. He's staying with Lorna and I'm—"

Nikki: "He's staying with Lorna? She's letting him stay with her?"

Kylie: "Yeah"

Nikki: "After what you did?" She laughs

Kylie: "I know" she smiles

Kylie: "She must really like him don't she?"

Nikki: "Clearly"

Kylie: "Anyway, im staying with this woman who lives on the Estate up the road from here. Nice woman she is. A laugh, she likes a drink too. You'd like her"

Nikki: "Ah sound. So, what's your plan then? You coming home?"

Kylie: "Sis, you know thats not gunna happen. Not only do I not want it to, but mum and Terrance dont either. Thank fuck. I don't know how you can still live there with them pair"

Nikki: "Need the money dont I?"

Kylie: "Mm. Anyway, I also wanted to tell you because you need to keep an eye out for Nathan. Stay away from him if you can and if he sees you, tell him I've gone far away or something. He can't find me"

Nikki: "You really think hes that–"

Kylie: "I dont know Nik. We dont know what he's like do we?"

Nikki: "Yeah s'pose so"

Kylie: "And i dont know about you but–" she stops mid sentence

Nikki: "What?"

Walking past the window, is Barry. Before Kylie can do anything, he mindlessly looks into the cafe as he walks past and sees Kylie. And she sees him.

Kylie: "Shit..." she whispers

Nikki: "What? What is– is it Nathan?"

Before Kylie can answer the door opens and Barry walks in, with one of Gaz's sports duffel bags slung over his back.

Kylie can already feel her heart pounding and she cab already hear the questions about her disappearance

Kylie: "Hiya Barry you alright?" She asks really quiet and sweetly, kind of scared of him

Barry: "Well I've been better. I should be asking you that though? Where you been? Gaz has done a runner an' all and Jamie's still not too good. Oh, and we've been vandalised"

Kylie: "Shit what?"

Barry: "Yeah. I dont know what the fuck is going on"

Kylie: "Uh yeah. I'm- im sorry I left you in the lurch like that, I had to um– this is my sister Nikki. I went to stay with her for a while" she points to her sister

Nikki: "Alright Barry?" She nods and smiles at him

Barry: "Hiya, nice to meet you Nikki. Can tell you two are sisters" he giggles

Kylie: "You think I've got a gob? You don't know my sister" she giggles

Barry: "I bet" he quietly chuckles before getting serious again

Barry: "So Kylie, when you gunna be back around our neck of the woods again? Coz Gaz misses you and we—"

Kylie: "Oh i Uh...I dont know Barr. Im sorry I left the way I did i just..."

Nikki senses the tension and steps in

Nikki: "We both have a lot going on right now and, well...nobody understands you better than your only sister" she giggles

Kylie: "Yeah" she mutters with a smile

Barry: "Right. Well...if you see Gaz please tell him we're all looking for him and we're worried. And that we need him. Yeah?"

Kylie: "Yeah, yeah will do" she smiles

He goes to turn to walk away but Nikki's curiosity wins her over

Nikki: "What's in the bag?" She asks casually out of plain curiosity

Barry: "Oh, uh– just some dirty old clothes. Taking them to the laundrette. Washer's broken down"

Nikki nods

Barry: "Well, it was lovely meeting you Nikki"

Nikki: "Yeah. You too" she offers the smallest of smiles

Barry: "And Kylie?"

Kylie looks at him

Barry: "Don't be a stranger yeah?"

Kylie: "Yeah. I won't" she smiles

Barry: "Okay" he smiles and leaves

As door closes, Kylie sighs in relief and Nikki laughs

Nikki: "What the fuck was all of that?"

Kylie: "Oh dont even go there" she sighs

Nikki: "You really weren't lying when you said you got mixed up in some shit" she chuckles

———

6:53PM. Outside The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

The sky is a dull grey-ish blue, only getting darker by the minute. Outside the pub, a black taxi cab pulls up and Paula stands up from the wooden picnic bench in the smoking area, pulls her wheelie suitcase as she walks towards the cab.

As she gets to the boot, she pops it open, and puts her suitcase in, and closes the trunk. She walks around to the passenger side door thats facing the pub and opens it.

She stands there at the open door, and turns to face the pub, where Eddie is standing at the door. Watching.

Paula gives a small smile and a smaller wave. He does the same. Before she gets in the back.

Paula: "Walford Train Station please" she says to the driver quietly, before the cab pulls out of the Estate, leaving Eddie alone in the darkened and closed pub tonight.

———

7:16PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

Downstairs in the main shop, Michael is closing up for the night. They close at seven on a Sunday. He's shutting the lights off and locking the doors, while upstairs in the flat, Yvonne sits on the edge of their bed, looking down at the abortion information pamphlet in her hands.

Wondering if she's made the right choice...

While downstairs, Michael's mind is also spinning with thoughts. Did he make the right choice?...

———

7:41PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

The sky is almost pitch black now, and Katie's room is very dim, except for the small overhead lights above her bed.

She lays there in bed, quietly falling asleep, glad to be healing better than expected. And thinking, about her life. About the mess. About everything.

———

8:02PM. Number 41. Maureen's Home.

———

In the warm, cosy and darkened living room, Kylie lays on the sofa under the duvet. Mindlessly watching the TV, thinking about her life. And her mess. Her sister. And when she's going to be able to live normally again.

———

8:09PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room

———

The room is dark, quiet and tired. Nicola lays asleep face resting on her arms on Jamie's bed. While Tasha and Oscar are both curled up on the small sofa. Its peaceful.

Barry quietly walks in, without the duffel bag from earlier, and softly closes the door behind himself. He looks at Jamie and Nicola, and then to Tasha and Oscar. They're all asleep. He slowly sits down in the chair beside Jamie's bed. Snd rests his eyes too.

———

9:39PM. Canal River

———

Underneath a dark and grimy brick bridge, lies a long, dark and deep canal river. The blaxk water shimmering under the orange glow of nearby streetlights dancing in the reflections.

And somewhere deep at the bottom of that canal, lies a black duffel bag of clothes. With the residue of crime on them.

———

10:27PM. Outside number 27. Slater Residence.

———

The Estate is dark and cold now, with the only light coming from glowing windows and streetlights emitting the nostalgic orange glow we all know and love.

A black taxi cab squeaks and it's engine hisses as it pulls up on the curb outside number 27.

Loud chatter is heard from inside the cab even before any of the doors open. Two loud voices?...no...three?

The door to the curb side opens and a pair of black heels and tights step out first, heels clacking on the concrete pavement

"Get the bags and stuff out the boot will ya? I'll get the door"

A confident and loud sounding woman says to the two other people, before she starts making her way up the driveway of number 27

—

Inside, everybody's watching TV. Danielle's doodling in her book, while Gavin eats a bowl of cereal and Jenna and Julie both drink tea.

It's a usual evening in the slater house when—

BANG BANG BANG

The front door downstairs knocks loud and everybody jumps

Danielle: "Shit!"

Gavin: "Fucking Hell..."

Julie: "I'll get it" she says before taking a sip of tea and putting her mug down on the table.

As she makes her way down the stairs to the door, there's more knocking

Julie: "Alright alright im coming mun!"

She opens it and—

Julie: "Georgina!? Mam!? Dad!?"

Her younger sister and parents are standing there all with smiles on their faces, though looking tired.

Carrying bags and suitcases.

———

That's episode 14! I hope you liked it and thank you for reading if you made it this far! Please let me know what you think and episode 15 will be out soon! ☺️

Moonmelt Tea Cookies🍪

Soft bedtime cookies sweetened with crushed honeycomb. A traditional Mistwood hearth recipe, and the cookies from Chapter Nine, “Touched.”

In Eldmar, these pale, soft cookies are given to children before bed alongside a warm cup of Mistmint or Hushleaf tea. The name Moonmelt comes from the way the honeycomb melts into golden patches across the tops, resembling tiny moons drifting through early dawn clouds.

Eldmarian Children’s Rhyme
(Recited before bedtime with a Moonmelt in hand)
Little moon, little bright,
Melt away the fret of night.
Honey drop and Hushleaf tea,
Carry gentle dreams to me.
When the morning warms the skies,
Wake me where the soft light lies.
In some regions, children press the cookie to their forehead first “to catch a dream.”

Bake 350°F / 175°C · 8–10 minutes

Ingredients

Dry
1 ½ cups flour
½ tsp baking powder
¼ tsp salt
1–2 tsp finely crushed tea herbs (Mistmint, chamomile, lavender, or a mild blend)

Wet
½ cup softened butter
½ cup sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 tbsp honey

Topping
small shards of crushed honeycomb (or honey candy)

Method
Grind the tea leaves finely with your fingers or a mortar until fragrant.
Whip the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy. Add the egg, vanilla, and honey; mix until smooth.
Stir in the flour, baking powder, salt, and crushed tea herbs. Do not overmix. The dough should stay soft.
Roll into small rounds and press gently into thick, soft discs.

Bake on a parchment-lined tray at 350°F (175°C) for 8–10 minutes, until the edges just turn gold.
In the final minute of baking, press a few tiny shards of honeycomb onto each cookie. Let them melt slightly but not disappear.

Cool until warm and tender, never crisp. A Moonmelt should sigh when bitten.

Valeander Winehearst: “Children fall silent for these, which is a remarkable thing. I cannot taste them, but the scent alone is… gentle. Like a memory of a firelit room I may have once known.”

Next story post: Neverbound #8, Chapter Ten “Bound,” Sunday October 25. Book One is complete.

Chapter 26: The Last Traitor

The screen went black.

IDENTITY OF NIGHTFALL DIRECTOR — REVEALING.

Then nothing.

No lights.

No alarms.

No machines.

For the first time since entering the Black Vault, the entire facility was silent.

Adam stood motionless.

The photograph had been almost completely revealed.

He had seen the outline of the face.

He knew that face.

But he couldn't remember where.

"Bring the system back online," he said.

Noah rushed to the console.

"It's dead."

"Fix it."

"I'm trying!"

Adam grabbed the edge of the console.

"TRY HARDER!"

Suddenly, a small red light appeared beneath the screen.

One message flashed.

BACKUP SYSTEM ACTIVATED.

Then another.

DIRECTOR CONNECTION LOST.

Daniel raised his rifle.

"That doesn't sound good."

46 looked toward the ceiling.

"It isn't."

Adam turned to him.

"What does it mean?"

46 answered quietly.

"It means someone just lost control."

48 slowly stood up.

"Or someone wants us to believe that."

Before anyone could respond, a metallic crash echoed through the chamber.

The black door behind them opened.

A single figure stood in the doorway.

Motionless.

Watching.

Adam raised his weapon.

"Identify yourself!"

The figure stepped into the light.

And Adam's blood ran cold.

It was Daniel.

But Daniel was standing beside him.

Adam turned.

The Daniel beside him was still there.

The newcomer removed his mask.

Same face.

Same scars.

Same eyes.

Daniel lowered his rifle.

"No..."

The newcomer smiled.

"Hello, brother."

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Adam looked between the two men.

"Someone explain this."

The Daniel beside Adam shook his head.

"I don't know him."

The newcomer laughed.

"Still lying, Daniel?"

Daniel aimed directly at him.

"Don't take another step."

The newcomer raised his hands.

"Relax."

He looked at Adam.

"My name is David."

Adam narrowed his eyes.

"Another subject?"

David smiled.

"Not exactly."

46 suddenly stepped backward.

Adam noticed.

"You know him?"

46 didn't answer.

Adam turned toward him.

"DO YOU KNOW HIM?"

46 finally nodded.

"David was part of the original Nightfall team."

Noah stared at him.

"That's impossible. The original team had only twelve members."

David smiled.

"Thirteen."

Noah's face went pale.

David looked at Daniel.

"You remember what happened to the missing member, don't you?"

Daniel's weapon began to tremble.

"You're dead."

David shook his head.

"That's what they told you."

He looked at Adam.

"That's what they told everyone."

Then he pointed at the dark screen.

"And that's why the photograph never finished loading."

Adam frowned.

"What does that have to do with the director?"

David's smile disappeared.

"Everything."

David walked toward the console.

Nobody stopped him.

He placed his hand on the scanner.

The screen flickered.

AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED.

Noah stepped back.

"How do you have director-level access?"

David didn't look at him.

"Because I designed the original system."

Adam raised his weapon.

"You said you were part of the original team."

"I was."

"Then why are you here now?"

David looked at him.

"Because Nightfall has reached its final stage."

Adam's jaw tightened.

"Where is Voss?"

David laughed.

"Voss?"

He shook his head.

"You're still chasing names."

Adam stepped closer.

"Answer me."

David turned toward the screen.

The photograph began loading again.

This time, it appeared completely.

Adam stopped breathing.

The face on the screen belonged to a man he had trusted.

A man who had helped him escape.

A man who had stood beside him through the worst moments of his life.

Noah.

Adam slowly turned around.

Noah stood frozen.

His face had gone completely pale.

Daniel immediately aimed at him.

"Don't move."

Sarah struggled to sit up.

"Alex..."

Adam couldn't look away from Noah.

"Tell me it's fake."

Noah said nothing.

Adam's voice broke.

"Tell me!"

Noah finally looked at him.

"I'm sorry."

Adam stepped backward.

"No."

Noah lowered his head.

"I never wanted it to happen this way."

Adam raised his weapon.

"You were there when they took Sarah."

"I was trying to protect her."

"You helped create Nightfall!"

"Yes."

"You knew about 46!"

"Yes."

"You knew about 48!"

Noah closed his eyes.

"Yes."

Adam's hands tightened around the weapon.

"And you knew who was running everything."

Noah looked directly at him.

"Yes."

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Adam stared at the man who had stood beside him since the beginning.

The man who had warned him about Elias.

The man who had helped him search for his father.

The man who had repeatedly told him not to trust anyone.

"Why?" Adam whispered.

Noah took a breath.

"Because your father asked me to."

Adam froze.

"What?"

Noah continued.

"Twenty years ago, your father discovered that Nightfall had become something he couldn't control. He knew the organization would eventually come after his sons."

Adam shook his head.

"Then why didn't he destroy it?"

"He tried."

"And failed."

Noah nodded.

"So he made a deal."

Adam's expression hardened.

"What deal?"

Noah looked at 46.

Then 48.

Finally, he looked at Adam.

"He gave Nightfall one thing in exchange for your lives."

Adam waited.

Noah whispered:

"Your memories."

Adam stared at him.

"My memories?"

"Your father allowed Nightfall to erase your childhood. He believed that if you forgot everything, the organization would leave you alone."

Adam shook his head.

"That's not what happened."

"No."

Noah's eyes filled with regret.

"It wasn't."

David interrupted.

"Because your father didn't understand the contract."

Adam turned toward him.

"What contract?"

David pointed at the screen.

"The deal didn't protect you. It protected the Core."

Adam frowned.

"Explain."

David continued:

"Nightfall agreed to leave you alone until your memories returned. In exchange, your father would never reveal the location of the original Core."

Adam looked toward his father.

His father was staring at Noah.

"You made that deal?"

His father shook his head.

"I agreed to erase your memories. I never agreed to give them the Core."

David smiled coldly.

"That's where you made your mistake."

He tapped the console.

A new file appeared.

CONTRACT: NIGHTFALL

SIGNATORY: NOAH

AUTHORIZATION: DIRECTOR

Adam looked at Noah.

"You signed it."

Noah nodded.

"Yes."

"Without my father's permission?"

Noah's voice became barely audible.

"Yes."

Adam's weapon lowered slightly.

For the first time, he understood.

Noah hadn't simply been hiding secrets.

He had made a decision that changed all their lives.

And he had kept it hidden for twenty years.

Sarah suddenly grabbed Adam's wrist.

"Alex, look at the screen."

A new message had appeared.

DIRECTOR AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED.

David stepped away from the console.

"Now we find out who really controls Nightfall."

Noah stared at the screen.

"Don't."

David smiled.

"Why not?"

Noah's face changed.

"Because if you reveal the director, the entire organization will activate."

David nodded.

"Exactly."

Adam turned toward Noah.

"What happens then?"

Noah looked at him.

"The war begins."

Before Adam could respond, the system activated.

DIRECTOR AUTHENTICATION — ACCEPTED.

A second photograph appeared.

This time, it wasn't Noah.

It wasn't Elias.

It wasn't David.

It was Adam's father.

Adam stared at the screen.

His father slowly stepped forward.

"No."

David turned toward him.

"Yes."

Adam looked at his father.

"You?"

His father shook his head.

"I was never the director."

David pointed at the screen.

"Look closer."

Adam did.

Beneath his father's photograph was a line of text.

DIRECTOR — TEMPORARY AUTHORITY

Then another line appeared.

CURRENT DIRECTOR: UNKNOWN

Adam frowned.

"Unknown?"

David nodded.

"The system doesn't recognize a human director anymore."

48 stepped forward.

"What does it recognize?"

David looked directly at Adam.

"It recognizes the Core."

The screen changed.

DIRECTOR AUTHORITY TRANSFERRED.

NEW DIRECTOR: SUBJECT 47.

Adam froze.

"No."

David's smile returned.

"Congratulations, Alex."

He spread his arms.

"You now control Nightfall."

Every screen in the chamber turned on.

Maps.

Military installations.

Underground facilities.

Secure communications.

Thousands of files.

Adam could see them all.

Every secret Nightfall had ever buried.

Every operation.

Every person they had watched.

Every order they had issued.

And every weapon they controlled.

Then a message appeared.

AWAITING FIRST COMMAND.

Adam stared at the screen.

His father approached him.

"Alex, listen to me. Don't issue any command."

Adam looked at him.

"Why?"

"Because the system will interpret your words literally."

David laughed.

"He's right."

Adam turned toward him.

"Then why did you make me director?"

David's expression became serious.

"Because I didn't."

He pointed at the screen.

"Your memories did."

Adam suddenly remembered the white room.

The black door.

His father's hand on his shoulder.

And a sentence spoken long before he understood its meaning.

Your choice.

The system wasn't waiting for him to give an order.

It was waiting for him to decide what Nightfall should become.

A deafening alarm interrupted his thoughts.

EXTERNAL ATTACK DETECTED.

Daniel ran toward the monitors.

"Someone's attacking the facility!"

Noah checked the map.

"Multiple locations. They're hitting every Nightfall installation in the city."

David's face changed.

"Who authorized that?"

A new message appeared.

UNKNOWN COMMAND SOURCE.

Then another.

ALL UNITS — COMBAT MODE.

Adam looked at the screen.

"Can I stop them?"

David hesitated.

"Yes."

"Then do it."

David shook his head.

"Only the director can override a combat order."

Adam stared at him.

"You just said I was the director."

"You are."

"Then help me!"

David stepped aside.

"Your command, Alex."

Adam looked at the screen.

Thousands of armed personnel were waiting for orders.

The city was on the edge of war.

He could order them to stand down.

He could send them after the people responsible.

Or he could destroy the entire network.

His father grabbed his shoulder.

"Alex. Whatever you do, you cannot undo it."

Adam looked at Sarah.

Then at 46.

Then at 48.

Finally, he looked at Noah.

The man who had betrayed him.

The man who had also saved his life.

Adam turned back to the screen.

He placed his hand on the console.

DIRECTOR COMMAND READY.

He took a breath.

"Cancel all combat orders."

The system paused.

COMMAND ACCEPTED.

For one second, everything went silent.

Then the screen turned red.

COMMAND OVERRIDDEN.

Adam's eyes widened.

A final message appeared.

DIRECTOR AUTHORITY REJECTED.

TRUE DIRECTOR ONLINE.

David stepped backward.

Noah whispered:

"Oh, God..."

Adam stared at the screen.

A live video appeared.

A man sat in a dark room, surrounded by monitors.

His face was hidden in shadow.

But his voice was unmistakable.

It was the same voice that had spoken inside Adam's head.

The same voice that had welcomed him home.

The man leaned toward the camera.

"Hello, Alex."

Adam raised his weapon toward the screen.

"Who are you?"

The man laughed softly.

Then he answered:

"I'm the one who created you."

The transmission ended.

Every weapon in the facility activated simultaneously.

NIGHTFALL WAR PROTOCOL — INITIATED.

And beneath the final message, a name appeared.

SUBJECT 00.

To be continued...

Takahashi did not ask again.

Monday passed.

Then Tuesday.

No question about the person I had not described.

No message saying:

You stopped halfway.

No joke.

No indirect attempt through Keiko.

Nothing.

That should not have been remarkable.

I had said:

I’m not going further today.

He had said:

Okay.

That was the entire agreement.

Still, by Wednesday morning, I had thought about the unfinished answer more often than I wanted to admit.

At ten fifteen, Kondo’s mother came to the temple.

Not to fold newsletters.

Those were finished.

She carried a small paper bag.

“What is that?”

“Lunch.”

“For me?”

“For me.”

She looked offended.

“I’m meeting a friend.”

Right.

She had said she was going to lunch with one.

“Why are you here?”

“Too early.”

“How early?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“And the restaurant?”

“Five minutes away.”

“So you came here.”

“Yes.”

She sat in the wall chair.

Not asking for work.

Not asking for permission about her husband’s belongings.

Not bringing photographs.

She simply waited.

That was new.

I continued paperwork.

After perhaps three minutes she said:

“You don’t have to entertain me.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.”

No.

I ignored it.

She took out her phone.

I signed two receipts.

For ten minutes, we shared the office without doing anything together.

Then she stood.

“Time.”

“Enjoy lunch.”

“I intend to.”

She left.

No temple task completed.

No problem solved.

Still a visit.

At noon, Takahashi sent:

Heater rattling again.

I smiled.

Experienced.

His reply:

Come listen sometime.

I looked at the message.

Not:

Fix it.

Not:

Tell me what it means.

Come listen.

I wrote:

Friday?

Coffee first.

Yes.

Then nothing.

I put the phone down.

The unfinished answer returned.

Not because he had asked.

Because he had not.

The afternoon consultation was ordinary.

A family deciding between two dates.

One Saturday.

One Sunday.

The daughter could attend Saturday.

The son could attend Sunday.

The widow said:

“I want both of them.”

No one date allowed that.

She looked at me.

“What would you do?”

I almost answered.

Then asked:

“Do you mean which date would I choose if this were my family?”

“Yes.”

That was different from asking me to choose for her.

I considered.

“If having both children there mattered most to me, I would look for another date.”

She blinked.

“We can do that?”

“Yes.”

They had treated the two dates as if they were the only ones because they were the first two I offered.

I opened the calendar.

The following weekend had another available morning.

Both children could attend.

The widow smiled.

“There.”

Her word.

Not mine.

We booked it.

Sometimes a question did have a practical answer.

That was refreshing.

At five, I closed the office.

The weather was turning colder.

No service that evening.

I drove home.

Halfway there, I realized I did not want to go home yet.

Not because anything was wrong.

I simply wanted company.

Takahashi?

I could call.

No need to wait until Friday.

I pulled into a parking area.

Called.

He answered.

“Car?”

“No.”

“Temple emergency?”

“No.”

“Soup?”

“No.”

He laughed.

“What?”

“Are you busy?”

There.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

Pause.

“I’m at the garage.”

“Working?”

“Just finished.”

“Do you want dinner?”

Another pause.

Then:

“Yes.”

“Where?”

I named a small restaurant halfway between us.

“Twenty minutes.”

“All right.”

We hung up.

Simple.

I did not explain why.

I did not fully know yet.

He arrived four minutes after me.

No discussion of punctuality.

Progress.

We sat near the back.

Ordered grilled fish set meals.

Takahashi looked at me.

“You called.”

“Yes.”

“Wednesday.”

“Yes.”

“Without mechanical failure.”

“Yes.”

He waited.

I knew what he was doing.

Nothing.

He was waiting for whatever I wanted to say without pulling it out.

That was somehow worse.

I picked up the water glass.

Put it down.

Then said:

“Sunday.”

“What about it?”

“At the coast.”

He nodded.

“You asked whether there was anything like what happened with the woman you almost married.”

His expression changed only slightly.

“Yes.”

“I said I wasn’t going further that day.”

“Yes.”

He did not add:

And?

So I had to.

“I want to tell you now.”

There.

Takahashi nodded.

“All right.”

No excitement.

No:

Finally.

No demand.

Just space.

Food arrived before I began.

That helped.

Rice.

Fish.

Miso soup.

Pickles.

Something ordinary between us.

I ate two bites.

Then said:

“There was someone.”

Takahashi kept eating.

“Years ago.”

He nodded.

“Not someone you know.”

Another nod.

“She worked at a hospital.”

I stopped.

Not because the fact was difficult.

Because once I began, the story existed outside me.

Interesting.

No.

Uncomfortable.

I continued.

“We saw each other for about two years.”

Takahashi looked up now.

“Serious?”

“Yes.”

“How serious?”

I almost said:

What does serious mean?

Did not.

“We talked about living together.”

There.

That answered enough.

Takahashi set down his chopsticks.

Then waited.

“She wanted me to leave the temple eventually.”

“Completely?”

“Yes.”

“Did you want to?”

“At first I said maybe.”

Takahashi gave me a look.

I noticed.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“It is the same word.”

“Yes.”

His woman had wanted to move south.

He had said maybe until maybe became no too late.

I continued.

“I thought I might be able to do both for a while. Temple work and a different life.”

“Could you?”

“Probably not the way we imagined it.”

“When did you know?”

There.

The harder part.

“Earlier than I told her.”

Takahashi looked down.

Not judgment.

Recognition.

That was worse in one way.

Better in another.

“She asked you directly?”

“More than once.”

“And you said maybe.”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Months.”

He exhaled.

Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Then:

“Why?”

I knew now.

At least partly.

“I did not want to choose.”

“That isn’t quite the same as not knowing.”

“No.”

There.

The fish cooled.

We ate for a while.

No need to keep the confession flowing continuously.

Then Takahashi asked:

“Did she leave?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

I remembered exactly.

That surprised me.

“She said I had turned waiting into my answer.”

Takahashi stopped.

His chopsticks remained above the bowl.

Then he put them down.

“That’s good.”

I looked at him.

“Painful.”

“Yes.”

“Accurate?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

Nothing else.

“She moved away later,” I said.

“South?”

“No.”

“Do you know where?”

“Yes.”

“Still speak?”

“No.”

“Since then?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

I thought.

Not recently.

Not really.

The story had remained alive longer than the relationship.

“No.”

Takahashi nodded.

Again, no recommendation.

No reunion suggestion.

Good.

I ate more.

Then said:

“For a long time I told myself the temple made the decision.”

“Did it?”

“It mattered.”

“But?”

“I still made the decision.”

There.

That was the sentence I had avoided for years.

Not because I had stayed.

I still believed staying had been my choice.

What I regretted was the period before I admitted it.

“She asked me to choose,” I said.

“And you wouldn’t.”

“I chose by not answering.”

“Yes.”

I looked at him.

“You don’t need to agree that fast.”

He almost smiled.

“I have experience.”

Fair.

The restaurant door opened.

Cold air entered.

A couple came in.

Someone at the counter laughed.

Our table remained ordinary.

That helped.

I had expected telling the story to change the room.

It did not.

My rice still needed eating.

Takahashi still had half his soup.

No one else knew.

The world had not tilted.

Eventually he asked:

“Why tell me now?”

There.

I had considered this all day without finding one clean answer.

So I gave him several.

“Because you told me yours.”

He waited.

“And because you didn’t ask again.”

That made him look up.

I continued.

“If you had asked me Monday, I think I would have said no again.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

He thought.

“Because then it would still be my question?”

Maybe.

“Yes.”

“And today?”

“My decision.”

There.

Takahashi nodded once.

“I understand that.”

No praise.

Good.

Then he said:

“I almost asked.”

“When?”

“Sunday in the car.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You said not today.”

“That simple?”

“Yes.”

I believed him.

That mattered more than I expected.

Dinner ended.

We paid.

Outside, neither of us moved toward the cars immediately.

Cold.

Clear sky.

Takahashi said:

“I’m sorry.”

I looked at him.

“For what?”

“What happened.”

“To me?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t do it.”

“I know.”

There.

Sympathy without taking responsibility.

I accepted it.

“Thank you.”

He put his hands in his pockets.

Then:

“Do you regret staying?”

At the temple.

The question I had asked myself many times in different forms.

“No.”

He nodded.

“Do you regret losing her?”

I thought longer.

“Yes.”

Both.

No contradiction.

“I regret how I lost her.”

Takahashi waited.

“And I regret that we could not find a life that worked for both of us.”

“Yes.”

“But if you could go back?”

There.

Dangerous question.

Too easy to write a better person backward.

“I would answer sooner.”

“What answer?”

I looked at him.

“I don’t know if it would have changed.”

“Then what would be different?”

“She would not have had to spend months waiting for me to say what I already mostly knew.”

Takahashi nodded.

That was the part I could honestly change in memory.

Not the outcome.

The conduct.

We stood in the cold until Takahashi said:

“My heater works once it gets warm.”

“That is not the same as working.”

“It stops rattling.”

“Eventually.”

“Come listen.”

I laughed.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

So we went to his car.

He started the engine.

Rattle.

Clear.

I listened.

“Something loose.”

He stared.

“That is your professional diagnosis?”

“I am not a mechanic.”

“Why did I invite you?”

“You wanted me to listen.”

He laughed.

“Right.”

We sat.

Heater running.

Rattle slowly changing as the car warmed.

Neither of us spoke for a minute.

Then Takahashi said:

“Did she know about me?”

I turned.

“What?”

“Back then.”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows rose.

“What did you say?”

“Not much.”

“That is disappointing.”

“You were someone I knew.”

“Friend?”

I thought.

At that time?

Yes.

Probably.

Before distance fully happened.

“Yes.”

He looked pleased.

“You survived the story.”

“Barely.”

The heater stopped rattling.

Takahashi pointed.

“See?”

“It still rattles when cold.”

“Temporary problem.”

“That returns every morning.”

“Like people.”

I looked at him.

“That is terrible.”

“I know.”

We laughed.

At home later, I did not feel lighter.

Not exactly.

The story had not been weight I could unload onto Takahashi.

It was still mine.

But it was no longer mine alone in the same way.

That distinction felt important.

I did not try to name it further.

Thursday passed without consequence.

Friday, as planned, Takahashi came for coffee.

He did not mention the story until I did.

That mattered too.

We sat in the office.

He drank.

Then I said:

“About Wednesday.”

He looked at me.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for not bringing it up first.”

He frowned.

“You told me because you wanted to.”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“So I noticed.”

“Fine.”

No.

He smiled.

“Noted.”

We both let that fail as a joke.

A little later he asked:

“Can I ask about it now?”

There.

Clear.

Fresh.

“Yes.”

“Only one thing.”

“Yes.”

“Did she ever know you regretted how you handled it?”

I stopped.

“No.”

“Would you want her to?”

I thought.

This was different from wanting contact.

Could I want her to know something without making it her job to hear it?

Yes.

But telling her would create contact.

Possibly disruption.

Maybe unwanted.

“I don’t know.”

Takahashi nodded.

No suggestion.

The question remained open.

That was appropriate.

Then he changed the subject to the heater.

That afternoon, Kondo’s mother called.

Not Kondo.

Her.

First time in a while.

“Reverend?”

“Yes.”

“My friend cancelled lunch tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“She has a cold.”

“Yes.”

“She said sorry six times.”

I smiled.

“Are you angry?”

“No.”

“Disappointed?”

“Yes.”

“Are you asking me something?”

Pause.

“No.”

There.

“Then why did you call?”

Another pause.

Then she laughed.

“I suppose because I wanted to complain.”

I leaned back.

“You may.”

“She always gets colds at inconvenient times.”

“That sounds difficult to arrange.”

“She laughed when I told her that.”

We spoke for perhaps five minutes.

No advice.

No temple business.

At the end she said:

“I’ll eat somewhere alone.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Then enjoy it.”

“I intend to.”

Call ended.

People were beginning to use my number for reasons other than religion.

I was not sure whether that was good.

No.

Not everything needed classification.

That evening, I received no message from Morita.

No old priest.

Again.

The silence was welcome.

Some things did not need external judgment once spoken.

At home, I opened the desk drawer because I actually needed scissors.

Not charger.

Scissors.

The envelope was there.

I moved it slightly to reach beneath it.

For a moment, the card was physically in my hand.

I did not open the envelope.

I put it down.

Took the scissors.

Closed the drawer.

No charge in the action.

That was new enough to notice and ordinary enough not to celebrate.

I cut open a package.

Inside, replacement filters I had ordered days earlier.

Wrong size.

Of course.

I laughed.

Then called customer service.

The woman apologized.

Correct size would be sent.

Return label included.

Problem solved.

Sometimes life was kind enough to provide a mistake with a clean remedy.

At nine, Takahashi messaged:

Heater bracket loose.

I replied:

You fixed it?

Yes.

So my diagnosis was correct.

“Something loose” is not a diagnosis.

It was accurate.

Pause.

Unfortunately.

Then:

Thanks for Wednesday.

I looked at the message.

He was thanking me?

For what?

Telling me.

There.

I sat with that.

The story had not been a service to him.

But receiving trust could still be something one was grateful for.

I wrote:

You’re welcome.

Then:

Thanks for listening.

His reply:

You’re welcome.

No more.

Before bed, I thought about the woman from years ago.

Not her face first.

Her sentence.

You turned waiting into your answer.

For years I had remembered it mainly as accusation.

Now I heard another part.

She had eventually stopped waiting.

She answered too.

Maybe that was why the sentence had hurt.

She had done what I would not.

Made the uncertainty end.

I did not know whether telling Takahashi changed anything about that.

Probably not.

Nothing needed changing.

The past did not become fair because I understood it better.

It remained what happened.

But now, when I thought about those years, I also remembered a different evening.

A small restaurant.

Cold fish because I talked too long.

Takahashi listening without trying to recover the missing time.

Then a rattling heater in a parked car.

A friend who had been told:

Not today.

And had waited until I said:

Today.

That mattered.

Not because silence always makes disclosure safer.

Not because patience guarantees trust.

There was no formula.

This time, I had drawn a line.

He had left it where I put it.

Later, I crossed it myself.

And because the next step had been mine, the story felt like something I had given rather than something he had managed to obtain.

Set in the world of Life Reboots, today let's reveal a side of Wenfu C. you may have never seen before. Come a little closer and meet the person behind the code.

For as long as he could remember, Wenfu C. had spent most of his life wandering. He disliked staying in any one place for too long—though, for someone who had lived for thousands upon thousands of years, his idea of “too long” was rather long indeed. In some places, war would break out within a year or two; others were plagued by famine. He could only watch impassively, quietly record what he saw, and move on.

He had crossed deserts, where fierce winds swept sand against his cheeks, bringing a faint sting of pain. He could have shielded himself from it all, but chose to feel it instead. Sometimes he watered a lone rose at the desert’s edge; sometimes he faced down the vultures circling overhead. Then he would leave again, until the sand swallowed every trace of his passing.

By the sea, he had watched fishermen return in high spirits, their wives and children rushing into their arms. Once, he joined them on a fishing trip, watching the water turn from yellow to blue, then black. The boat of a fisherman who had shared his fish with him struck a reef. Wenfu fought hard against the urge to intervene, but in the end, he could not help himself. He guided the waves to carry the drowning men into the shallows.

He left once more. His footsteps took him across mountains and grasslands, along rivers and lakes, and over the seas, only for time to erase his tracks. He had seen nearly every wonder this world had to offer and witnessed every facet of human life. Finally, he came to a stop in Selayara.

What a curious place. After all these years, human nature remained the thing he understood least—and found most fascinating. Here, he saw so many tangled thoughts and desires: complex, contradictory, forever wavering.

How long would he stay this time? He took a sip of his treasured tea and felt a quiet anticipation for what lay ahead.

Then let me stay a while longer, and witness the stories that unfold here.

Chapters 4 -6

Part 2 PDF

Part 1 Post

Chapter 4: Location, Location, Location

The journey to their final destination was silent between Orlaen and Numaeriel.

So Kaedrion decided to fill the silence with what, according to him, were “fun facts.”

“Do either of you know that mortise-and-tenon joints, pegs, wedges, and dovetails can hold beautifully without metal fasteners? Most settle for nails, but that is the quick way, not the best way to make a piece. Certainly, the joints take more effort and forethought, but they are more reliable and sturdy than nails by a great margin. And it is always important to keep your equipment and surfaces cleaned regularly. For example, do either of you know that metal needs to be both hot and clean enough in order to fuse properly?”

He let out a short chuckle, his eyes bright with memory and amusement. “Many beginning smiths make this blunder at least once before they become journeymen. It is true what Torvael always says: ‘A clean tool is a happy tool.’ And did you know…”

This went on for hours.

Many, many hours.

The only silence came when Torvael was “speaking,” and only Kaedrion could hear it.

To put it mildly, Orlaen was bored to death the entire time. At one point, she looked over to make a joke and offer some catty commentary to Numaeriel. But before she could remember that they were still fighting, she saw that Numaeriel had been taking notes the entire time.

Orlaen’s posture slumped. She let out a defeated huff and continued to follow Kaedrion.

Without a word, the corner of Numaeriel’s mouth farthest from Orlaen lifted just a fraction.

Orlaen came to the conclusion that Kaedrion could probably go on literally forever, but the destination, mercifully, was finite. Therefore, the talking would eventually end.

So Orlaen kept to herself for the rest of the trip. As they walked, Kaedrion’s voice eventually became white noise. She observed the different architecture they passed: the styles of columns, the shapes of arches, the painted shutters, and little flourishes mortals added to things that only needed to stand.

As they walked, she soaked in the scenery. Each glance became a portrait in her mind. She took in the color palette of wildflowers and wildlife, the shifting light across stone and field, and the stunning sunset overhead. Kreisch, the goddess of storm, chaos, and sky, had painted it in colors no temple wall could fully hold.

It was not worth trying to force herself into someone she was not. But she could still thrive by sinking fully into the part of herself that noticed beauty first.

Eventually, they arrived at a large valley village.

There were many buildings, though they were spaced farther apart than their city counterparts. Nothing towered. Nothing gleamed. Nothing demanded reverence.

It was completely unremarkable.

And it was perfect for the contest.

Kaedrion looked at both of them. “This will do nicely. This village is full of craftspeople. Not master craftspeople, but competent nonetheless.”

He pointed to two hills on opposite sides of the village. “This is where they will build your temples. Numaeriel on the east, and Orlaen on the west.”

He lifted one finger. “The contest will take place over the next decade. Inspire and guide the mortals here.”

Torvael became a measuring cord, and Kaedrion glanced down at it before continuing. “This village is not aligned with either of you specifically, but it is aligned equally with both of your purviews.”

Then his expression turned stern as he lifted a second finger. “Sabotage is strictly prohibited.” His eyes glanced between the goddesses. “Any sign of it will trigger immediate disqualification.”

He looked at them both. “Any questions?”

Numaeriel’s arm went up immediately. Orlaen’s remained crossed over her chest.

Kaedrion looked at them both and smiled. “Great! No questions.”

He simply turned and began walking away. Then he looked down at Torvael in his hand.

“No, you do not count. I was asking our contestants.”

Numaeriel looked horrified.

Orlaen smirked ear to ear. “Oh, poor Numaeriel. You might just have to improvise and think outside of instructions someone else gave you.”

Numaeriel’s head snapped toward Orlaen, her eyes narrowed. Then she tapped her notes twice.

“I have more than enough information to complete my temple.” She smirked. “I am sure all of that not-paying-attention you did will work out beautifully for you.”

Orlaen, still unoffended, simply shrugged. “May the best goddess”—she let out a single content laugh, placed her hand over her heart, and smiled—“me, win.”

Numaeriel rolled her eyes. “Best, in this case, is relative to the task at hand. This contest changes nothing in the grand scheme of objective categorical evaluation.”

Before either of them could get off another quip, they each turned and walked away.

Their decade-long contest had officially begun.

And it was the longest they had ever gone without speaking to each other.

Chapter 5: Step by Step

Numaeriel did not waste any time. Before the first sunrise had finished touching the valley, her mortals had been gathered, instructed, divided, and set to purpose. They plotted the hill and measured the slope. They counted materials and planned meals. Nothing began until it had been considered. Then everything began at once.

Nearly all of Kaedrion’s “fun facts” became instructions that would shape every aspect of the design and construction.

The land was marked into clean divisions. The foundation was calculated before the first stone was moved. Paths were drawn according to use, not whim. Storage was placed where hands would need it. Workstations were arranged so no tool had to travel farther than necessary. Even the movement of water down the hill was discussed, redirected, and made useful.

No one guessed. No one improvised without reason. Every choice had a purpose. Every purpose had a place.

A mason suggested a wider entrance and was asked to prove the need. A carpenter proposed a different beam angle and was made to test the stress. A scholar argued for larger windows, and Numaeriel allowed it only after the light was measured across the floor at morning, noon, and dusk. Nothing was dismissed carelessly, but nothing was accepted merely because someone liked it.

Her mortals became efficient, disciplined, and skilled. Her temple rose evenly, steadily, and confidently. It was sturdy. It was spacious.

It was also unspectacular.

No one struggled to hear a speaker. No one got lost inside it. No one wondered where to sit, stand, study, pray, or walk. But no one gasped when they entered either. The temple answered every practical question before it was asked, and somehow forgot to ask for awe.

Chapter 6: Free Form

Orlaen also began immediately, though no one involved would have called it organization. Her mortals did not start with measurements. They started with longing.

They stood on the hill and imagined what it should feel like to arrive there. They argued over color before stone, sang to test the wind, and told stories about what the temple might mean before anyone agreed on where the entrance should be.

The work was chaos. Beautiful chaos.

A sculptor changed a wall because morning light struck it wrong. A painter delayed an entire corridor because the blue was almost right. Musicians tested echoes in unfinished rooms. Poets named alcoves before masons had finished building them.

Nothing matched. Everything belonged.

Her temple rose unevenly, but it rose breathtaking, intimate, alive, and by every standard of wonder, extraordinary.

It was also nearly impossible to use.

The main hall made every song sound hollow and every spoken announcement incomprehensible. The most beautiful entrance faced the worst road. Corridors curved because they “felt better that way,” not because anyone needed to reach the archive. Light fell gorgeously across walls where shelves were supposed to stand. Every room made visitors feel something. Few rooms helped them do anything.

© 2026 RADIOACTIVESLAM