Chapter 525 - 3: Waking Up
Time ticked by.
Faint clinks echoed from the metal parts between his fingers, but the monotonous sound only made the surroundings seem even quieter.
He fiddled with them for a while before growing bored. Exhaustion and drowsiness washed over him like a tide.
After all, he’d spent the better part of the day discovering the prey, moving it, and dealing with all the hassle. He had expended a great deal of mental and Physical Strength.
He let out a long yawn and rubbed his aching eyes.
He glanced toward the stone platform. The boy was still motionless, no different than before.
"He should be... fine, right?" the young man muttered, trying to build up his courage. "Uncle Scar was right. He’s just a nightmare that can’t move..."
He walked to the door and carefully checked the lock, making sure it was secure.
He scanned his surroundings again. The underground room had only a single air vent, set high on the wall. It was too small for anyone to possibly crawl through. As for windows, there were none.
Only after doing all this did he feel a little more at ease.
He walked to the simple plank bed on the other side of the room, which was covered with a dirty blanket, and lay down fully clothed.
He blew out one of the oil lamps, leaving only a single one in the corner that emitted the faintest light, barely outlining the contours of the room.
It wasn’t long after he lay down that exhaustion completely overwhelmed him.
The young man’s breathing gradually grew steady and deep as he sank into sleep.
The room fell completely silent, save for the young man’s occasional soft snores.
The solitary oil lamp’s wick flickered with a faint flame, casting shifting shadows across the room.
Just then, on the stone platform, the stain from the diluted, dark purple Anchor of Truth—long since dried and nearly indistinguishable from the other blemishes on the stone—seemed to give off an incredibly faint shimmer under the dim, dancing lamplight.
Immediately following this, viscous tendrils of dark purple light, as if alive, began to creep out from the dried stain, transforming into countless filaments finer than a strand of hair.
When the dark purple filaments touched the boy’s body, they didn’t pierce him like needles. Instead, they slowly seeped into him, like water into a dry sponge.
As the filaments seeped in, one by one, an extremely faint flush of color seemed to touch the boy’s pale face for an instant before it vanished, as if it had been nothing more than a trick of the light.
...
"Ron!"
A clear, gentle voice rang in his ear, tinged with affection.
Ron turned his head in a daze.
The dim, foul-smelling underground room was gone. In its place was a bright, warm, and exquisitely decorated restaurant.
Soft Magic light cascaded from a beautiful crystal chandelier. Silver cutlery and vibrant roses adorned the tables, which were covered with snow-white cloths. The tempting aroma of food and the faint scent of perfume filled the air.
Sitting across from him was the very girl he longed for but only dared to dream about—Lisa, the daughter of the corner florist, a young woman with curly, chestnut-brown hair and a radiant smile.
She looked especially captivating tonight, wearing a light green dress that made her skin seem all the more fair. She was smiling, watching him with a hint of concern.
"What’s wrong, Ron? You’ve seemed a little distracted." Lisa tilted her head slightly, a hint of playful reproach in her voice. "Don’t you like the restaurant I chose?"
Ron’s heart began to pound, and an immense wave of happiness washed over him.
He quickly waved his hands, stammering, "No, no! Not at all! This place... it’s wonderful! Lisa, I... I just can’t quite believe it."
He looked down at the respectable shirt and jacket he was somehow wearing, then touched his neatly combed hair. Everything was perfect; he looked like a truly respectable man.
"You’re being silly," Lisa said, covering her mouth with a light laugh, her eyes twinkling. "By the way, I have some good news. My dad... he doesn’t seem to be so against us seeing each other anymore."
"Really?!" Ron was so surprised he nearly knocked over the water glass at his side.
"Mhm," Lisa nodded, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. "But he said he wants to meet you first. How about coming over for dinner next weekend?"
"Of course! I’ll be there! I’ll be on my best behavior!" Ron was so excited he was practically babbling, feeling as though the whole world were smiling down on him.
"Then it’s a date," Lisa said, her smile deepening. She elegantly picked up her napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth before suddenly adding, "Oh, I think my lipstick is a little smudged. I’m going to touch it up. Don’t you dare peek."
"I—I won’t," Ron said, immediately straightening his back like an obedient soldier. He dutifully turned around to face the restaurant’s ornate wall, listening to the rustle of Lisa’s dress as she moved behind him.
Time ticked by.
At some point, the restaurant’s soothing music had stopped. The surroundings grew unnaturally quiet; even the whispers of the other patrons had vanished.
The aroma of food in the air seemed to fade as well, replaced by a faint, musty smell, like dust.
Ron felt an inexplicable chill creep up on him, but he didn’t dare turn around, afraid of making Lisa upset.
"Lisa?" he called out tentatively in a quiet voice.
There was no response.
"Lisa, are you ready?" he asked, raising his voice slightly.
Behind him, there was still only dead silence.
The chill grew more pronounced, slowly creeping up his spine.
He couldn’t take it any longer. Carefully, inch by inch, he turned his head.
And then, his pupils abruptly contracted to pinpricks.
Someone was sitting in the chair where Lisa had been.
The figure wore Lisa’s light green dress and had a similar build, but the skin visible outside the dress was a deathly, bloodless white.