Chương 48: The Boy Who Ran Toward It Anyway

Lio didn't dream often. After all, he had long ago mastered the ability to deny his body the relief of deep sleep. It was a simple enough discipline, and he would always give his body rest like that, staying in the shallow end, ready to wake up with a single conscious thought. But even still, once in a while, his body needed the repose that only deep sleep provided, no matter what his mental state thought. And apparently, that day was today. But first, where was he even sleeping?

Well, after Ergyn and the guards had found them, they had quickly ushered all three of them to Trestfall's medical post, staffed by two practitioners. William and Ophila, who were still out of it, were taken to a different room for closer inspection and treatment. Lio wasn't worried that any of the practitioners would suspect him knocking out Ophila. He had done it using a specific martial method that was often employed by Rose's Bloom, which would make the cause of her unconscious state nearly unnoticeable.

And so, Lio had continued playing the shaken and traumatized victim through all of it, until a practitioner had told him that he needed rest, and pointed him toward a cot in a side room. And on that cot, he had went under. Where the dreams he cursed and hated so much awaited him. ◈◈◈◈ He was nine years old. Everything looked so big around him, the buildings were too tall, the street too wide, the people walking by him appearing like giants against the sky.

He was crouched in the gap between a market stall, hastily gobbling down some stale bread he'd stolen from a trash can thirty seconds ago, eating as fast as he could. Even though this was a dream, the bread tasted so revolting. So, so, so revolting. The market around him felt blurry and weird, while the vendors and customers had their faces hidden by dark blotches of red, reminding Lio of dried blood. It all felt so surreal and fake. But the cold felt so real. The hunger felt so real.

And as he turned around, his mouth moved on its own, shaping itself into a wobbly smile. Smiling at the boy next to him—who was unmistakably real. The young boy was older than him, being maybe ten or eleven, with rough, dark hair that needed cutting. Though he was clothed in a huge coat that was much too big for him, he was still shivering as he unwrapped a cloth bundle in his lap, pulling back the edges to reveal a modest lunch of dried fruit, toasted bread, and a piece of hard cheese.

He grinned at Lio, tearing the bread and holding it out. Lio stared at it, a single thought on his mind. Why? He looked up, finding the boy's eyes. They were so dark, so very dark, like an abyss ready to suck him in. Lio couldn't look away. Ah. They were so beautiful… The darkness in the eyes began to fold onto itself, spreading deeper, more wider. They were so mesmerizing… Ah. There was something inside them.

A shiver jolted him out of the trance as he spotted a shape moving through the dark of the boy's eyes, coming closer and closer. Ah. Ah. It was looking right back at him. Ah. Ah. Ah. Without Lio noticing, the market had long since dissolved and disappeared, having been replaced with a street at night. Ah. Ah. Ah. Ah. He was fourteen now. And the smell of blood was so overwhelming. It coated the back of his throat, almost peculiarly sweet, like hot syrup.

The street around him was shaped horribly disjointed, cobblestones stretching this way and that, and beneath his feet, he could feel that the ground was sleek with something. And at the end of the street, the monster was approaching him, growing ever so closer. The dream wouldn't let him see it clearly. It was foggy and whole at the same time, beastly and humanoid, towering above him, while feeling so close that it was suffocating.

Lio tried to stand up, flexing his muscles and pushing against the ground, his hands pressing flat against the wet cobblestones. But then the ground slipped away. The sudden shifting sent Lio back down hard. His palms slid against the sleek surface, sending a new wave of the sickening smell of blood at him. He pushed again, rising, rising— But slipped again. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He hadn't even felt himself fall this time.

One moment he was almost standing, the next he was down. He tried again and again. But he could never stand up. And all the while, the monster kept coming closer and closer. No… No…! No! His hands scrambled uselessly at the cobblestone, a primal, horrible sense of fear filling his every being as he looked down at his hands, at his red streaked hands. Why couldn't he stand up?

He continued staring at his hands, so afraid that he didn't even want to look at the monster advancing towards him, studying the thin knuckles raw from the cold, the nails bitten down to almost nothing. It was a child's hand, a rough hand that had never felt the warm grasp of a mother. Tears starting to form behind his eyes, he looked up. Oh, the monster was very close now. Then— Lio noticed movement to the left. It was the boy from before.

He was older now, aged fifteen or sixteen, his rough hair now much longer and tied back in a rough ponytail. Looking directly at Lio, then at the monster, the boy's expression reflected nothing of fear. No. It was resolve in those features. He grabbed something from the ground, a length of iron pole, heavy and dark with rust. He straightened up with it in both hands, turning back around to face Lio. He was… What was he doing? Oh. He was shouting something at him. Lio frowned. But what was he saying?

He couldn't hear. Desperately, he tried to read the boy's lips. But he found that he couldn't. The boy shouted again, louder, his whole body putting itself behind it, and still nothing reached Lio, nothing at all— Frustration replacing the resolve, the boy turned away and began running at the monster. No. Lio's eyes widened. No, no, no— The boy was running, his iron pole raised high, shouting with all his might so that the monster at the end of the street turned its attention toward him.

"No!" Lio's voice tore out of him.

"Come back!" But he was too late! The boy didn't stop. Of course he didn't stop! That stupid hero complex of his! And as the boy ran, the monster moved. It was fast, appallingly fast, and— Lio felt droplets of rain hitting his face. He cocked his head. Why was it raining? Bringing his hands up, he wiped off the water, and— Oh. Why was the water red? And then the street was gone. There was suddenly nothing beneath his feet and he was falling, the darkness of the abyss opening up beneath him.

The buildings and the street and the monster and everything dissolved upward as he went down, leaving nothing but the dark. The dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark, the dark. He was so scared of the dark. Lio wailed, shooting his hand out, reaching upward into the nothing above him, fingers spread, grasping for something that wasn't there, that couldn't be there.

His lips parted, and he let out a final shout into the void.

"Rion!" And the abyss swallowed him whole. ◈◈◈◈ Lio came awake, pulling himself out of the maddening world of his dreams. He stared up at the low ceiling made of pale fungi. The only light source was a lamp that burned low on a wall bracket, and the only sounds were the quiet clattering of people moving outside. Lio lay still, his chest heaving, the back of his shirt soaked through completely. He slowly relaxed his clenched fists. Suddenly, he was aware of someone sitting in the chair beside the cot.

The lamp behind gave the figure a shadow, and for a moment, the sight of the posture and the hair…

"Senna?" he asked. There was a healthy pause. Then the person gave a long sigh.

"You're going to have to be disappointed," Ophila said. She straightened up, letting out a yawn.

"It's just me. Not your girlfriend." She shifted in her chair, rolling her neck with a soft crack, and the lamplight caught the gold rings in her eyes in an almost hypnotic beauty as she studied him. Her hair had been pulled out of its braid, fully down now, while she herself had changed out of her gear into some plain shirt and shorts. She stretched even more, pulling both arms above her head, spine arching languidly like a cat, and held the position until her shoulders popped.

Then she dropped her arms and looked back at him while flashing a small grin.

"Also," she added, "this is the first time I've ever seen you sleep that deeply." Her head tilted slightly.

"What took you so long to wake up?" Lio said nothing immediately. Instead, he pushed himself upright on the cot, his arms not feeling very steady beneath him. He could still see the images of that horrible, horrible dream. Frowning, Ophila strode over, picking up a damp cloth from the small table beside her. She leaned forward and cupping Lio's cheek, began gently wiping down the sweat from his face. He let her.

She folded the cloth, pressed it once more to the side and nape of his neck, where the sweat had gathered the most, then set it back down. Then she reached into her boot and pressed a knife against his throat. It happened in one smooth motion, so fast that Lio doubted whether he could've even stopped it even if he had prior knowledge about it. The blade felt cool against his skin. Her other hand was still cupped lightly against his jaw from the cloth, her fingers gently tracing his jawline. She smiled pleasantly.

"Give me a reason," she said quietly, "why I shouldn't use this right now." Lio didn't move. Instead, he just looked back, finding her eyes, staring back steadily.

"You knocked me unconscious without even a warning," Ophila continued. Her thumb moved and squeezed the fat of his jaw.

"I've been sitting in this chair for around two hours just thinking about it." A beat of silence, in which Lio just stared back.

"Do you remember what I told you before?" she asked.

"About my last partner?"

"He tried to rob you and leave you for dead," Lio finally spoke, his voice and tone even.

"So you stabbed him with his own knife."

"Thats right," Ophila said.

"I did." She tilted her head just slightly, her gold-ringed eyes not leaving his.

"He was a big man too." The knife didn't move.

"So I need you to understand something," she said.

"I'm not exactly… angry. But I have been sitting here trying to figure out whether I can even trust you." She searched his face in the low light.

"And I just can't figure it out." Her smile turned more thin and brittle, betraying the anger beneath her calm surface.

"So," she said.

"Why did you do that? Why should I trust you?" Lio looked at her for a long moment. Then he smiled.

"You're right," he said simply.

"You shouldn't trust me." Ophila's brows furrowed, a small frown creasing her lips. It was clear that she had been bracing for him to lead with some sort of a defense, or some logical explanation she'd seen him produce effortlessly in every situation since they'd met. She certainly hadn't been braced for such a blunt answer. Her eyes searched his face, and Lio let her look as much as she wanted. Then, in an unhurried fashion, he leaned forward.

The knife pressed harder against his skin as he moved, enough that she could have slit his throat with just a single movement, but he continued moving anyway, until his mouth was level with her ear.

"Unfortunately," he whispered quietly, watching as she shivered involuntarily at his hot breath, "you need me to get to Floor 15." Then he leaned back languidly, settling against the cot again, and looked back at her with a vapid expression.