The Boy in the Darkness

(Elliot pov)

Elliot's heart hammered as he stumbled through the labyrinthine corridors of the cult's underground lair. Every step was uncertain—a mix of desperate haste and trembling fear. His memory was fractured every flash of recognition was clouded by dread. The last thing he recalled was the frenzied escape from the altar and the cultists' relentless pursuit. Now, alone in a dark passageway, he clutched his dagger tightly, eyes darting into every shifting shadow.

The oppressive silence of the ancient stone corridors was broken only by his ragged breathing and the occasional, bemused commentary from the sloth system in his mind.

[Ahh! What happened?! I just left the system on auto for a few days?!]

Elliot nearly choked on his own breath. "You.. where the hell have you been?!"

[System Alert: Auto mode activated due to user's unconscious state. Now rebooting… oh, wow. You really messed up, huh?]

Elliot gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to punch a nearby wall. No time for this. Focus. The passage ahead stretched into endless darkness, the damp air thick with the metallic scent of blood. The weight of unseen eyes pressed against his back. He wasn't alone.

He tightened his grip on his dagger. Think. Think. The cultists had caught him, but he had broken free. Had he killed someone in the process? He didn't remember. His mind was a haze of flickering torches, whispering voices, and the cold sting of something inhuman dragging him into the abyss.

A soft shuffling sound echoed through the corridor.

Elliot's pulse spiked. He turned sharply, pressing himself against the damp stone wall, his breath shallow. The darkness ahead shifted. Something was there. Watching.

Then—

A small voice broke the silence.

"Are you lost too?"

Elliot's entire body locked up.

A child stood just a few feet away.

The boy was young, perhaps no older than eight or nine with tangled black hair and wide, dark eyes that gleamed faintly in the dim light. His clothes were torn, stained with dirt and old blood. He was barefoot, standing unafraid in the cold, wet corridor as if he had always belonged there.

Elliot's grip on his dagger tightened. This wasn't right. No child should be here.

"…Who are you?" Elliot asked carefully. His voice was hoarse.

The boy tilted his head slightly, an almost unnatural stillness in the movement. "I don't know."

Elliot felt it immediately, an instinctive, gut-wrenching certainty that the boy was not telling the truth. The air around him felt warped, charged with something unnatural.

A new system prompt flickered into view.

[System Notification: Identity Obscured. Unable to Analyze.]

Elliot's stomach dropped.

For the first time since arriving in this world, the system had failed to provide an answer.

The boy took a step closer. Elliot didn't move, his muscles coiled with tension. The dim torchlight cast long shadows over the boy's face, making his features seem both too young and too old at the same time.

"Are you scared?" the boy asked.

Elliot's throat felt dry.

"Should I be?"

The boy smiled.

It wasn't the smile of a child.

It was knowing. Patient. A quiet, lingering amusement, as if Elliot had just asked the wrong question to a game he didn't realize he was playing.

"You don't have to be," the boy said softly. "Not yet."

A shiver ran down Elliot's spine.

A distant sound rumbled through the corridor—the shuffle of feet, the low murmur of voices. The cultists. They were coming.

The boy turned his head slightly, as if listening. Then, in a voice so quiet Elliot almost didn't hear it, he whispered, "You shouldn't stay here."

Elliot didn't need to be told twice. He moved, quick and silent, brushing past the boy. But just as he passed, cold fingers wrapped around his wrist.

Elliot froze.

The boy's hand was ice-cold, his grip too light to restrain, but firm enough to make Elliot stop. When he looked down, he saw the cracks, small, almost imperceptible fractures along the edges of the boy's form, as if reality itself struggled to contain him.

"Take me with you," the boy whispered. "Please."

Elliot's pulse roared in his ears.

Another system notification popped up.

[System Alert: New Side Quest Activated – 'A Lost Messenger.']

At the same time, another warning appeared.

[W Ⱥ R N I N G : ‡ Ê N T ! † ¥ D Ê T Ê C † Ê D ‡

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Elliot's chest tightened.

The cultists' voices were getting closer. He had no time. No choice.

"Fine," he whispered. "Stay close. Don't make a sound."

The boy released his wrist.

They moved quickly, slipping into the shadows, the low hum of chanting growing louder behind them. As they reached the next corridor, Elliot's system flickered again.

[Oh, wow. It really weren't supposed to do that..]

Elliot ignored it. He could feel the boy's gaze lingering on his back quiet, unreadable.

As they crept further, Elliot stole a glance at the boy. He was walking lightly, his bare feet barely making a sound on the stone. There was no hesitation in his steps, no fear.

"How long have you been here?" Elliot asked, voice hushed.

The boy didn't look at him. "A long time."

Elliot frowned. "And you never tried to escape?"

The boy's lips parted slightly. Then he asked, "Would you believe me if I said I couldn't?"

Something in the way he said it made Elliot's stomach twist.

"You—" Elliot stopped. He could hear something ahead. He motioned for the boy to stay still and pressed himself against the wall.

A group of cultists was gathered in a chamber up ahead, half-shrouded in darkness. One of them was speaking in hushed tones.

"...He is not one of ours," the voice murmured. "Yet the Oracle says he must not leave."

A pause.

"Why?" another voice asked.

"Because his existence is a mistake."

Elliot's breath hitched.

[They're talking about you.]

'No kidding.'

The child beside him watched, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he whispered, barely audible—

"They won't let you leave. Not now."

Elliot clenched his jaw. "Then what am I gonna do... Goshhh! Why do I have to be in some freakish book.."

The boy blinked slowly, that eerie patience in his expression.

"That," he said softly, "is what I was waiting for."

The torches in the chamber flickered.

Elliot's grip on his dagger tightened.

The cultists were turning.

And the shadows behind them were moving.