Chapter 21: An Empty Dream

Void..

A Void.....

A Darkness....

An endless, suffocating void. Nothing existed.

No light.

No sound.

No warmth.

No cold.

Just nothing....

Ray stood in the abyss, his body weightless, suspended in a space that didn't feel real. There was no ground beneath his feet, no air to breathe. The silence was deafening, pressing against his skull like a heavy shroud.

He tried inhaling....Nothing...

He tried exhaling....Nothing again....

His lungs burned, screaming for oxygen that didn't exist.

1…

2…..

3…....

4…...

5…...

6...

6.....

6…

6.

More.

And more.

AND EVEN MORE.

Time twisted, stretched, warped. Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, hours became forever.

He could feel his consciousness unraveling, fraying at the edges like torn fabric.

How long has it been?

A day?

A year?

He couldn't tell anymore. The concept of time was slipping through his fingers like sand.

His lungs finally gave in. He released his breath.

Nothing.

No relief.

No sensation.

No pain....

It was as if his body didn't exist.

He tried to move his fingers. No response. He tried speaking.

No voice.

Even his own thoughts felt distant, fading like echoes in an empty hall.

Footsteps.

A slow, deliberate sound.

Someone's here.

A voice slithered out from the abyss.

"Woeven Ray."

The voice was deep, smooth, almost mocking.

"A human, hmn?"

The footsteps stopped. Silence settled once again, but the weight of the presence remained.

"No past. No stories."

Suddenly, Ray's heart slammed against his ribs, its rhythm frantic and erratic.

He could feel again.

"No regrets. No responsibilities."

The voice dripped with hostility now, as if each word carried a blade slicing through Ray's very existence.

"Do you really believe that by disowning YOUR story, you can live a better life?"

The void twisted. Warped.

The darkness hated him.

"Or are you just a coward who can't bear the weight of his own sins?"

A silhouette emerged from the nothingness. Faint at first, like a shape glimpsed in a nightmare, then sharpening into something tangible.

Ray's breath hitched.

A boy stood before him. White hair. Middle-parted, messy yet deliberate. Eyes—a piercing, glowing green, Cat like pupils staring into Ray's very soul. His left hand was bleeding. He was dressed simply, a black tank top and dark pants. But his presence…

His presence felt wrong. As if the void itself had created him. As if he had always been there...

..waiting.

"Regardless of how many times you run…"

The abyss cracked. Reality distorted, as if unseen hands were peeling away the illusion.

"You are a weapon. A vessel. THE successor of AZRANTEIAS…"

The boy's expression remained unreadable. Cold. Unforgiving.

Ray's body refused to respond. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. Even his thoughts felt chained, as if his very mind was being held hostage.

The boy tilted his head slightly.

"Quazar Ray."

A cruel smile stretched across his lips.

"I won't let you hide. I won't let you run. You are trapped… WITH ME."

Before Ray could react, the boy's hand shot forward.

Fingers clamped around Ray's chin, A suffocating pressure. The other hand wrapped around his throat.

Tight.

Unbreakable.

Then...

A slow, deliberate pull.

Flesh tore.

Blood poured in thick rivers, warm and sickly sweet.

Pain.

For the first time in this nightmare, Ray felt it.

Agony.

His muscles ripped apart, snapping like overstretched rubber bands.

Then came the spine.

A sickening, wet crack.

Then.....

Nothing...

Only the void remained.

——————————————————

"CHINGALALA CHIGGA!! WAKE UHHHH~~"

A thunderous voice exploded next to Ray's ear.

His body jerked upright, his heart slamming against his ribs as his vision blurred. His ears rang from the sheer volume.

Through the haze of sleep, he made out a grinning madman towering over him.

Professor Vladimir.

Again....

Ray groaned, rubbing his temple.

"This feels like déjà vu."

Vladimir, completely unfazed, continued his ridiculous muscle poses, flexing and contorting as if he were in some sort of deranged bodybuilding contest.

Ray sighed, shaking his head, trying to piece together the fragments of a dream already slipping away.

Vladimir grabbed him, yanked him to his feet, and forcefully shoved a toothbrush into his mouth.

"Eu—ugh!"

Ray gagged. Vladimir gave a satisfied nod and strutted out of the room.

Ray stood there, toothbrush halfway down his throat, thoroughly confused. His head throbbed, a dull ache pressing against his skull. He exhaled sharply, then punched himself in the temple out of sheer frustration.

"Get it together."

After shaking off the lingering grogginess, he took a moment to inspect his surroundings. A small wooden room. Cozy but simple. The walls were made of sturdy timber, with a warm, rustic charm.

Two windows, letting in soft light. A bookshelf, packed with old tomes and scrolls. A heating sphere, hovering slightly above the nightstand, radiating both light and warmth—a fascinating blend of magic and technology. Two beds, neatly arranged. Two wooden racks for clothing, And a floor made of polished oak that creaked ever so slightly under his steps.

Ray wandered toward one of the windows and peered outside.

A marketplace stretched before him.

Vendors called out from their stalls, their voices blending into a lively hum of commerce. Breads, chocolates, toys, warm clothes, candles, lamps, medicines, and seasonal goods—each displayed in organized chaos.

Some merchants had mini carts, some sold wares from bags, while others simply spread their goods on cloths laid out on the ground.

His gaze drifted upward.

The sky was pure white, a blanket of thick clouds swallowing the sun.

Ray turned to the second window.

This area wasn't part of the market—it was a residential district.

Taverns, hotels, schools, medical clinics, and countless homes lined the streets, each structure radiating a sense of community and history.

Satisfied, Ray stepped away from the window and approached a door. He pushed it open.

A bathroom.

Functional.

Practical.

Clean.

A sink, a large mirror, a regular toilet, and a squat toilet—options for all preferences, it seemed.

Ray approached the sink, pulled the toothbrush from his mouth , and squeezed a thin strip of toothpaste onto it. He began brushing, the rhythmic motion strangely soothing.

Once finished, his eyes landed on a solid, rectangular object resting on the sink.

He picked it up, turning it over in his fingers.

An Alum....

"It's been a while since I used one."

Without thinking, he rinsed his face, then gently rubbed the alum over his skin.

A minute passed.

He washed the alum, setting it aside to air dry, then let his face dry naturally for two minutes.

Afterward, he rubbed his face with his dry palms—a familiar action, instinctual. Small white grains formed on his skin, remnants of the alum's cleansing effect.

He washed them away, then patted his face dry.

Then—he froze, A frown crept onto his face.

"Wait… how do I know about this? How do I know how to use it?"