MTM 205

“What… do you mean by that?”

“The demon race has known for a very long time that this world is imperfect. They were waiting for this very day to save a world teetering on the brink of ruin.”

Zed hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about. The world’s imperfection and salvation by the demon race? It was a story he had never heard– not from Elquir, the guardian of the river who had lived for millennia; not from Archpriest Edmund, who knew the secrets of Hartiros; nor even from the witch Cynthia, who had personally helped seal away the Demon King.

As Zed stood there, overwhelmed by confusion, Rozain suddenly changed the subject.

“Don’t you want to know what dream that child is having right now?”

Her gaze shifted to Harto, who was cradled in Zed’s arms. Rozain seemed fully aware that Zed possessed the ability to read memories by placing his hand on someone’s head.

Just as Zed was struggling to find an answer, the surroundings suddenly began to darken with unnatural speed. When he looked up at the sky, he saw the sun being slowly swallowed by a black shadow.

“It’s a solar eclipse.”

Rozain murmured calmly.

“Enter his dream. You might just find a way to save the world.”

The moment she finished speaking, Zed’s body began to glow. As the sun was completely obscured, his innate holy power manifested outwardly. It was the exact same phenomenon he had witnessed at the River of Life in the past. Zed finally realized that Ruinbelt was no ordinary island, but a realm visit our siteimbued with power. Zed gazed at Harto’s face as he slept soundly in his arms.

‘Harto… were you ever… human?’

He still couldn’t forget the way Harto’s expression had visibly stiffened when he’d asked that question some time ago. Although Harto had later claimed his memories were simply unclear, Zed couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it.

‘I left them… of my own free will.’

Was that the truth?

He didn’t think Harto had lied. He simply wanted to fully confront the traces of sorrow that lay deep within Harto.

Zed slowly reached out. He gently placed his palm against Harto’s pale forehead and closed his eyes.

***

‘Where is this…?’

The first thing that unfolded before Zed’s eyes was a space unlike anything he had ever seen in his life. It was an unfamiliar room with suffocating white walls, filled with mysterious metal apparatuses and a tangle of complex wiring, where a rhythmic humming sound echoed.

He could feel immediately that this place was worlds apart from the life he had always known. The question of whether Harto had come from another world was answered in an instant.

Zed slowly turned his gaze toward the bed situated in the center of this strange environment. There lay Harto. His frame was far thinner and more frail than stolen content it was now. He looked like a child, barely ten years old. The gaunt arm exposed outside the blanket was mottled with bluish bruises.

‘Harto…’

Zed walked toward the bed. Up close, Harto looked more like someone who had collapsed from exhaustion than someone sleeping soundly.

Click.

Just then, the white door opened, and a woman dressed in white entered. She spoke to Harto in a language that Zed couldn’t comprehend.

Harto blinked his sleepy eyes and lifted his head. He smiled back at the woman’s gentle expression. His sparkling black eyes differed in color from the blue ones Zed remembered, yet their essence were exactly the same.

The two exchanged words in that unintelligible language. However, when Harto shook his head vigorously in fear, the woman’s smile vanished, replaced instantly by a cold, rigid expression as though a mask had been stripped away. She shouted something toward the doorway, and a group of people, also dressed in white, swarmed into the room.

They all approached Harto wearing mechanical smiles, but whenever the child showed signs of resistance, their expressions immediately shifted to blank indifference. Zed felt uneasy at their lifeless eyes and their touch, which was devoid of even the slightest trace of affection for Harto.

‘So, these were the people….’

He recalled Harto telling him about the people who cared for him when he was sick. It was immediately apparent that they were merely managing the child out of duty or for some specific purpose; not a single one of them truly cherished or loved Harto as a person.

Soon after, they lost interest in Harto and gathered together to talk amongst themselves. The child stared at their retreating figures, then stealthily slid a hand under the pillow to fiddle with a hidden book. When they turned their heads back toward him, he quickly pulled his hand away and tucked it under the covers.

Click.

Just as abruptly as they had entered, they left the room. Silence settled over the space once more, and Harto curled his body into a tight ball before pulling the blanket up over his head.

Was he crying? A pang of heartache struck Zed as he took another step toward the child left all alone. When Harto slightly lifted the blanket, it turned out– fortunately –that he wasn’t crying. Instead, he was gazing vacantly past the blinded window with clear, dark eyes that held not a single ray of light.

You were lonely. Lonely in a way that makes my own loneliness pale in comparison…

How long had he spent in solitude? Zed felt a suffocating pain in his chest. He longed to pull the boy into his arms and comfort him with a gentle pat on the back, but to the child in this dream, Zed’s touch was nothing more than a distant, unreachable warmth.

Time began to race forward. Figures clad in white would barge in the room time and again, driving needle-like instruments into Harto’s slender arms, the backs of his hands, and even along his spine. Each time, Harto would convulse and writhe in agony. His piercing screams eventually faded into ragged sobs, until finally, he seemed to give up on everything.

Zed felt a heart-wrenching pain as he watched that harrowing process. It brought to mind the image of Harto from their travels– enduring in silence even when his feet were raw and bleeding. In this strange world, Harto had simply become all too accustomed to bearing pain from a very young age.

Soon after, Harto lay listlessly on the bed, his face beaded with sweat as if every ounce of his strength had been spent. The vitality that once lingered in his dark eyes was fading, and his frame took on the appearance he had now. Yet, the illness was ravaging him just as relentlessly as his body had grown; his complexion had turned deathly pale, and he frequently stared into the void.

Figures clad in white hovered around Harto, who was motionless. Harto no longer craved their affection, nor did they offer him their usual, insincere smiles.

Flip.

In the dead of night, Harto used his frail hands to retrieve a book hidden beneath his pillow and turned the pages one by one. It was the only time he allowed himself a wide range of expressions. As he read the book– filled with characters unknown to Zed –Harto would beam like a child one moment, only to wear an expression of sorrow the next.

After losing himself in the story for a long while, he murmured softly:

“Ares…”

Zed was startled. Harto had known him even before arriving here. How? Just as Zed stepped closer, wondering about this, Harto let out a sigh.

Zed was shocked to see the pained frown on Harto’s face, but he froze completely at the name that followed.

“Hartiros…”

In that instant, the chaotic questions filling Zed’s mind fell into place, and he realized a monumental truth.

An imperfect world.

Zed recalled what Rozain had said.

He finally understood the secret Harto had hesitated to share with him.

Harto was a child from this strange world. Someone whose soul had been placed into the body of Hartiros by a colossal power.

‘And I…No… we were all just characters in the book Harto was reading.’

The moment he realized the full truth, a glowing butterfly appeared from somewhere.

Fluttering around Zed, the butterfly aligned gently on the corner of the book Harto had been reading. Harto’s eyes widened as he watched the butterfly’s slow wingbeats and reached out to catch it, but he suddenly coughed up a mouthful of bright red blood.

‘Harto…!’

Zed reached out to support Harto but could not touch him. The book Harto cherished was soaked through with crimson blood. While coughing incessantly and writhing in agony, Harto managed to step down from the bed.

The beeping noise grew louder, and a commotion arose outside. Yet, Harto took unsteady steps and reached out desperately.

It was the cord for the blinds that had been blocking out the light. As he pulled the cord, a bright, vivid blue sky unfolded outside the window. A stark contrast to the colorless room.

‘Ah…’

Harto stood motionless for a long while, unable to tear his gaze away from that beautiful view.

Soon, a crowd of people rushed into the room and pinned him down onto the bed before driving sharp needles into his arms. Even in that moment, Harto’s eyes remained fixed on the sky outside.

Beeeeeeep–

As the long, continuous tone signaling the end rang out, the image of the blue sky was imprinted upon Harto’s vision. His once-dark eyes glowed with a brilliant blue. He breathed his last, his gaze fully capturing the blue sky beyond the window –a sky he had never been able to reach while alive.

“…Urgh.”

Zed gasped for air as he slowly opened his eyes.

At that moment, the eclipse that had cast the land in darkness ended, and the surroundings brightened. Warm sunlight poured down upon them, yet Zed still felt as though he were in a stark white room.

“Let’s go now.”

Zed lifted his head at the sound of the voice. Rozain, who had been standing outside the building, was nowhere to be seen; in her place stood the prophet, Lior Albas.