I found myself mulling over Alyssara far more than I wanted to, and certainly more than was healthy. There was something about her—something that defied logical sense and gnawed at the edges of my mind.
It wasn't just her fixation on me. That, on its own, was troubling enough. No, it was the way she looked at me, the way her words lingered in the air long after she was gone. It was as if she carried a weight, an invisible thread binding her to me in ways I couldn't comprehend.
And honestly speaking, we barely knew each other. The interactions we'd had were fleeting, antagonistic at best. Yet, her interest was unmistakable, and it wasn't the kind of interest born of curiosity or casual intrigue. It was deeper, darker—something that felt unnatural.
Again, it reminded me of that being.
The one that brought me to this world. The one that tampered with my mind, locking away parts of it as though I were a pawn on a cosmic chessboard. That same being could be behind this, nudging Alyssara in my direction, just as it had nudged so many other events into place.
I hated the idea. But the more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.
I'd uncovered with Alastor that the being in question was likely far beyond Radiant-rank—a level of power that dwarfed even Alyssara, who stood at mid Radiant-rank herself. A being that strong could easily manipulate circumstances, steering Alyssara's obsession toward me like a wind guiding a leaf to the ground.
"Does any of this even make sense?" I muttered into the darkness, my voice barely more than a whisper as I lay back in bed. The ceiling above me offered no answers.
This entire place—the Southern Sea Sun Palace—it was messing with my head. The threads of intrigue and manipulation here were too tangled, too deeply embedded. I'd come here expecting to deal with cults and vampires, but instead, I was facing something far more personal. Far more insidious.
I sighed, my thoughts drifting. I'd wanted a break after a year of grueling isolation training. A chance to breathe, to reconnect with the people I cared about. Instead, I was here, trapped in a labyrinth of lies and half-truths, my every step shadowed by uncertainty.
And then, a thought struck me like a lightning bolt.
Art.
He'd likely regressed. That much I was almost certain of. If Art had regressed, could he have had something to do with Alyssara? Had they crossed paths before the timeline reset? Was there a connection between them that I was now unwittingly tangled in?
My mind raced. If she could recall memories of a world before regression, that would explain the strange familiarity she seemed to feel toward me. But if that were true, why Alyssara? Why her, and not anyone else? Why hadn't anyone else shown signs of remembering?
Unless... unless someone, or something, was feeding her these memories.
The very thought sent chills racing down my spine. Was she another pawn in this game? A piece being moved into place by the same being that had locked parts of my mind? Was this entity playing some grand game of manipulation, orchestrating events and players for its own inscrutable purpose?
My chest tightened at the possibility. If that were true, then I wasn't just up against vampires, cultists, or even Radiant-rank monsters. I was up against something far worse—something that viewed people like Alyssara and me as nothing more than pieces on a board.
I clenched my fists, trying to steady my thoughts.
"I can't afford to lose focus," I murmured. I couldn't let myself drown in paranoia, not when I still had so much to uncover. But even as I tried to calm myself, the unease lingered, wrapping around me like a cold, unrelenting fog.
If this was a game, then I had to learn the rules. And fast.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The woman's cries shattered the stillness in the room, piercing and raw, echoing off the stone walls in a ceaseless loop.
"Let me go!" she screamed, her voice thick with anger and desperation as she clawed at the bars of the iron cage.
The man standing before her regarded her with a chilling detachment. His face was calm, composed, devoid of any flicker of empathy. "You need to stay inside, dear," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "This is for your safety."
"My safety?" The words tore from her lips, jagged and bitter. "I would be safe away from you! Let me go, you monster!"
He ignored her pleas, turning instead to the small girl cradled in his arms. Her wide, curious eyes—too innocent for the scene unfolding—locked onto her father's face.
"Look closely, Alyssara," he said, his tone slipping into something unnervingly instructional. "If you want someone, you must control them fully. I'll show you exactly how it's done."
He snapped his fingers. The sharp sound reverberated through the room, followed by the slow, ominous groan of grinding gears. The woman stiffened as a dreadful sound filled the space—a tumbling, metallic clatter. Chains dragged along the floor as two figures were dragged into view.
Her breath hitched, and she collapsed to her knees. Tears streaked her face as she stared at the sight before her: her parents, shackled and trembling.
The man's smile widened, cold and triumphant. "Look, my love," he said, gesturing grandly to the scene. "This is what happens when you care for anyone other than me."
"No," she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper. Then louder, more frantic, "No, no, no! Stop this! Please!"
The man's subordinates stepped forward, their blades gleaming under the dim light. They pressed the sharp edges to the throats of the kneeling couple.
The woman surged forward, slamming against the bars of the cage. "I'll do anything!" she cried, her voice cracking with desperation. "I'll stay! I'll never leave! I'll raise our daughter, just—please—don't do this!"
Her words hung in the air, fragile and trembling, but the man did not falter. With a curt nod to his subordinates, the deed was done. Two swift arcs of steel, and her parents fell limp, their bodies slumping to the ground like discarded puppets.
The woman screamed, the sound primal and unending. Her grief filled the room, heavy and suffocating, as the man turned on his heel and strode away, the little girl still nestled in his arms.
"Remember this, Alyssara," he said as they exited, his voice as calm as though he were giving a lecture on arithmetic. "When you love someone, you must ensure they love only you. To do that, you cut away anyone else they might care for. Leave them with nothing—no one—else."
The child nodded, her wide, unblinking eyes fixed on her father. Her pink hair glinted faintly in the dim light, an eerie contrast to the darkness of the room they left behind.
Days passed before the man returned. When he did, the sight that greeted him filled him with satisfaction. The woman remained in her cage, but the fire in her eyes had been extinguished. She stared at him now with hollow, vacant orbs, devoid of hope, resistance, or anything resembling a soul.
"See how obedient she is now," the man said, pride dripping from his words. "This is how you forge love, my darling girl. Not through kindness or compromise. Through control."
Alyssara, perched by his side, glanced at her mother—broken and lifeless in the cage. She tilted her head, her tiny hands clutching her father's coat. She did not cry. She did not flinch. Instead, she studied the scene with quiet curiosity, her pink hair like a fragile bloom in a world of ash and shadow.
Alyssara's lips curved into a serene smile, a memory stirring within her mind as she worked her paintbrush across the canvas. The LED light above cast a stark glow, illuminating her delicate strokes as she brought her vision to life. The faint echo of her father's voice whispered in her ears, unbidden yet insistent, wrapping itself around her thoughts like a chain.
"You were right, Father," she murmured, her voice barely louder than a breath. "If I want someone, I have to break them first."
The brush hovered momentarily above the canvas as her words settled in the silence of the room. Her smile widened, soft and unsettling, as if she were savoring the revelation.
"I might actually want something now," she continued, her tone light yet laced with a peculiar weight. "Looks like your little girl is finally growing up."
The painting before her was vivid, almost unnervingly so. It depicted a man with striking black hair and piercing azure eyes, his figure caged and surrounded by shadow. The bars of the cage seemed to glow faintly, a cruel imitation of light mocking the man within. She tilted her head as she studied her work, her expression both contemplative and oddly tender.
"I wonder," she said, tapping the brush lightly against her lips, leaving a faint smear of paint, "why does he seem so familiar?"
That was the one question Alyssara couldn't quite answer. Something about the man tugged at the edges of her consciousness, like a forgotten tune she couldn't stop humming. It was maddening in its elusiveness, the way it teased her mind without ever revealing its secret.
But then, a flicker of resolve lit her eyes, the gleam of someone who had already decided on the means to an end.
"Well," she mused, her smile sharp enough to cut, "I suppose I'll get my answers after I break him."