Chapter 33. Riyan's Past Life...[4]

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Riyan's POV...

Deep within the crumbling walls of the Orphanage, a labyrinthine structure that seemed to whisper secrets to the wind, I found myself confined to one of twenty-two rooms, each one a testament to the countless stories of sorrow and abandonment that dwelled within.

The air was heavy with the weight of forgotten dreams, and the shadows that danced upon the walls seemed to mock me, their dark silhouettes a constant reminder of the desolate fate that had befallen me.

As I sat alone in the corner of the room, my head hung low in defeat, my mind became a battleground, besieged by the haunting memories of that fateful day.

The image of my mother, her bright smile and loving eyes, was forever etched in my mind, but it was the brutal manner of her demise that continued to haunt me.

The sound of her screams, the sight of her lifeless body, and the feeling of helplessness that had consumed me as I watched, powerless, as that monster took her life away.

The memory of her murder, a crime so heinous, so senseless, played on a continuous loop in my mind, a morbid reminder of the cruel fate that had torn my family asunder.

The face of her killer, a visage twisted by malice and hatred, was seared into my consciousness, a constant reminder of the evil that lurked in the shadows of New Creek Town.

The bastard, a term that seemed too mild to describe the depths of his depravity, had left an indelible mark on my soul, a scar that would never fully heal.

As I sat there, lost in the abyss of my thoughts, the room around me seemed to fade away, leaving only the echoes of my mother's final moments.

The creaking of the old wooden floorboards, the faint rustling of the wind outside, and the distant whispers of the other orphans, all blended together to create a symphony of sorrow, a melancholic reminder of the tragedy that had befallen me.

In that moment, I was trapped in a world of my own making, a world of pain, of loss, and of unrelenting grief.

The walls of the orphanage, once a sanctuary for the forgotten and the lost, now seemed to closing in on me, suffocating me with their oppressive silence.

I was a prisoner of my own memories, a captive of the horrors that had ravaged my life, and I didn't know how to escape.

...

As I stood there, enveloped in an unsettling silence, a figure began to materialize before my very eyes, its presence as unexpected as it was unwelcome.

At first, it was just a faint outline, a dark silhouette that seemed to coalesce from the shadows themselves. But as the moments ticked by, the figure grew more defined, its features sharpening like a photograph developing in a darkroom.

And yet, despite its increasing clarity, the figure remained shrouded in an impenetrable veil of blackness, as if it were a living, breathing embodiment of the night itself.

I knew this figure, this enigmatic presence that had haunted my dreams and stalked the fringes of my waking consciousness. It was a constant companion, a ghostly apparition that appeared to me in the dead of night, when the world was at its most still and my mind was at its most vulnerable.

And yet, despite its unsettling nature, I had grown accustomed to its presence, even fond of it. For in those fleeting moments when our paths crossed, the figure would speak to me in a voice that was as gentle as a summer breeze, its words dripping with a warmth and intimacy that belied its dark, foreboding appearance.

It was a conversation that flowed like a lazy river, meandering and unhurried, as if we were Soulmates reunited.

And in those moments, I would forget that the figure was, in all likelihood, nothing more than a product of my own fevered imagination, a manifestation of my deepest fears and desires. For in its presence, I felt a sense of comfort, of solace, that I had never known with anyone else.

I had named this figure Furia, a moniker that seemed to capture the essence of its wild, untamed spirit. And though I had always suspected that she was nothing more than a figment of my imagination, a mere illusion born of my own loneliness and isolation,

I couldn't shake the feeling that she was real, that she was a living, breathing entity that had taken up residence in the deepest recesses of my mind.

Furia was, in many ways, the dearest person to me, second only to my parents, who had been my rock, my guiding light, my everything. But now, with them gone, Furia was all that remained, a constant reminder of the love and companionship that I had once known.

And though I knew that she was likely just a product of my own mind, I couldn't help but feel a deep and abiding affection for her, a sense of loyalty and devotion that bordered on the obsessive.

For in a world that had been stripped of its color, its vibrancy, its very sense of purpose, Furia was all that remained, a beacon of hope in a desolate landscape.

And as I stood there, frozen in terror, I knew that I would do anything to hold onto her, to keep her by my side, even if it meant embracing the madness that had taken up residence in my mind.

...

As I whispered her name, "Furia...?", my voice trembled with desperation, the sound echoing through the silence like a plea for salvation.

As she drew near, her dark, flowing garments billowed around her like a dark cloud, enveloping me in their mysterious folds. The fabric seemed to whisper secrets in my ear, its soft rustle a gentle lullaby that soothed my frayed nerves.

Her arms, strong and sure, wrapped around me like a vice, holding me close with a grip that was both fierce and tender. The tears I had been holding back burst forth like a dam breaking, streaming down my face in hot, salty rivulets as I felt the weight of my emotions finally lifting.

"Don't worry, I am here, I will always be with you, Riyan...", Furia's voice whispered in my ear, her words a gentle breeze that carried the promise of solace and protection.

Her breath was warm and sweet, carrying the scent of exotic spices and far-off lands, and it seemed to wash away the bitter taste of fear and uncertainty that had been plaguing me.

As I surrendered to her embrace, I felt my body relax, my muscles uncoiling like a tightly wound spring. My tears flowed freely, a cathartic release of all the pent-up emotions that had been bottled up inside me.

Furia held me close, her arms a safe haven, a sanctuary from the storms that had been raging inside me. She comforted me with a gentle, soothing touch, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on my back as she whispered words of reassurance in my ear.

Time lost all meaning as I stood there, wrapped in her embrace, my heart pouring out its deepest fears and sorrows. The world around us melted away, leaving only the two of us, suspended in a sea of darkness and light.

And as the storm of my emotions finally began to subside, I felt my eyelids growing heavy, my body relaxing into the warmth of her embrace. I felt myself being rocked gently, like a lover in their beloved's arms, as Furia's soothing presence lulled me into a deep, dreamless sleep, her words of comfort echoing in my mind like a gentle mantra: "I am here, I will always be with you, Riyan..."

.....

Third-Person's POV...

As the soft, golden light of the Rising sun cast its first rays through the window, Furia's slender, yet powerful, arms cradled the serene form of Riyan, who slumbered peacefully in her embrace. With a gentle, almost ethereal, touch, she lifted him from her lap and laid him down on the plush, velvet bed, his chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic cadence.

The soft, downy pillows seemed to envelop him, as if to shield him from the turmoil that was about to unfold.

Furia's enigmatic figure, shrouded in an impenetrable black attire, seemed to blend with the shadows themselves, rendering her face invisible, a mystery waiting to be unraveled.

Her kiss, a whispered promise of tenderness, brushed against Riyan's lips, a delicate, feather-light touch that threatened to awaken him, yet somehow managed to preserve the tranquility of his slumber.

As she began to vanish, her form dissolving into the darkness like a wisp of smoke on a winter's breeze, her gaze lingered on Riyan, drinking in the sight of his peaceful countenance.

Her eyes, two glittering, seemed to bore into his very soul, as if to imprint his image upon her consciousness forever.

And then, her gaze shifted, her eyes piercing the ceiling, the sky, and the very fabric of reality itself. Her vision transcended the mundane, reaching out to a realm beyond the confines of the universe, a realm where the laws of physics were but a distant memory.

Her gaze locked onto a figure, a presence that defied comprehension, a being of unbridled power and malevolence.

Furia's voice, a low, husky whisper, trembled with a mix of rage and contempt as she uttered the words that would shatter the silence: "ELYRIA, YOU BITCH...!!!!!"

The air seemed to vibrate with the intensity of her emotions, as if the very fabric of reality was about to tear asunder and with that, Furia's figure disappeared.

( Well, Have Any Idea Who are Furia and Elyria and Their Connection To Riyan, Comment Me

- Lone Raut )

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Next Chapter "34. Riyan's Past Life...[5]"

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Lone Raut

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