Let me into your heart

Zmey couldn't utter another word—the words blocked his throat as he kept them in. He clenched his fist, knuckles whitening.

"A really cursed world this is. It had never been better on its own, not to talk of its inhabitants—people who can't even tell between right or wrong," he mumbled under his breath.

His eyes remained glued to the old woman, who, in turn, looked unblinkingly at him. Meanwhile, clenching his jaw again, he exhaled out of frustration, nodding his head before turning his back on the woman.

As he began to walk away, his ribs twisted and stung, making him wince. Even so, he couldn't care less. His jaw remained tight, especially as the woman's voice replayed in his mind.

What was her deal? He wondered quietly. How could a victim be the one to blame? If not heaven, then where else would be its final destination after death?

"I can't get it off my mind!" Zmey lamented, his voice growing sober. When he reached the corner of the sturdy house, he paused for a moment, glancing back at the old lady.

He gritted his teeth and mumbled under his breath, "Are you all… are you people in existence just to twist the dagger in my heart? Eh?! Each and every one of you would just… you would JUST cross paths with me to heighten my hurt senses again. Like that cursed money-monger…"

Words hung in his throat again. Every time he tried to speak his mind, all that came were hot, ragged breaths. Though the woman was mainly talking about a cat, he couldn't shake off the weight of the underlying meaning, not when it threatened to remind him of memories.

A cat that had nine lives! The possession of such admirable things… Indeed, if someone remains the best student in an academy for tens of years, what else but envy will other students feel?

Clutching the wooden edge of the building so tightly that he almost chipped off some wood, Zmey limped, disappearing into the dark alley beside the house.

At the same time, the air shifted. The wind blew specks of snow across the atmosphere. The woman's static, balanced gaze had stayed where the 'anomaly being' was a moment ago.

Until, suddenly, the wind blew tiny particles on her face. It was as though something was calling her attention in the other direction. Through her peripheral vision, she noticed it—a shining material a few turns from her current viewpoint.

In her perspective, the air was blurry—like a translucent balloon with a dull blue light emanating from it. Structures, like the cattle shield in front of her, or tools like the distant wedge, all appeared as though bound inside the hazy sphere.

She couldn't see herself anywhere inside - no. No matter where she looked, the case was the same: blurry, translucent material dully gleaming with azure light. So, she was probably hallucinating herself amidst countless balloons.

Everything was unclear, except for one thing that caught her attention. It was a silvery cat. Its eyes shone dully in the night light, resting on its paws. As the words came, she repeated, "A non-optional decision becomes otherwise at the sight of something worthwhile. The dead want to live, after all."

Elsewhere, walking across an ashy road, more of a pathway between buildings placed in a linear style, Nero lingered on a golden coin held by the tips of his thumbs. He moved quickly and playfully, like a typical boy.

The nocturnal wind whistled all around, and the quick sounds of his steps only added to the noise, at least for him alone. As he toyed with the coin, his eyes gleamed with a hint of reluctance.

He mumbled, "Is it really going to be okay to give out this coin to the needy? For the hundredth time over the years, I have spent in this kingdom?"

Slowly, though a bit rushed, he kept the money in his pocket. He straightened his back, putting a faint smile on his face. He thought, 'Forget it. The old woman can't earn for herself.

Maybe that's the reason I get at least five gold coins a day from running errands for the villagers, afraid of going outside.'

That thought buried something in his face. His eyes stared blankly at a distant counter—the intertwining cobwebs danced in sync with the arid wind—in front of which he would have to turn right.

To the spot he always met the old woman wasn't long anymore. And then not that long to reach his shelter. Nero sighed.

"It's good that I make money from answering their questions, going on errands for them, and doing outdoor work for them. Time is just like how much one spends in a hide-and-seek game. But…" he sighed again, moving his palm across his forehead as if wiping sweat, "…does Frosthaven have to remain like this forever?

The tamers and exorcists… Are they practically weak in comparison with the evil creatures, or are they staying on the fence intentionally? It makes no sense. No one, even the king and his subordinates is acting after the face-off they made the first day the creatures attacked the village.

No sense at all. Even if they all live in the outer part of the kingdom, they at least know about cases of missing people. And some were found dead. Even palace workers suffer the same plague as well."

Silence stretched on. Shifting his weight, he got down from the pavement road and moved onto the rough surface. Pebbles crunched beneath his boots. Distant steps filled his ears. Nero's brows twitched. The air felt surreally darker.

He didn't know why. Perhaps staring too much into the night affected his vision. His heart threatened to race, to heat. But he sighed out, hoping that would help. And it did.

He moved on. His shoulders tensed. His movement pace slowed. He glanced over his shoulder. But only debris with things he had already seen was there. He balanced his gaze forward. Nero rubbed the back of his neck, tilting his head abruptly.

"Not sure… Why does this place feel strange suddenly?" he mumbled.

"Nero Norman."

A soft, piercing voice called him out of nowhere. It echoed. Nero immediately felt a cold chill run through him. He froze. His heart tightened. Eyes widening, he gasped for breath. Impossible.

A normal person's voice couldn't be that loud. Loud enough to echo through the alleyway!

His neck grew stiff. He mumbled, his voice shaking, "What… who the hell was that?"

"Nor… man! Haha!" came the next one. This time, they prolonged his surname, ending it with a loud cackle. Nero swallowed hard. The voice, feminine, grew more teasing in the next second. "When will you stop deceiving yourself?"

"Deceiving myself? What…" he mumbled. His chest tightened more. He froze on the spot, unable to glance backward or get a side view.

"It was you, wasn't it? The man and woman back then didn't die because of any abyssal beast. And you didn't lose an arm because of being attacked," the speaker said.

Nero squeezed his fist tightly. His head ached at hearing that. Raising his left arm, he glanced at it—the iron now called his arm glinted dully in the moonlight.

However, the shadow continued, "They died because of you. Nero Norman, thou shall stop avoiding the blame. Though you're good at deceiving yourself as an ordinary country boy, we both know the truth.

Varieties of opportunities and possessions wait painstakingly at your feet, desperately… monstrously awaiting your return as your true self. Let me into your heart. I will fix everything. Get back into the fray of the strong, not the weak."