Sweating and yelping, William jerked from that picture as if it were too hot to the touch and hurting. He dropped to the ground, crawled away from it, eyes bleeding, yet his heart kept beating. He swore it was about to crawl out of him, too, and he knew it was out of his fucking mind because nothing else mattered.

  The ground was a mess, with cuts and pieces of glass and papers, and... blood. His blood; there was no way the picture and delving into a memory created this blood, and it was not a play done by his brain.

  He still looked at it and felt as if the picture was bleeding, oozing off it, and living in it! He still saw the view moving, breaking, and turning redder, but it was his mind and eyes playing tricks on him. He still looked at it, though, unsure whether he had seen the end of it or lived.

  Then he stopped. Someone seized him, clutching his neck and shoulder from behind, but it was no chair, wall, or pillar. He stopped his crawling panic, and it wasn't his own right arm either, for it was still aside, trying to crawl back and make him right. Too bad, again, for a hero arrived.

  “What is it?” a girl's voice asked him, coming from behind. William was aware enough to recognize Celeste's voice or the clutch that bore into his flesh, tensing his muscles and startling the menacing flow within him. A bunch of absurdity reached that voice, mixing in insanity, and it was wicked enough to be absurd.

  “W-what?” he tried to say, but her grip was tight and filled with strength. She stopped his crawling and seized his trembling, and he was sure he had never seen her like this. Crouching, she touched his tears with low, slow motion, before tasting them without watching his eyes or face. She didn't dare to venture that far for some reason.

  “I hear things, William. Feel things... for once. Are you the same?” she asked, uncertain if these words sounded right or sane, but here she was, feeling cool as fuck.

  William began panicking for a different kind of reason. “I don't see a thing. Not a thing... No.”

  “I can't see, you see. I feel things. It's weird. I want to see.”

  “No...” William tried to get free but failed at every attempt. The strength leaked, the ways changed. Then, he noticed how his right side bled even more, losing its protection. His arm was messed up, with his Emblem turning into a fuzzy storm the size of a palm.

  Celeste regarded it with a glance and did not dare to touch it. “It's pretty. I like mine too. It's black and white.” She offered him a hand that clutched his neck by pulling her loose sleeve away. Her Emblem was throbbing and wavering in the fake light of the day, but not in the void of night. It was artificial light—a luxury she had never liked.

  “What do you want...” William forced, unsure if watching this sick object made any sense to him. It didn't. He still saw screaming blood and felt her interest right behind his head. Was she sniffing him? What about the way she touched his blood and licked it off her finger?

  “Nothing. Ellie is worried, so I am worried. You... are hurt, so I hurt. Again. It's hurting lot much stuff, doesn't it?”

  “Pain is not endless... I am good. Good. Go away. I don't want this right now. Not ever.” William grunted and tried to push her off, but she wrestled him to submission by a simple poke, twist of power, while remaining silent.

  William lost his voice of reason when Celeste gripped something underneath her clothes: a simple vial with not-so-simple liquid that William had learned about recently.

  She opened it with her mouth and dropped a few droplets on William, who was wincing and grunting, before screaming in a heavy tone. He couldn't do anything on the ground with her feet pressed on his back. He felt that sick thrill again, and his Emblem felt like searing his arm off, nabbing at this daring brat, but it was too late. That throbbing pain had no justice to be this reasonable, and those heavy droplets dug deep, leaking blood and surprising gasp from Celeste, who did not expect this reaction.

  Then, two drops fell onto his arm again, changing the crimson wounds, and William's mind dropped into a different kind of abyss. It was different from that mirror or that memory. This was more raw, centered around the dark discomfort.

  He stopped convulsing and fell unconscious in a heartbeat. Only then did Celeste sigh, unaware of the effects her pool had on such kids, but hey, Dreadus took it well, so why could this one be any different? Sure, those digits were different, or so Ellie said, but William smelled really freaking nice. She got used to it quickly herself, so she crouched and poked William's head and arm. Just in case, she ushered a couple more droplets and prayed it would work.

  “Was it too bad? Harsh?” She wondered, looking at the door where Hound sat, observing and shaking his head as he trapped the gnawed door that was difficult to open otherwise. It stayed free of any sick sniffers, so that was good. All was good.

  Hearing him, she gets it. “Back to Ellie, I guess.” Celeste got up, put her vial in its place, gripped Hound, and fled the scene, worried that Ellie was about to notice she was gone again.

  This time, she might question her for no apparent reason, and Celeste bet heroes had to have their reasons, excuses, or secret identities. Perhaps she didn't have to explain herself because that's what heroes do.

  ***

  Sometime later, William woke up, shuddering and looking at the ground.

  “That time...”

  

  William felt a headache impending his head and got up with troubles fit for a hopeless addict or a cripple. He sized up the surroundings and felt that no one was present, but the room and everything in it felt familiar. His vision was back to normal, and his arm was free of unrestrained hatred, though it still hurt, which meant a good thing. When it felt like nothing... things were bad. Then worse. Then... the worst.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  He remembered everything, including that trip or that fucked up picture that he wished to cut into thousands of pieces. It survived, still etched into that wall, unmoving. He thought it was a screen on something at first, but nope. He was an idiot for coming here.

  Clutching his face, he recalled it right. “They took their time to come. Walkers. Death. Monitoring the Darks and the camp is fine, huh? Fuckers... were too fucking late. It caused a disaster, yet who am I to say that? I am a disaster, and Dann argues I am not? Fucker never wanted to admit it, constantly arguing it is false. I know it... Not him. Not.... No one was ready for it. Not me. Not anyone. Hunts. Darks came, and people fled. Walkers were present yet in pieces like prey, and who even won? That Primeval?”

  He argued for nobody but his hands. Then he released his face, looking at no apparent reason for his distress, because there wasn't one. His Emblem was there on his arm, quiet but revolting in dense, vivid patterns and red colors.

  Thank gods the shirt survived, even if the sleeve was no more. There was no time for feeling sorry about it. His choices were different than five... no six? Well, how old he was wasn't important because he was way too young to bathe in Madness anywhere. Even if it involved him and everything he stood for, there was something right about it.

  He planned not to visit this room ever again. It was a tight promise that aimed at no escape plan, because this wasn't about escape, but a fucked up mistake and excuses to not face it again.

  He knew some stuff could start the pain again and again, and then a troubled, nasty, scrupulous mess. To see something like this again, no promise was made, even if Dann described it not that long ago.

  “No more history.” William got up, patting his chest, and looking at the messed-up floor. He didn't understand how it happened, and he was okay with it. Once again, he dismissed it by not even looking at it.

  He walked away from trouble and into the other rooms.

  Time flew by some more, and ten hours flew faster than one would guess. William changed location multiple times for a change of pace. He forgot what else even mattered, and spending the last few hours of this day on his favorite sofa came as an unsurprising treat. He kind of expected Ellie's visit, yet it never came.

  Celeste hadn't shown up either, though that was one thing that made little sense to him. He couldn't recall her words and barely noted her arrival before he disregarded it. Not a single smudge of her help shook him, but that was perhaps for the better. He didn't get it.

  Instead, he decided to end his day on his own terms. Forcing himself up, he placed the fictional book about a man traversing the seas back in its place.

  William wished he could spend more time here, but, much to his disappointment and lack of discipline, he couldn't. He promised something, and whatever it did to him or to others, he planned to become a Walker. Good? Bad one? There were sometimes not morally right or well-suited words for just about anyone, and Walkers had a broad spectrum. For him, one was simply a crazy killing machine... and killing, it did.

  Descriptions of his father, which Mi-Yung shared with him, left him with a deep illusion and a single goal. Look and fight. Two? It didn't matter. Then there was his unknown mother, who wasn't as clear to Mi-Yung for some reason, or perhaps he wasn't trying hard enough? Like her? Was he even asking the right questions? William hadn't even seen their pictures anywhere, and he tried to look for famous Walkers who might get him anything. There were plenty to go around, as their heroic acts, deaths, and accomplishments have considerable sentiment in the Federation, with memorials and busts sprawling among its inner or outer societies.

  A Gale was a simple surname, yet... what about the name of his mother? William didn't even know such a simple thing right now, and that was enough for someone like him to keep him going.

  Walking from the cultural floor, a small bruise was still visible on his head, not too big and not noticeable from far away. It didn't hurt much, but that could be said about anything in this mundane, easy day.

  He hardly minded it until he remembered the cause of his forehead. Then, there were much bigger worries. It came like lightning, and it came like a storm and thundered in his heart, darting his eyes left and right. He began noticing their faces, people, and their clothes.

  Hugging his right arm, the crimson was visible under his left palm. It was difficult to hide, and he didn't even realize his shirts had become ineffective.

  “Back home, I guess. At least to what I can call home.”

  Descending the stairs, William saw a surprising number of people. As Mi-Yung stated, many youths like him were all over the place, coming here with someone, in groups, or alone. Just how many of them were future Walkers like him, or already at Rank 1? Studies were important, yet how much? How many were normal for their status, wanting to learn and improve in their spare time, while hiding at night?

  According to his watch, it was past 10 PM, so it was about time to head home. He didn't even feel hungry; he wasn't even sure how many credits he had. He forgot about their meanings when Mi-Yung scattered those pages and tossed them to him like a toilet paper. In a weird sense, they were just paper. Nothing important.

  On the first floor, there was a lone figure shrouded beside a pillar, awaiting something or someone for quite a while now. A lot of wonders came to this longing figure, all because of a hectic morning and the worst sleep ever.

  Ellie waited for a whole hour after getting rid of Celeste under the pretext that she had something very important to do. Not only did she succeed, but she was even better at it than usual because Dreadus came to grab her unwilling self, which meant a total guarantee she would not come back.

  Celeste was still worried about what was to come.

  This left her resigned eyes, and her steps even heavier, yet Ellie didn't care because she didn't know Celeste was a hero today and had saved the day twice.

  She saw William's slow steps, strange forehead, and face that hid unease. Should she be odd or weird about it? Was the last night that wrong? Or the morning...

  Hiding beyond the pillar, she glanced at William, who she thought would leave his cocoon sooner or later.

  “T-there is he. Great. Terrible? Who am I lying to? There is only me. No one else. Screw this already... I am wasting my time, and what if he is doing the same? What if I am making one stupid decision after another, and none of them has a coherent basis? What if I am doing something wrong?” Biting her lips, she hit the rocky pillar to quench her fist and ease her mood. Bloody mark remained on the pillar, and her hand was hurt.

  She walked from behind the pillar and approached William, who didn't expect her to emerge like this. She practically ran into him, which caused his steps to waver and his hand to squeeze that crimson devil. A familiar figure wore a beige dress all the way down to her knees. It made Ellie soft and light, like a fairy from the tales and...

  “William...”

  “You... waited?” William said uncertainly, stopping because of her, his feelings, or his mind. At least there was no voice to pester him, which he welcomed. No pain, either. Perhaps there will be no gain. Maybe that's the problem. The silence was deafening.

  “I... I haven't seen you all day.”

  “I guess.”

  “What's up on your forehead?” Ellie asked the right question, even if she didn't want to discuss it, since it was right there, on his forehead, while she hid her hurt arm behind her back.