Chapter 20: Shadows of the Past

Chapter 20: Shadows of the Past

— Welcome, Tom...

"What's happening!!!!!"—those were the only words buzzing in Tom's head. Yet even they were mercilessly drowned out by the voices rushing toward him.

— Just take a step. Just take a step, Tom. And everything will be fine. Help us.

Tom began losing consciousness. His body fought desperately to save him, but some magical force kept him lucid.

He took a step forward. Or rather, his body did. Against his will. It was slipping further from his control, drawn toward the mysterious voices.

— Release us. Release us, Tom! Release us, Tom!!! We're so miserable without you.
Do what we ask, and you'll get everything you desire! We'll give you everything.
A crown over the seas, answers to all your questions, mountains of gold and diamonds.
Just release us! Free us! And we'll give ourselves to you. You'll become OUR king!

Tom struggled with all his might against the enchantment pulling him into the cave's depths, but his body grew heavier, no longer obeying him.
Terror enveloped him.
He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt anything like it.
Since Amy's birth, he'd forbidden himself to be a child, banishing all traces of childhood from his adult world.
Or perhaps not all...
Fear doesn't leave us so easily. It's one of life's chief companions, staying with us until death.
The key is deciding your relationship with it. Is it your elder friend, pointing out weaknesses to motivate improvement? Or your enemy, one you want to hide from—or hide itself?

That was Tom's case. He'd buried his childhood fears deep within and played the role of a strong sea wolf, before whom even fear retreats.
Yet in truth, it was different. It couldn't be otherwise.

In that moment, all the childhood fears he'd suppressed surged back into his body. He was a small boy again, afraid to sleep without his mother. Alone. Abandoned in impenetrable darkness.

— Come on! Tom! Just a few more steps. GO!

Tom's body took its final step, and he dissolved into the darkness. The enchanted forest and crystal-clear lake echoed a devilishly tender feminine laugh across the island.

Meanwhile, Deniale gradually recovered the memories she'd returned to him.
Yet the guitar didn't bring back memories of Tess—rather, it evoked feelings that played a certain melody on the strings of his soul, leaving an unsettling sense that the answer was near.

He spent countless hours in this state, trying to recall something. To no avail.

He needed other clues. Some lead. Anything to restore the missing pieces for a complete picture of all the events.

At that moment, his eyes fell again on the diaries he'd left on the table.
The emotions had overwhelmed him so much he'd forgotten about them.
A mistake! Perhaps the answers to his questions lay there.

There were eleven in total. Ten diaries, numbered from 1 to 10, containing his memories. Regrettably, they lacked dates or years.
Only the note number and the text itself.

The handwriting wasn't particularly aesthetic but was legible enough. Deniale found this strange—he should recognize his own script, yet the first pages came with difficulty.
He deciphered them word by word, understanding little.
Oddly, the handwriting in the eleventh diary, that of the mysterious Steffen Wilson, he read with ease.

— Who is this Steffen? A strange name, but... it feels oddly familiar... Maybe she knows?

She definitely knew who Steffen Wilson was. All this time, she'd watched him through the droplets sliding down the now-rusty faucet, through the water in the bottle she'd left on his table.
After such a gift, it would be wrong to leave Deniale alone. Yet this scene clearly brought her little joy.

Of course. On one hand, color had finally returned to his cheeks, but not because of her...
Yes... She'd returned it to him... But only technically. Not truly... Not the way she wanted.
And now this damned Steffen. Memories of him would surely reveal the whole truth to Deniale.
He'd remember everything he needed to. Perhaps not immediately, but in time. And then her little paradise—
A paradise whose gates had long overgrown with weeds, yet so dear and warm—would be destroyed.
By her own hands...
Through her mercy...
What a absurdity.

Deniale opened Steffen's diary to the first page, where a strange epigraph greeted him: "I left everything important behind, then vainly tried to find it beyond the horizon. What irony..."

— What could this mean?

The answers surely lay ahead. For a reason, the past Deniale had kept this diary. He needed to read on.

"These pages recount the life story of Steffen Wilson—that is, me. Knowing my time is short and she will soon come for me, I wish to lay out the story of my life and my greatest mistake. A mistake I tried to rectify my whole life, yet sought answers in the wrong places... And when I realized... It was too late.
Besides, I lacked the strength. But now it seems this was meant to be. Everything was destined to end this way. A pitiful end for a pitiful me.
This diary and this story are my last attempt to defeat her. But even if it happens—it will be by someone else's hand. Someone else who can find this diary.
Here, I've recorded all I could learn about the mysterious game I was dragged into as a victim. Or, to be honest, the one I dragged myself into.

Perhaps centuries from now, someone will unravel this cycle. This hellish cycle and free all the souls lost in this game. If that happens, perhaps I'll finally find peace. And at last reunite with the one I loved so deeply. Yet still let down..."

A shiver of fear ran through Deniale's body, mingled with a strange excitement and passion igniting within him.
Along with this, an odd, mysterious sensation loomed over him.
If you asked, he couldn't explain what was happening. A troubling déjà vu, impossible yet real.
It distracted him slightly, but paradoxically, it stoked the flames of his curiosity even more.

"It's hard to decide where this story should begin. Perhaps from birth, when my fate was sealed. Or maybe when I became a sailor.
Or perhaps it all started on that cursed island? I still don't know. Yet...
Yet I promised myself to write only the truth here, hiding nothing. Even if the image of me that emerges for readers is vile and repulsive. Pitiful and weak.
It doesn't matter. The most important thing is to uncover the truth and end this...

I was born in Bristol... In an ordinary large family by the sea. Bristol, a port city, so I grew up surrounded by sailors. I can't say I always wanted to become one, but fate led me there.

I first went to sea at 14, and since then, most of my life has been spent away from land.

My daily life wasn't particularly exciting. Besides, I remember little of what came before my first voyage. Sometimes, even with effort, I can't recall anything. Perhaps she hides something important there? Something that could shed light on her riddles? Or maybe I'm just too old and slowly losing my mind.

The main story begins when I was 22 and met Rebecca. My parents thought it was time to marry, given my profession—hardly safe, as you can imagine. I could die at sea any day, so they urged haste.
Though I didn't see much weight in it, I agreed.

Rebecca... I don't even know what she saw in me. She came from a wealthy merchant family and could've aimed higher.
Yet... She chose me.

We married before that same voyage. We wed in our local chapel, and the next day, after bidding farewell to Rebecca from our marital bed, I set out on that fateful journey."

At this point, the letters grew increasingly uneven. Deniale thought this might reflect Steffen's fear while writing or his trembling hand, overwhelmed by emotion...

"The first day went smoothly, and we followed our course. The crew was fine. The captain and boatswain were in good spirits. Nothing hinted at the horrors awaiting us. Even the sea was unusually calm for that time of year.

On the second day, we hit a small storm. I wouldn't call it overly dangerous or powerful. Yet it drove us aground near that same strange island... The island where it all began..."

"That same strange island..."

— What island is he talking about?

"From that place, it all started. This foolish game with the souls of thousands, lasting and destined to last centuries until someone stops it.
I tried... Truly... But... What does it matter now.

Tumbling several meters over sharp rocks, Tom finally stopped.
Likely due to the pain, he regained consciousness and, though partially, reclaimed control over his body.

— Probably broken ribs... Damn, I can't see a thing.

Total darkness surrounded Tom... Until a green fire suddenly flared before him.

— Tom...

They were doors. Massive stone doors adorned with mysterious patterns and inscriptions in a language Tom had never seen.

— Tom...

The voice definitely came from beyond them...

— Tom...

A hellish pain pierced Tom's head, impossible to resist.

— Tom... Open the doors...

Tom lost control of his body again...

— Tom! Stop resisting! Open the doors!!!