Chapter 76: Reflections in Ghost Water

Ronald moved through the village streets, his steps light, dancing and singing like the rest of the enchanted villagers. A warm, fake smile adorned his face, blending perfectly with the ongoing revelry. He twirled as a villager handed him a cup of Holy Nectar, which he accepted graciously, keeping his movements as carefree as ever. He faked a long sip, bringing the cup to his lips, though he didn’t let a drop pass his throat. Instead, with a deft and practiced movement, he passed the cup to another villager, continuing his dance.

Ronald had mastered the art of faking. His affinity for water allowed him to control liquid even within his mouth. Every time someone offered him the Holy Nectar, he’d take it in and hold the liquid in a small water barrier before discreetly spitting it out. His other advantage was the glasses brought with him from his family; they allowed him to see through magic and illusions.

These glasses showed him something horrifying: the happy villagers, so full of life and joy to everyone else, were nothing but ghostly apparitions when viewed through the lenses. Their faces contorted in terror, mouths open in silent screams, eyes pleading for help. The stark contrast between the illusion and the reality haunted Ronald, but he knew he had to keep his calm. Exposing himself too soon would risk everything.

As he strolled through the village, greeting others and pretending to be as entranced as they were, he couldn’t stop thinking about the eerie contrast between the illusion and the reality he saw through the glasses. The most disturbing sight wasn’t the villagers but the Village Elder. Through the glasses, he looked perfectly normal—no distortion, no screams—just a calm, unsettling figure. This was the most concerning thing of all.

Ronald understood he had to be cautious. The Elder wasn’t just part of the illusion; he was something far more dangerous. Perhaps even the puppet master. Ronald didn’t know how powerful the Elder was, so until he could be sure of his own strength, he had to bide his time.

He walked to the nearby lake, a part of his daily routine that offered some solace and, more importantly, privacy. The other villagers rarely bothered him there. The lake, however, wasn’t as serene as it seemed. Even when viewed through his glasses, it remained a lake—but there was something off about it. The water was ghastly, and sometimes, Ronald could hear faint whispers, see ghostly faces rippling in the water. The lake seemed to hold secrets, much like the village itself.

Ronald’s thoughts often wandered to the rituals and techniques he had learned before the expedition. He had explored many non-gifted paths to power, including methods that could bind elements to his affinity. He considered whether the lake could be part of a greater ritual—something he could assimilate into his water affinity to increase his strength. Could he bond with the lake, making it an extension of himself? The prospect was risky, but if it worked, it would push him toward building his mana pool—an essential step to escape and free his friends.

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While working on the boat by the lake, Abel walked by, greeting Ronald cheerfully, his smile wide and carefree. Ronald played along, forcing a bright smile to mask the pang of guilt that pierced his heart. His friend, Abel, one of the brightest recruits Ronald knew, was now completely lost in this illusion. Seeing Abel so devoted to the Village Head, who was likely orchestrating all of this, made Ronald uneasy.

“Hey, Abel,” Ronald called, wiping sweat from his brow. Trying to play it all off, “Good day for a build, don’t you think?”

Abel waved back. "Yeah, it’s... peaceful," he said, making Ronald inwardly shake his head determined to help Abel snap out of it one day. This interaction felt like it occurred so often, Ronald never found it strange in this strange place.

Ronald felt the weight of the situation crush down on him. Abel was fully enthralled, working directly with the Village Head, blissfully unaware of the horrors beneath the surface. The sight of his friend so far gone only made Ronald more determined. He had to move quickly. Time seemed fluid here, and he couldn’t tell how long they’d been trapped in this illusion, but he feared that too much time had already passed.

Ronald turned back to the lake, staring into its dark waters. He could hear the whispers again, see the strange faces within its depths. His fingers clenched tightly on the wooden edge of the boat he was building.

“If this is going to work,” he muttered under his breath, “then I’ll need to take a risk.” He had no choice. The lake might hold the key to breaking free, and if assimilating it into his water affinity gave him the power he needed, he was willing to gamble. But first, he would need to perform the ritual in secret, away from the eyes of the villagers and, most importantly, the Village Head.

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, Ronald knelt by the lake’s edge, dipping his fingers into the cold, ghostly water. He closed his eyes, feeling the ebb and flow of the water against his skin, listening to the strange whispers beneath the surface. The voices were growing louder, more insistent, and they seemed to be calling to him.

Taking a deep breath, Ronald began to murmur the ancient words of the ritual he had learned—a binding technique to connect with a body of water, to make it a part of himself. His words were quiet, barely audible over the wind, but the lake responded. Its surface rippled, and the ghostly faces beneath the water became clearer. The whispers grew louder.

Ronald opened his eyes. This was just the beginning. He would need more time, more preparation—but this was his path forward. The lake could give him the power he needed to challenge the illusion and the Village Head.

As he stood, he looked once more at the village in the distance, the cheerful figures dancing and laughing in the streets. “I’ll get us out of here,” Ronald whispered, his resolve hardening. “I just need a little more time.”

The weight of the world seemed to press down on him, but he wouldn’t let it break him. Not yet.