Volume 02, Chapter 81

Memories [2]

Arthur’s eyes snap open.

The world around him is unfamiliar yet hauntingly familiar. He stands in the bustling streets of the Eñeforte territory, where the townsfolk go about their daily lives. Merchants call out to potential customers, children play in the alleys, and the scent of freshly baked bread wafts through the air.

The scene is vibrant and alive with activity.

But something is… off.

“Why… am I… here?” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

The last thing he remembers is being in the Temple du Calice de Convergence. Thick, suffocating purple smoke had filled the chamber. Then… nothing. His memory is blank beyond that moment.

His eyes widen in sudden realization. “Dom—Clark! Célestin! Where are you?!” he shouts, panic lacing his voice as he spins around, searching desperately for them.

But no one answers.

And worse, no one reacts.

The townsfolk continue their routines as though Arthur does not exist. A merchant waves at a passing customer. A mother scolds her child for running too far. A baker hands a fresh loaf of bread to a smiling customer. Not one of them glances in Arthur’s direction, even though he stands in the middle of the street.

“What’s going on?” he mutters, confusion and unease knotting in his chest.

He steps closer to one of the townsfolk—a man carrying a crate of apples—and waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey! Can you see me?” he asks, his voice growing louder. The man continues walking, his expression unchanged, as if Arthur is not there.

Arthur’s heart sinks. “Why are they not reacting? What is this?”

An uneasy thought claws its way into his mind. Am I… dead? His throat tightens. Did the purple smoke… kill me?

His steps falter, and his knees buckle slightly as the weight of the realization hits him. It is the only explanation that makes sense. He must have died in the temple. Now he is stuck here, in limbo, doomed to wander this ghostly version of the Eñeforte territory.

“Damn it…” Arthur’s voice cracks, and tears begin to blur his vision.

He is young. He has so many dreams, so many things he wants to accomplish. He wants to prove himself and become a Stargate Raider like his father. He has tried to push past the shadows of those who overshadowed him and carve his own path.

And now… it is all gone.

The tears come harder, rolling down his cheeks as his fists clench. He had not even been able to fulfill his promise to himself—to duel Clark. He does not care if Clark is not the real Dominic. That duel is something he has been holding onto, a symbol of their rivalry, their bond. And now, even that is out of reach.

“Why…” he whispers, his voice trembling as he sinks to his knees in the middle of the street.

The bustling town carries on around him, oblivious to his despair, their lives a cruel mockery of the one he has lost.

“Hey, did you see Dominic? He was all bruised up!” A voice from the crowd catches Arthur’s attention, jolting him from his thoughts.

“What? What happened?!” Arthur blurts out, his heart pounding.

“Those kids beat him up again… They were harassing him because he’s Manaless,” a townsperson replies, shaking their head in disapproval.

“Oh no, is he okay?” a concerned woman asks.

“He’s at the town clinic,” the first voice answers. “There was another kid with him—a boy with blonde hair and green eyes. I don’t know who he is, but he beat those bullies and carried Dominic to the clinic.”

Arthur freezes, his breath catching. Blonde hair… green eyes… That was him. He remembers now.

His fists clench as a wave of memories crashes over him. Dominic is always getting targeted because of his Manaless status.

Arthur—always feeling frustrated when he is not there to protect his best friend. But this specific incident was one of the rare times he had arrived in time to do something about it. He remembers the rage he had felt seeing those bullies corner Dominic, the satisfaction of standing over them victorious, and the urgency in his steps as he had carried Dominic to safety.

Without another word, Arthur stands up and runs. The cobblestone streets blur as he sprints toward the clinic, his heart racing from exertion and the sheer weight of the memory bearing down on him.

When he finally reaches the clinic, he pushes the door open with such force that it slams against the wall. The sharp sound echoes in the small space, but Arthur does not care. His eyes dart around the room until they land on a familiar scene.

There they are.

Dominic sits on a cot, his small frame covered in bruises and bandages. His face is pale, but a faint smile tugs at his lips as he looks at the boy sitting beside him.

A younger Arthur is there, his blonde hair tousled and messy, his green eyes fierce with concentration as he carefully wraps another bandage around Dominic’s knee.

Arthur’s breath catches in his throat. It is like looking through a window into the past, and the scene before him hits him harder than he expects.

The small clinic smells of antiseptic and herbal ointments, just as he remembers, but what strikes him most is the rawness of the moment—the quiet care between two friends who have been through so much together.

“You are such an idiot,” younger Arthur mutters, tying off the bandage with precision. “Why do you never fight back?”

Dominic chuckles softly, wincing at the movement. “Because I would lose. And then they would just beat me up even worse.”

“You do not have to win,” younger Arthur snaps, his voice trembling with frustration. “You just have to show them you are not an easy target. Or better yet, call me next time! I will deal with them.”

Dominic smiles faintly. “You cannot always be there, Arthur.”

“Yes, I can!” younger Arthur shoots back, slamming his hand on the cot. “I do not care what it takes—I will always be there for you, Dominic. You are my best friend. No one messes with you when I am around.”

Present-day Arthur takes a shaky step forward, his vision blurring as his chest tightens. The words hit him like a hammer. He remembers saying them, but seeing them now and hearing the raw emotion in his younger self’s voice brings it all back with painful clarity.

This was who they were. Arthur had vowed to be Dominic’s protector, to stand by him no matter what. And now… Dominic is gone, and Arthur wonders if he has failed that promise.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Arthur… I have been wondering,” Dominic’s soft voice breaks the silence, tinged with an unnatural edge. “Why are you like this?”

Arthur blinks, startled by the question. “What do you mean, Doms?”

“Why are you hanging out with me?” Dominic asks, his voice quieter now but no less cutting. “I am Manaless… you could have chosen anyone else.”

Present-day Arthur inhales sharply. He remembers this moment vividly. Dominic had asked him this once—timidly, quietly—out of insecurity. But something about the way the words are spoken now feels different, laced with something darker.

“It is because…” Young Arthur begins, his tone steady yet earnest as he carefully wraps the bandages around Dominic’s bruised knee. “I wanted to.”

The memory of those words warms present-day Arthur’s chest. He had meant them, every word. But before he can dwell on it, the memory shifts.

“Really?” Dominic’s voice comes again, colder now, the warmth from before replaced by something accusatory. “Or is it because you wanted to feel good about yourself?”

“Wait, what?” Arthur whispers, his eyes widening in shock. That is not what Dominic had said. He knows it is not.

But younger Arthur does not react to the question. He continues tending to Dominic’s wounds, his silence unsettling in the growing tension.

“Tell me, Arthur,” Dominic presses, his tone hardening. “What is the real reason you are protecting me? Is it because you see me as… a pet?”

The scene twists further as Dominic suddenly turns, his piercing gaze locking onto present-day Arthur. His eyes are not filled with the familiar warmth Arthur knows. Instead, they are cold, calculating, and filled with contempt.

“Answer me, Arthur!” Dominic’s voice thunders, its sharpness cutting through the air like a blade.

“I…” Arthur’s voice catches in his throat.

He opens his mouth to respond but finds himself at a loss. He has always believed he protected Dominic because he wanted to—because it was the right thing to do. But now, as the illusion presses down on him, he feels doubt creeping in. Is there more to it? Something deeper he has not acknowledged?

Dominic’s lips curl into a smirk, cruel and mocking. “What is wrong, Arthur? Can’t answer? Maybe it is because you see me as a fragile little dog that needs protection. Maybe it is because it makes you feel better. Is that it? Did protecting me make you feel superior since your father never gave you the attention you craved? Is that why you latched onto me?”

Arthur’s breath hitches, his fists clenching tightly at his sides. “N-No… that is not…”

But the words do not come. The accusations strike deep, dredging up insecurities he did not even realize he had. Is it true? Has he been protecting Dominic to fill some void left by his father? Was his friendship with Dominic born out of selfishness rather than genuine care?

He feels his chest tighten, his thoughts spiraling. He does not know how to answer. He does not know how to explain why he has always felt compelled to protect Dominic. It is not because he sees Dominic as weak. It is not to feel superior. But then… why? Why has he been so determined, so unwavering?

“You do not know, do you?” Dominic sneers, his voice dripping with venom. “You cannot even admit it to yourself. I was nothing more than a tool for you—a way to feel needed. Admit it, Arthur. You did not care about me. You only cared about what I gave you.”

“Stop…” Arthur whispers, his voice trembling.

Dominic’s words do not stop. “Face it. You did not protect me because you cared. You did it because it made you feel less… empty.”

“No!” Arthur shouts, his voice cracking. “That is not true! I—”

But his voice falters again, the words catching in his throat. His hands fly to his face, his composure shattering as the weight of the accusations bears down on him. He feels like he is drowning, suffocating under the pressure of his doubts.

Tears blur his vision as he falls to his knees, his chest heaving. “I… I do not know why…” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it was not for me. It was not to feel better or stronger. I just… I just wanted to protect you, Dominic. I do not know why, but I wanted to.”

The room falls silent, the oppressive atmosphere lifting slightly as Arthur’s raw, honest words seem to pierce through the illusion.

"Arthur... Arthur!"

Arthur’s world ripples like a stone breaking the surface of still water. The voice is distant and muffled at first but grows louder and more desperate, pulling him out of the void.

“Dom... Clark?” he whispers, the name slipping from his lips like a lifeline. He wants to anchor himself to something—someone—real.

-CRACK!

The illusion shatters, and the world around him begins to crumble. Fragments of the clinic, the younger Dominic, and the suffocating accusations all break apart, dissolving into dust. The air is filled with shattering glass, echoing in his ears like thunder.

Arthur turns back one last time, his eyes locking onto the young Dominic seated on the cot. He has not dissolved yet. The boy’s cold, piercing gaze bores into him, unflinching and unrelenting, as if daring Arthur to speak.

Arthur’s lips part, trembling, but no words come. What could he possibly say? That he is sorry? That he does not know why he has always protected Dominic? That he is not even sure of himself anymore? The weight of those eyes crushes any words before they can form.

The young Dominic’s expression does not soften. His smirk lingers, not cruel but sharp, as though he already knows every answer Arthur will never admit aloud. It is not just an illusion—it is a mirror, reflecting the darkest corners of Arthur’s mind. And in that moment, Arthur feels small. Exposed.

“I…” Arthur begins, his voice faltering. His hands clench into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms.

But he cannot say it. He cannot say anything.

And as the last shards of the illusion dissolve, taking the young Dominic with it, Arthur feels something inside him crack, too.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"Arthur! Arthur!"

Dominic’s voice cuts through the oppressive silence as he shakes Arthur’s body with an urgency born of panic. Arthur lies unmoving on the cold stone floor of the chamber, his chest eerily still.

“Damn it!” Dominic curses under his breath. His hands move instinctively, lacing over Arthur’s sternum as he begins chest compressions. His arms shake from the effort, each push filled with desperation. “Come on, Arthur, don’t do this to me!”

The chamber remains eerily quiet except for Dominic’s ragged breaths and the sickening sound of his palms pressing into Arthur’s unmoving chest. “One, two, three… breathe, damn it!” he mutters through gritted teeth, sweat dripping down his forehead.

When that does not work, Dominic grabs Arthur’s shoulders and shakes him violently.

“Wake up!”

Smack. Dominic’s palm lands sharply on Arthur’s cheek.

“Wake up!”

Smack! Another slap, harder this time, echoes in the air.

“Wake up, Arthur!”

Dominic leans closer, desperation lacing his voice as his hand connects again, the sting reverberating through his palm.

“Wake. Up!”

But Arthur’s head lolls lifelessly to the side; his cheeks flushed red from the relentless slaps. Dominic freezes, his breathing erratic. Panic claws at his chest. None of it is working.

“Damn it… damn it!” Dominic hisses, his voice trembling.

His eyes dart between Arthur’s pale face and the empty, smoke-filled chamber around them. He knows he is running out of options. If Arthur does not start breathing soon…

He clenches his fists. “Okay, fine. If slapping doesn’t work… then…”

His face flushes as the thought crosses his mind. He does not want to do this. “Ugh, this better not end up in some embarrassing story,” he mutters.

But there is no other choice. Dominic tilts Arthur’s head back, pinches his nose shut, and leans down.

“Here goes nothing,” he says under his breath, closing his eyes as he presses his lips over Arthur’s and gives him a firm breath.

For a moment, everything is still.

And then—gasp!

Arthur’s chest rises sharply as he sucks in a ragged breath, his green eyes snapping open. His blurry vision locks onto Dominic, hovering inches above him.

“Clark?”

Dominic jerks back, his eyes wide with surprise and relief.

“Finally, you’re awake!” he exclaims, sitting back on his heels and running a shaky hand through his hair.

The weight of his panic lifts slightly, but his heart still races.

Arthur groans, slowly sitting up. He winces as he brings a hand to his stinging cheeks.

“Why… do my cheeks hurt?”

Dominic clears his throat, avoiding Arthur’s gaze. “Uh… I slapped you. A lot. But it didn’t work!” he adds defensively, crossing his arms.

Arthur blinks, his lips twitching in faint amusement. “You… slapped me?”

“Repeatedly,” Dominic replies flatly. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

Arthur gives a weak chuckle, shaking his head as he takes in his surroundings. His gaze falls on Célestin, still unconscious on the ground nearby. His expression darkens slightly before he turns back to Dominic.

“Clark… how did you resist the smoke?”

Dominic freezes for a moment, his mind racing. He cannot tell Arthur about the System or the skills it grants him. The consequences would be catastrophic.

“Oh, uh… I just held my breath and covered my nose until the smoke cleared. Nothing special.”

Arthur stares at him, searching for something in his expression, before nodding slowly. “I see…”

Dominic quickly stands, brushing himself off. “Help me wake Célestin. He has been out longer than you.”

Arthur nods again, rising to his feet. But as Dominic walks toward Célestin’s prone figure, Arthur stays behind momentarily, his gaze lingering on Dominic’s back.

Arthur’s mind is a storm of thoughts, a thousand emotions colliding simultaneously. The memory of the young Dominic’s sharp and accusing voice echoes in his mind.

"What is the real reason you are protecting me? Is it because you see me as a fragile little dog that needs protection? Is it because it makes you feel better? Superior?"

Arthur’s chest tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He has told himself for years that his friendship with Dominic is pure, built on trust and loyalty. But the illusion has exposed cracks in his certainty, dredging up insecurities he did not even realize he carried.

"Did I do it for him? Or did I do it for myself?" The question twists in his gut, leaving him hollow.

He glances back at Dominic, kneeling beside Célestin, shaking him gently to awaken him. Dominic’s expression is focused, and his movements are careful. This is Clark, not Dominic. And yet… the doubts will not leave him.

Has he truly failed Dominic? Has he been selfish all along? Or was the illusion just that—an illusion designed to prey on his deepest fears?

Arthur exhales shakily, his green eyes dark with turmoil. He cannot shake the feeling that the young Dominic’s words were not entirely wrong. And the worst part? He is not sure if he can prove them wrong, either.