Raf's house was situated on the outskirts of the city—a modest dwelling purchased with the aid of bank loans. Despite these loans, he struggled to make ends meet. Elena's words had unsettled him, blurring his vision and deafening his ears. Oblivious to his surroundings and without a clear destination, he wandered alone, lost in thought. He mused, "If I hadn't written this novel, perhaps her life wouldn't have been wasted. Maybe she would have rested more, or chosen a path other than being an employee."
Suddenly, a terrifying roar, reminiscent of a dragon's cry, echoed in his ears—a sound he often imagined while writing his novel. It was so realistic, as if the dragon had roared just a few hundred meters away. Fear and astonishment were evident in his wide eyes and raised eyebrows; he could even hear his own heartbeat. He looked up at the sky, thinking, "Dragons are always in the skies; that's how it was in my novel." After scanning the heavens and finding no trace of the roar's source, he pondered, "What was that scream? It sounded so much like a dragon's cry." Lowering his head, he thought, "Maybe it was Elena's scream. Perhaps she's at home with the kids, condemning me, and this is her victory cry. She always has a habit of turning the kids against me." Taking a deep breath, he concluded, "It's okay; with the kids' support, she'll calm down. If they don't support her, she might go mad, and I'd have to spend the rest of my life with a madwoman."
Raf continued walking, his gaze subtly observing the illuminated windows of homes under the streetlights, careful not to be noticed. He yearned for the tranquility he seldom experienced at home. Seeing the peace in others' homes, he became introspective.
He thought, "What's done is done. It's better to end this matter." Looking at his book, he halted, reflecting, "This was my own choice. If I hadn't written it, maybe I'd have a better life now. I lost so much time because of this book and had countless arguments with Elena." Turning the book over, he added, "At least I'd hear fewer of Elena's taunts. That long-nosed woman always mocks me, and her ridicule has emboldened the kids against me. I wish I'd never married her." Smiling, he mused, "If I hadn't married her, what would I have done? Oh right, I would've married Margaret. Though she was as thin as a skeleton, life would've been happier."
As he reached the end of the alley, his gaze fell upon a figure sitting before freshly kindled flames, their crackling and sparks rising. The fire was contained within a peculiar silver chalice, and its sparks didn't extinguish but drifted into the forest. He thought, "Isn't it a waste to have fire inside that silver chalice?"
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On the person's hands was a design of an oval skull, stretching from fingertip to the base, and below it, resembling a large ceremonial fire bowl with inscriptions in cuneiform script. Inside the bowl were coals and fire. Despite the distance, Raf clearly saw the design and recognized the script from his research into religions and magic for his stories. Occasionally, fear of the unknown would grip him, causing sleepless nights.
Initially, he assumed the man was homeless, but the intricate design suggested otherwise, instilling a sense of unease. He thought, "Maybe he's dangerous. But no matter how dangerous, he can't be worse than Elena! Besides, I have nothing for a homeless man to steal." Thus, he cautiously approached, an inner voice urging him to warm himself by the fire in the cold air.
As he drew nearer, an overwhelming sense of dread overcame him. His breathing became labored, and his strength waned, as if shackled. He halted, wondering, "Why have I become paralyzed? Is it the smoke? But I don't smell burning wood or feel the fire's warmth." Observing the man, whose face and body were wrapped in layers of cloth like a mummy, he thought, "Why is he dressed like this? He resembles the Bedouins I've seen in illustrations! The fool is crazier than Elena." Smiling, he mused, "Maybe the problem is me. I don't know why I want to talk to this homeless man.
I have the same feeling towards Elena."
The man sat on a black stone, his tattered clothes becoming clearer with each step Raf took, as if emerging from a mist. Everything grew stranger as Raf approached the fire, which seemed to reveal the true nature of things, dispelling darkness and fog. His heartbeat quickened, pounding against his chest, outpacing his breath. He thought, "What Elena couldn't do, this man is accomplishing."
Raf wanted to see the man's face, but saw only black eyes fixed on the fire, devoid of reflection—pure darkness, as if lacking pupils and whites. He knew that with a few more steps, he'd see the man's face, but fear held him back. Yet, curiosity compelled him. Despite the strangeness and fear, it reminded him of his magical stories and innovative curses. He was about to take a step when the man, in a hoarse, indifferent voice from beneath his wraps, said, "Come no closer, lest you drown in the mire of fear."