"Where is this?" Anshul asked himself, bewildered as he found himself in a strange place, his surroundings unfamiliar and perplexing. In the dimly lit room, enveloped in an eerie silence, a solitary boy sat against the cold, stone wall. His frail form, draped in tattered clothing, exuded an aura of vulnerability and weariness. Despite the dimness, a faint glimmer of determination flickered in his tired eyes, reflecting resilience amidst adversity. With bated breath, he remained transfixed, his gaze locked onto the flickering flame of the lone candle, the only semblance of warmth and hope in the desolate surroundings.
'Should I ask him?' Anshul thought to himself as he slowly walked towards him.
"Hello? Kid, where is this place? Hello? I am talking to you, boy."
'He's not responding. Is he dead? No, he's still breathing. Anyway, it's strange, but I feel like I've seen this kid before. Where was it? Ah, I remember now. It was in the dream.' Anshul didn't take long to realize that he was in a situation strikingly similar to one he had encountered before – it was when he absorbed the VB for the first time, but this time it was more clear.
"Anyway, it looks like he can't hear me," Anshul muttered to himself, his gaze fixed on the boy. "Should I leave this room?"
"Bam!"
The room reverberated with the force of the door swinging open, unveiling a tall, imposing figure in his early 30s. His sharp features were etched with anger, casting a shadow over the room. As his piercing gaze fell upon the boy, a wave of fear rippled through the child, evident in the tremble of his small frame. With determined strides, the man advanced towards the boy, his presence dominating the space with an air of menace. Before Anshul could process the unfolding events, the man closed the distance to the boy with alarming speed. Without warning, he delivered a swift and brutal kick to the boy's abdomen.
"Ugh!" The sound of pain escaped the boy's lips as he doubled over, the force of the blow leaving him gasping for air.
"Oi! What kind of man are you? Picking on a little kid!" Anshul's voice thundered, though neither the man nor the boy seemed to hear him. Frustration surged within him as he dashed towards the man with his fists clenched. But as he swung his fist towards the man, his hand passed through the man as if he were nothing but air. Anshul stumbled forward, the weight of his powerlessness pressing down on him. "I can't... touch him," he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Unaware of Anshul's presence or predicament, the man continued his onslaught with increasing brutality as time wore on. Each strike landed with more force than the last, mercilessly battering the defenseless child. Anshul, a silent observer to the unfolding tragedy, could only watch with a deepening sense of helplessness etched in his eyes. Despite his desperate desire to intervene, he remained bound by the surreal confines of his lucid dream, unable to alter the grim reality playing out before him.
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The man continued his relentless assault, driven by anger, until the boy was reduced to a motionless figure, incapable of stirring even a finger. Calmly and without a hint of exhaustion, the man straightened up, his demeanor cold and controlled. From his pocket, he produced a cloth, meticulously wiping the blood from his hands, erasing the violent evidence with methodical precision. His gaze then fell upon the small, bruised form of the boy lying on the ground, a stark testament to the brutality he had inflicted. With a scowl of disdain, he uttered disdainfully, "Why are you so weak?"
The room was suffused with a heavy silence.
"Tsk, get up and clean yourself up," he commanded, his voice echoing slightly in the stark room.
Yet again, silence was the only reply, thickening the air with its presence.
"I expect an answer when I'm talking to you." His voice was sharp, expecting obedience. It was these words that finally pierced the boy's shell of defeat, coaxing a faint response that revealed the deep, twisted bond between them.
"I am...sorry, father." The words were barely a whisper, yet they carried the weight of sorrow and resignation.
Upon hearing this, the man's expression remained unreadable. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the boy alone in the room, leaving behind a silence that was even heavier than before, charged with the unsaid and the unresolved. Unbeknownst to the man, the boy was not left to the shadows alone; Anshul, from a corner of the room, glared at the door, his gaze seething with anger.
"How could that man ever be called a father? He's worse than a beast!" Anshul exploded, his words a futile attempt to vent his boiling frustration.
"...Relax," came a weak response from the boy, still prone.
"How can I possibly relax? Wait...you can hear me? Can you actually hear me?" Anshul's questions tumbled out, a mix of hope and desperation, seeking acknowledgment. But his fleeting hope was dashed as the boy seemed to ignore him, murmuring the same word over and over.
"Relax."
"Could it be that he's suffered a severe blow to the head?" Anshul wondered, his concern growing for the boy's wellbeing.
"Or maybe he is talking to himself...What the?"
As the boy heeded his own advice and began to visibly relax, a remarkable transformation unfolded before Anshul's eyes. The wounds and bruises that marred the boy's frail body started to mend, fading with every passing moment. Anshul, astounded, pieced together the miraculous correlation: the more the boy surrendered to relaxation, the more his injuries healed.
With time, as the boy's physical state visibly improved, he mustered the strength to sit up. Leaning heavily against the wall, his breathing was labored. This strength was a double-edged sword, Anshul observed. As the boy's physical wounds healed, an overwhelming fatigue seemed to take hold, as if the energy required for this miraculous healing was being siphoned from the boy's very essence. The boy soon expended almost all of his energy and eventually fell asleep. It dawned on Anshul that this healing, while extraordinary, demanded a steep price from the boy - his vitality.
As Anshul witnessed the miraculous healing of the boy's wounds, a sense of familiarity washed over him. "It can't be?". In that moment of clarity, he realized that he possessed the same power of healing watched.
'I don't think about it much before but during the fight with that crazy man, I was not healing at all. Maybe the requirement is similar which means the price will be same as well' Anshul thought while looking at the sleeping boy.
As Anshul grappled with the implications of his newfound healing power, he began to fade from view, weighed down by the burden of its consequences. After a brief moment of contemplation, Anshul suddenly stirred awake, gasping for air as he drew in a deep breath, returning to awareness but in an unfamiliar room.
"Where is this now?"