Chapter Eight

At 9:30 AM, Victor woke up to find the house empty. After having breakfast, he went out searching for work. After a long search, he found a job at a gas station. On his way back home, he bought some supplies.

When he arrived at his home, he was in shock. Edward's house was burning, and Victor stood there for a long time, dazed, before running and dropping the supplies from his hands. The sight of the raging flames seemed to pull him into a frozen state of disbelief. His feet refused to move, and his mind struggled to grasp the scene unfolding before him.

In the distance, hidden in the shadows of a nearby alley, two of Clara's servants were watching the flames rise high into the air, their expressions unreadable. They had been sent to spy on the neighborhood, to ensure that Clara's plans were going smoothly. One of them, a tall man with a stern face, pulled out a phone, his eyes never leaving the fiery scene.

"It's done," he whispered coldly into the phone, his voice lacking any emotion. "The house is burning."

On the other end of the line, Clara was lounging in a luxurious chair, sipping wine as the sun streamed through the large windows of her estate. She twirled the glass in her hand and smiled, her lips curling into a mocking grin as the servant spoke.

"Well, isn't that a shame?" Clara replied with a sarcastic tone, her voice dripping with amusement. "Do send my condolences to the flames. I'm sure they'll miss poor Edward." She chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. "And Victor? How is our little lost puppy taking the news?"

The servant paused, glancing back toward Victor, who was now kneeling on the ground, his hands covering his face as he wept uncontrollably. "He's... devastated," the servant muttered, trying to hide the slight discomfort in his voice. "It's like watching a man fall apart."

Clara laughed lightly. "Good. Let him suffer. It will make what comes next even more enjoyable."

Back at the burning house, Victor tried to run toward the flames, but the firefighters stopped him, holding him back as he fought against their grip. "Let me go!" he screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. But they held him, and despite his struggles, he couldn't get past them. Tears streamed down his face as he watched the house crumble under the weight of the fire, his heart breaking with every passing second.

The firefighters tried to calm him down, speaking in soothing tones, but Victor wasn't listening. His mind was consumed by the burning image of Edward's home, and the thought that somewhere inside, Edward could still be trapped. He fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably, and after what felt like an eternity, he finally stopped resisting. He sat, leaning against a nearby tree, his eyes red and swollen, staring blankly at the smoldering ruins of the house. A deep sadness settled on his face, the kind that couldn't be washed away with time.

One of the firefighters approached him, kneeling down beside him. "We found this," the man said quietly, handing Victor a charred note. "It was in the hand of one of the burned bodies. We think he was trying to protect it from the flames."

Victor stared at the note for a moment before slowly taking it. His hands shook as he unfolded the paper, his eyes blurred with tears as he began to read:

"My son Victor, if you are reading this letter, what I meant has happened. I died in Edward's house. Unfortunately, I couldn't change my fate, but I changed yours. Do not mourn my death; it was my decision, and it was Edward's as well. He sacrificed himself for something greater, and I want you to honor that. You promised to change the fate of the world, and I know you will. Michael left an address in one of the houses, and it's time for you to find it. It holds the key to what we've been searching for."

Victor's hands clenched around the note, his heart pounding in his chest. Clara's voice, her cruel laughter, echoed in his head as he thought about the mockery she had undoubtedly made of the whole situation. He stood up, determination replacing the overwhelming grief that had gripped him moments earlier.

He decided to go to the address immediately. It took him only a short time to arrive at the location, a seemingly ordinary apartment complex. He stood in front of the house, trying to gather his courage. His hand hovered over the door, and to his surprise, it opened automatically. Hesitant at first, Victor stepped inside, his heart racing. The house was empty of furniture, with an eerie silence hanging in the air.

Victor felt an unexplainable pull toward the basement. He walked down the stairs, feeling a strange energy around him. When he reached for the door, it opened by itself, creaking softly as if welcoming him inside.

The basement was enormous, filled with books, strange items, and manuscripts scattered everywhere. The walls were lined with shelves holding jars filled with odd creatures, their bodies preserved in some kind of strange liquid. Victor looked around in amazement, trying to process everything he was seeing.

At the center of the room, on a long wooden table, lay a golden sheet. Victor's eyes locked onto it, and he hurried over, picking it up with trembling hands. Next to the sheet was a small, peculiar box, but Victor ignored it for the moment, his focus entirely on the letter in front of him. He began to read, his heart pounding with each word:

"Hello again, my son. Don't worry; I will explain things. I was once one of the greatest researchers. I have solved everything for you. You will find all my memories recorded on the device attached to the wall. It is the smartest device ever created because I invented it. It will seem like you are speaking with half of my mind. You have found the Book of Destiny, the most powerful book known to man. You must strengthen your will and confidence to gain the book's respect. The house may feel strange because there was once a barrier between the real world and the land of Nimora. Read my books and notes to learn more. The house is empty of furniture because I left that task for you. Work hard to gain the strength you need, and don't rely solely on the book. Also, prepare yourself for an adventure into that land once you've grown stronger. Seek revenge. With love, your father."

Victor's eyes widened as he finished reading. He turned to the box next to him and slowly lifted the lid. Inside lay the Book of Destiny, glowing softly in the dim light of the basement. He lifted the book into the air, a fire igniting in his eyes.

"I can do it," he whispered, his voice gaining strength with each word. "I will fix the world. I can!"

In the distance, Clara's servant hung up the phone and turned to leave, casting one last glance at the burnt remains of Edward's house. His lips twisted into a small, cruel smile. The pieces were falling into place, just as Clara had planned.

The camera opens with a close-up of Michael's face, streaked with sweat and smeared with dirt. His breathing is shallow, labored, as if each breath requires a monumental effort. The flames from the burning house reflect in his tired eyes, flickering with both the pain of his injuries and the weight of the decision he has just made. His body trembles, his muscles weak, but there is a glimmer of resolve in his expression, a silent acceptance of his fate.

The scene shifts slightly, zooming out to show Michael slumped against the wall of a small, dimly lit room. The walls are cracked, and the sound of the fire crackling outside grows louder with every passing second. Debris falls from the ceiling, smoke curling around his legs like a ghostly reminder of the end creeping closer. Despite the devastation around him, Michael smiles faintly, his lips barely lifting as his eyes glaze over with the fog of memories from the past.

"I've... done the right thing," he whispers, his voice weak but filled with certainty. His hands tremble in his lap as he looks down at them, the veins standing out beneath his skin. For a moment, he seems lost in thought, his mind drifting far away from the fiery room he sits in, his last moments of life ticking away with the flicker of the flames.

The camera zooms in again, focusing on his eyes, and the scene begins to blur, shifting into a soft, golden hue. We are pulled into Michael's mind, where his memories come to life.

The scene changes to a sunlit meadow, where young Michael is running through the grass, laughing with his friends. The sky is a brilliant blue, and the air is filled with the sounds of laughter and the wind rustling through the trees. Michael stops and turns to look at his friends, his heart light and free, the kind of moment where the world feels endless and nothing could ever go wrong.

The camera focuses on his younger self's face, alive with joy and energy. "I'll miss this," Michael's voice says, though we know it's not his younger self speaking. It's the older Michael, his soul clinging to the happiness of that moment, knowing he'll never experience it again. "I'll miss the laughter, the carefree days when life seemed... simple."

Suddenly, the meadow fades away, and the camera transitions to another memory: a cozy living room, the soft glow of a fireplace illuminating the scene. Michael is sitting at a table with his family, the warmth of the fire reflecting in their faces as they share a meal. His mother is laughing, his father is telling a story, and young Michael watches them both with wide eyes, absorbing every detail. The camera pans to his older self, now standing in the corner of the room, watching the scene unfold with a bittersweet expression.

"I'll miss them," he says quietly. "I'll miss their smiles, their voices. The way they made the world feel like... home."

The memory fades once again, and now we see Michael as an adult, standing on a hill overlooking the city at sunset. He stands with someone close to him, a friend, maybe a mentor, and they are deep in conversation. The wind is cool against their faces, and the colors of the sky are breathtaking _ a mixture of orange, pink, and gold, as if the heavens themselves are celebrating the beauty of the world.

"I'll miss this, too," Michael's voice says softly. "The quiet moments, the peace. The times when I felt like I belonged somewhere... when I wasn't running, or fighting. Just... living."

The camera slowly pulls back from the sunset, and the memory dissolves into darkness, returning to the present moment where Michael is still slumped against the wall in the burning house. His breathing is shallow, and the sound of the flames grows louder, but the camera lingers on his face, capturing the subtle shift of peace that has now settled into his features.

Michael's lips move again, and he whispers to himself, "I did what I had to do... It's all for them. I've made sure they'll be safe." His hand reaches out, trembling, as if trying to grasp something invisible in the air _ perhaps the memories, perhaps the life he knows he's about to leave behind.

The camera pans upwards, and the roof starts to collapse, a few burning embers falling around him. But Michael doesn't flinch. His eyes remain focused on something beyond the flames, beyond the physical world. He takes one final, deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. His expression softens as if he is finally ready to let go.

Then, the camera captures something extraordinary. As Michael's body slumps further, his spirit begins to rise. It starts as a soft glow, barely noticeable at first, but then it begins to take shape. A faint, ethereal outline of Michael's soul hovers above his physical form, bathed in a warm light that contrasts beautifully with the destruction around him. The flames seem unable to touch this part of him, as if his spirit is now free from the chaos of the burning world.

The camera focuses on his spirit's face, and he looks serene, almost smiling. His soul rises slowly, floating above the destruction of the house. The flames roar below, but up here, there is only silence, only peace. The smoke parts, and Michael's spirit is pulled upward, toward the sky, where a soft, glowing light seems to be waiting for him.

As his spirit ascends, the camera captures a final whisper from Michael, his voice distant but calm. "I'll miss the world... but it's time." His last words hang in the air as his spirit disappears into the light, leaving behind only the burning house and the memory of a man who had sacrificed everything.

The camera pans back down to the ruins of the house, focusing one last time on Michael's body, now still and lifeless, but with a look of peace on his face. The flames flicker around him, but there's no longer a sense of fear or sorrow. Michael has found his peace.

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