Amidst the swirling sands, Thomas stumbled forward. The dry, gritty wind ceaselessly lashed his face, like countless tiny blades tearing at his skin. He could no longer recall how long he had walked in this desolate expanse; time here seemed to have lost all meaning.
Finally, the sandstorm gradually subsided. As he raised his head, the sight before him made his knees buckle, and he sank to the ground.
"Damn it! Not here again!" Thomas cursed, pounding his fist heavily on the ground beneath him.
Before him lay a lifeless town. Dilapidated buildings lined the empty streets, like desiccated skeletons. At the town's center, a black spire rose ominously, its summit crowned by an ancient bronze bell, hanging starkly against the gloomy sky.
This was the seventh, or perhaps the eighth time he had returned here. Each time he attempted to leave, pushing forward in the direction of the endless sand, he would inexplicably find himself back in this accursed town.
"What in God's name is this place?"
Just then, fifty meters overhead, a dark cloud suddenly coalesced in the sky. An inexplicable dread surged within Thomas, a chill from the very depths of his soul that made him shiver. Beneath the cloud, a colossal, inky figure slowly materialized.
"No... no!"
Instinct drove him to sprint in the opposite direction. At that moment, the bronze bell in the spire abruptly tolled—
Dong!
Dong!
Dong!
Three chimes reverberated through the silent town. A strange whirlwind suddenly rose, engulfing Thomas's figure in a vortex of sand.
When the sandstorm dispersed, Thomas was gone. Only the ancient bronze bell remained, hanging silently atop the spire, as if bearing witness to the eternal cycle within this abyss of sand.
The metal walls of the interrogation room gleamed with a cold light, stretching the shadows of the three figures long. This was a special underground interrogation room, its walls crafted from a unique alloy, imbued with a disquieting sense of oppression. In the center of the room, the metal table and chairs were forged as a single unit, seamless, as if carved from a solid block of metal.
Andrew Michel sat with his head bowed, his silver hair falling slightly disheveled across his face. Specialized shackles gleamed coldly on his wrists and ankles. The black-and-white prison uniform made the seventy-year-old man appear remarkably gaunt, yet his silver eyes shimmered with an enigmatic light, revealing both weariness and a profound, hidden compassion.
The interrogator stood beside the metal table, his gaze occasionally sweeping over Andrew's aged face. The subtle pressure emanating from the elderly man suggested he was far more dangerous than he appeared. Kevin J. Michel, standing nearby, maintained an almost detached silence, his silver eyes fixed on Andrew, as if attempting to peer into his very soul.
The silence in the room was palpable, making even the sound of breathing sharply distinct. The metal walls seemed to absorb every sound, deepening the oppressive stillness. Andrew slowly raised his head, his gaze settling between the two men. "Time is a curious thing," he murmured, his voice carrying the weary weight of ages. "It always reveals so much."
Kevin's expression remained unchanged, but the air in the room seemed to drop abruptly. An ineffable atmosphere pervaded the interrogation room, as if even time itself had grown heavy in that moment. The faint sound of dripping water ceased, plunging the entire space into an unnatural quiet.
"I imagine," Andrew continued, a flicker of understanding in his eyes, "you're here for something particular." His fingers gently tapped the metal tabletop, creating an odd, rhythmic sound. "After all, Michel family enforcers rarely pay personal visits."
"You know why we're here," Kevin stated, his voice as cold as ice. His silver eyes gleamed dangerously under the fluorescent light, a predatory focus.
Andrew sighed softly, his gaze drifting to a point in the empty air. "Young people are always so eager," his voice held a hint of subtle weariness. "Just like I was many years ago." He paused. "Back then, I also believed I had grasped the truth, thought that following Gordon would lead me to all the answers."
The air in the interrogation room seemed to solidify. The fluorescent light cast deep shadows across Andrew's face; his wrinkles appeared exceptionally profound, as if etched with countless untold stories. His shackles subtly clinked with his slight tremors, the sound sharply distinct in the stifling quiet.
"Do you believe in fate?" Andrew suddenly asked. "Not in vague prophecies, but in..." He paused, his gaze sweeping past the interrogator's slightly bewildered expression before settling on Kevin. "In something that a person might pursue their entire life, only to realize in the end that they never truly understood it."
A flicker of emotion crossed Kevin's eyes, but it swiftly vanished, his composure returning. He took a step forward, the hem of his dark gray overcoat swaying gently, his golden Persian rose emblem subtly glinting in the dim light. The interrogator noticed the old man's expression, which seemed less like pretense and more like genuine insight.
"Gordon is resurrected," Kevin stated directly.
The words struck like a stone in a still pond. Andrew's fingers trembled slightly, but his expression remained remarkably calm. The fluorescent light flickered suddenly, as if trembling with the news. "Is that so..." he murmured. "So, this is the price."
"What price?" the interrogator couldn't help but ask. The room's temperature seemed to drop further, an unseen pressure accumulating.
Andrew raised his head, his silver eyes filled with an ineffable mixture of emotions. He looked at the interrogator, as if seeing through him to something far more distant. "Do you know? When a person pursues something for too long, they forget why they started pursuing it in the first place." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "It's only when something is lost that you understand what truly matters."
He took a deep breath, as if gathering strength. "Anko..." his voice was barely a whisper. "She's dead, isn't she?"
Kevin did not reply immediately, but his silence spoke volumes. The stillness in the interrogation room grew heavier, even the hum of the fluorescent light overhead seemed grating. The drip of water began again, one drop, then two, like the footsteps of time.
"I should have known," Andrew's voice trembled slightly. "Gordon... he was never who I thought he was." The old man lowered his head, his silver hair concealing his expression, but his tightly clasped hands betrayed his pain.
The silence in the interrogation room was stifling, almost suffocating under an unseen weight. The fluorescent light cast mottled shadows over Andrew, the interplay of light and dark seeming to narrate a fractured story.
"She was killed by Thomas," Kevin said, his voice still cold, but with a hint of probing. His gaze remained fixed on Andrew, as if trying to read something in the old man's reaction.
"Thomas?" Andrew abruptly lifted his head, a flicker of confusion in his silver eyes. "That name..." His voice held a peculiar unfamiliarity, as if he were tasting a word he had never heard before.
"Jenny L.L. Yamia," Kevin continued, each syllable carefully measured. "Do you remember her?"
The temperature in the interrogation room plummeted abruptly, as if an invisible cold current surged from all directions. Andrew's expression froze, as if time had stopped in that moment. His shackles subtly clinked with his slight tremors, the sound sharply distinct in the silent space.
"Jenny..." he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief. "You mean..." His fingers unconsciously clenched his prison uniform, knuckles white from the strain. In that instant, he no longer appeared as the powerful Michel family traitor, but merely an old man broken by the past.
"Thomas Yamia is your son," Kevin's voice carried no emotion, as if delivering a preordained verdict. "And he, guided by Gordon, killed your granddaughter."
The words struck like a hammer blow, shattering Andrew's last defenses. His breathing became rapid and ragged, his wrinkled face contorted with pain and shock. The fluorescent light cast mottled shadows across his face, freezing that moment of agony into eternity.
The drip of water in the suffocating silence became sharply audible, one drop, then another, as if time itself wept silently for this cruel truth.
"So this is the truth..." Andrew's voice sounded distant, broken, and hoarse. "A lifetime of belief, only to end up..."
He didn't finish the sentence. The profound sorrow was almost palpable, enveloping the entire interrogation room. The cold light reflected from the metal walls cast mottled shadows on his face, carving the pain even deeper.
"Thomas took something that didn't belong to him into the temporal rift," Kevin said, breaking the silence. "Something that could change everything." A flicker of subtle anxiety crossed his silver eyes. "We need to find him."
Andrew slowly raised his head, the unsettling light in his silver eyes replaced by a kind of transparent clarity. The weight of years seemed to settle on his shoulders in that moment, making the former believer appear incredibly aged.
"Find him?" he murmured, his voice laced with a certain pity. "In the temporal rift, everything gets lost. Just like I... was lost for most of my life." His gaze swept past the interrogator's slightly confused expression, finally settling on Kevin. "You have no idea what you're up against."
The interrogator noticed the old man's hand unconsciously brush his side. That subtle movement seemed to hold a deeper meaning, making even the usually composed Kevin narrow his eyes slightly. A strange energy permeated the air, as if the flow of time itself had slowed. The sound of dripping water ceased, replaced by an almost imperceptible hum, a sound that seemed to emanate from time itself.
"But now," Andrew continued, his voice infused with a strange sense of release. "Perhaps I can finally do something right." He looked directly at Kevin. "Do you know? Gordon always said I was too weak, not resolute enough. Perhaps he was right, but now I understand that sometimes, even giving up requires courage."
Kevin's eyes subtly shifted, as if he sensed something. The air filled with an odd energy, making even the flow of time seem sluggish. The sound of dripping water vanished, replaced by an almost imperceptible hum that seemed to emanate from time itself.
"Do you know," Andrew's voice grew remarkably calm, as if he had shed some immense burden, "Anko used to love collecting seashells by the sea when she was little." Andrew's voice softened. "Once she asked me why the waves were different every day. I told her then that it was because the ocean never repeated the same pattern." His gaze grew distant. "Now I realize we are all shells washed by the sea of time, forever unable to return to our original place."
His fingers gently traced a barely visible scar on his side. The interrogator noticed Kevin's gaze sharpen abruptly, but the silver-haired young man maintained his outward composure. The pressure in the air seemed to grow even heavier, making breathing difficult.
"And some sands," Andrew continued, his voice carrying a mysterious rhythm, "come from the deepest vortex of time." He looked up, meeting Kevin's eyes directly. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? After all, that's one of the Michel family's secrets."
The fluorescent light flickered suddenly, casting dancing shadows on the wall. The shadows twisted and contorted, as if alive, performing some ancient dance. An indescribable tension filled the air, as if some ancient power was awakening.
"Are you truly ready?" Kevin suddenly asked, his voice tinged with caution. "Once you begin, there's no turning back." His silver eyes glowed brightly in the dim light. "You know what this means."
Andrew offered a bitter smile. "Turning back?" he repeated softly, as if savoring the irony. "I lost the path back long ago. From the moment I first touched that book, from the moment I allowed Anko..." His voice choked, his Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.
After a moment of silence, he continued, his voice regaining its calm. "Perhaps this is the price of salvation." His gaze hardened. "Sometimes, the last choice is the easiest one."
Andrew's movement was too swift to follow. His fingers, like blades, sliced across his side. Flesh tore instantly, and dark red beads of blood traced lines down the silver shackles. His expression remained utterly still, as if his body no longer belonged to him.
The interrogator instinctively took a step back, but Kevin remained motionless. A faint scent of blood permeated the air, mingling with the metallic chill. The fluorescent light, now eerily pale, stretched Andrew's shadow long, like a fading apparition.
With a muffled tearing sound, Andrew drew a barely visible glass vial from his flesh. Black sand swirled within the bottle under the light; each grain seemed to contain a miniature universe, emanating a light alien to this world.
"This is the key," Andrew's voice was remarkably calm, as if his previous action were merely a commonplace ritual. "The key to opening the gate of time."
Blood streamed from his arm, blooming into dark red flowers on the gray concrete floor. Yet his eyes were remarkably clear, a lucidity born of profound experience. The shackles subtly clinked with his movements, the sound sharply distinct in the stifling quiet.
"Gordon said," he continued, his voice tinged with a sense of release, "these sands come from the abyss of time. They are both a curse and a blessing." He looked at the glass vial in his hand, a complex emotion flickering in his gaze. "Just like the Michel family's silver eyes. Our blessings are often our greatest curses."
Kevin's expression remained stern, but a subtle, unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this?" his voice held a hint of hesitation for the first time. "This means..."
"Am I sure?" Andrew chuckled softly, his laughter a mix of bitterness and relief. "This is probably the surest thing I've ever done in my life." His gaze swept over every corner of the interrogation room, as if making a final farewell. "Sometimes, the most important thing isn't finding the answer, but knowing when to let go."
"Give it to him," Kevin's voice suddenly cut through, a commanding tone. His silver eyes fixed on the interrogator, as if confirming something.
Andrew raised his head, his gaze lingering between the two men. A subtle, enigmatic smile touched his lips, as if he saw through something unspoken. Despite the blood still oozing from his wound, his hand extended the glass vial with surprising steadiness.
The moment the interrogator took the vial, a strange sensation emanated from his fingertips, as if he had touched the very pulse of time itself. The black sands within the glass trembled slightly, each grain emanating a faint light, like stars breathing in deep space. The fluorescent light began to flicker erratically, casting dancing shadows on the wall, the shadows twisting and contorting as if performing some ancient dance.
"Interesting," Andrew murmured softly, a hint of surprise in his voice. "It seems Gordon was right; the chosen ones will one day touch the pulse of time." His gaze lingered on the interrogator for a moment. "Like a key finding its destined lock."
The black sand within the glass vial slowly began to float, defying gravity. An ancient and mysterious energy began to gather within the interrogation room; even the air grew thick. The sound of dripping water vanished entirely, replaced by a low hum from the depths of time, a sound that seemed to come from countless centuries away.
"When you open the bottle," Andrew's voice grew remarkably clear amidst the intensifying hum, "remember one thing: the tide of time will try to tear you apart. Only by staying lucid can you find what you seek." His eyes deepened. "There, past memories will be your greatest enemy, and your only guide."
The interrogator's finger rested on the bottle cap; the black sand seemed to sense something, churning violently within the glass. Each grain emitted a faint light, like stars resonating in deep space. The air in the entire interrogation room began to warp, as if reality itself was becoming unstable in that moment.
The air in the interrogation room began to subtly distort, like heat rising from asphalt on a summer day. A faint hum reached Kevin's ears, a prelude to time's loosening grip. The black sand in the glass vial trembled with increasing intensity, each grain emitting a faint glow, like countless miniature universes resonating.
Tiny cracks began to appear in the space, starting from the corners and spreading like a spiderweb towards the center. The light emanating from these fissures was alien to this world, carrying an ancient and mysterious aura. Only when the black sand surged skyward did reality truly begin to crumble... The metal walls started to twist and contort, emitting a jarring groan, as if reality itself was being torn apart by an unseen force. Space warped under this network, and the boundaries of reality gradually blurred.
"Remember," Andrew's voice pierced through the roar of the vortex, "in the abyss of time, truth is your only compass." His silver eyes flashed with a final glimmer, like a burning star.
A blinding light erupted from the center of the vortex; reality began to shatter, like a broken mirror. The rift of time slowly unfolded before them, revealing a fathomless void. There was no past, no future, only endless possibilities surging forth.
Kevin stepped forward, his dark gray overcoat flapping in the turbulent air. The light from the temporal rift blurred his silhouette, yet his silver eyes remained piercingly clear. He turned to the interrogator beside him: "Carl, let's go."
Just as their figures were about to be swallowed by time, Andrew's final words before collapsing penetrated the chaos: "Remember, the truth is often hidden in the deepest wound..."