Path of the Unmentioned: The Missing Piece-Chapter 66: More Questions
Chapter 66: More Questions
Kyle awoke slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves.
The golden light filtered through his eyelids it was warm and comforting.
A stark contrast to the memories that came crashing back the moment his mind cleared.
Last night.
The tears.
The way he had clung to Aurelia like a frightened child. Sobbing into her shoulder like he was some five years old kid.
His face burned with humiliation.
He groaned, dragging his hands down his face as if he could physically wipe away the memory.
"I want to dig a hole straight to the center of the planet and live there forever" he muttered into his palms.
But beneath the embarrassment, something else lingered.
A quiet, fragile sense of relief.
As if a pressure he hadn’t even realized was crushing him had finally eased.
He exhaled slowly, letting his hands fall to his sides.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the quiet room.
2:10 PM.
’Twelve hours.’
He had slept almost half the day.
And Aurelia usually so strict about schedules, had let him.
A rare kindness from his normally no-nonsense sister.
’Probably missed all my classes today’ he thought idly.
Though the thought didn’t spark the usual frustration. Right now he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He pushed himself upright, his body protesting with every movement.
His muscles ached like he had been through a week-long battle.
His limbs heavy with lingering exhaustion.
The wooden floor was cool beneath his bare feet as he shuffled toward the bathroom.
The mirror showed a stranger.
His face was paler than usual.
The sharp angles of his cheeks more pronounced.
Dark shadows clung beneath his eyes, even though he got enough sleep.
His mismatched eyes, one blue like a summer sky, the other black as midnight.
Usually so bright with mischief, now looked dull.
Haunted.
Still, he forced a smirk at his reflection.
"Well. At least you’re still disgustingly good looking."
The joke tasted hollow even to him.
He brushed his teeth mechanically.
The minty toothpaste doing little to wash away the bitter aftertaste of fear that still clung to his tongue.
Then he turned the shower handle all the way to cold before stepping in.
The icy spray hit him like a physical blow, shocking his system.
He hissed through his teeth but didn’t adjust the temperature.
The cold was good.
Painful, but grounding.
It reminded him he was alive.
That his body was still his own.
Eventually, he sank into the bathtub, the water rising around him in soothing waves.
For what feels like first time in days, weeks, maybe.
His muscles began to unclench.
The tension in his shoulders eased.
His breathing slowed.
’Peace.’
But it didn’t last.
His thoughts, unbidden, drifted back to the warehouse.
To the blood.
The bodies.
That stitched mask.
He’d been lucky.
So damn lucky.
Finding Grimmord in the black market had been pure chance.
That experimental black pill. The one that had slowed his heart to a near-stop.
Tricking the masked figure into thinking he was dead, had saved his life.
He let out a small empty laugh.
Was this what his [Unpredictable] luck meant?
Sometimes, he would get extremely lucky.
Other times, extremely unlucky.
He sighed.
He had already knew.
That he might run into the demonic cultists who stole the sword from Vipers in the novel.
But.
That stitched mask wasn’t the same demonic cultist the novel had mentioned.
’Drake.’
The name surfaced in his mind like a ghost.
In the novel, Drake had been the original owner of the sword.
A demonic human with a vicious temper and a crippling height complex.
The guy was barely 5’2" and had a habit of murdering anyone who looked at him wrong.
But the masked figure hadn’t been Drake.
No, that thing in the warehouse had been tall.
Too tall for a normal human.
Unnaturally so.
And those crimson eyes—
Kyle shuddered, the water suddenly feeling colder.
He didn’t know what rank that thing had been.
Didn’t even know if it was human.
The way it moved... the silence of it... the sheer wrongness of its presence..
He exhaled sharply and forced the thoughts away.
He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sound of the water.
The feel of it against his skin.
But the darkness behind his lids only made the memories sharper.
The coppery scent of blood.
The wet crunch of breaking bones.
The way those crimson eyes had stared at him like he was already dead—
Something moved in the water.
Kyle’s eyes flew open.
The bathwater was..
Red.
Blood.
It swirled around him, thick and cloying.
Rising higher with every frantic heartbeat.
His breath came in short, panicked gasps.
His pulse roared in his ears.
’No. No, no, no—’
A skeletal hand burst from the water its fingers like knives wrapping around his wrist.
Kyle jerked back with a strangled cry, his skull cracking against the tile.
Pain exploded through his head.
But when his vision cleared, the bathroom was normal again.
Clear water.
No blood.
No hand.
Just a nightmare.
He exhaled shakily, pressing his palms against his closed eyelids until stars burst behind them.
"Get it together" he muttered, voice raw.
But his hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
He stayed there for a long moment, breathing deliberately, counting each inhale and exhale until his pulse steadied.
It was just a nightmare.
Just his mind trying to process everything.
’Right.’
Except when he closed his eyes again, just for a second.
He could still see those stitches.
That grotesque, sewn-shut smile.
With a growl, he hauled himself out of the tub, water sloshing over the sides in his haste.
He grabbed a towel, scrubbing at his skin roughly, as if he could erase the memories along with the water.
The reflection in the mirror was steadier now.
The shadows under his eyes hadn’t vanished, but his gaze was clearer.
Sharper.
More him.
He’d survived. That was what mattered.
***
Kyle shuffled into the kitchen, his bare feet sticking slightly to the cool tiles.
The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long rectangles of light across the countertops.
He wasn’t particularly hungry.
But his body demanded fuel after everything it had been through.
The refrigerator door squeaked as he pulled it open, revealing half-empty containers and leftovers.
His gaze drifted over the contents before settling on some fresh bread, cheese, and cold cuts.
Simple. Easy.
’Sandwich it is.’
He worked mechanically, slicing bread with more force than necessary, slapping ingredients together without much care for presentation.
The rhythmic motions helped quiet his mind, if only slightly.
As he took the first bite, his thoughts inevitably circled back to the sword trial.
That endless darkness.
The suffocating void.
And then...
A presence.
He paused mid-chew.
The sandwich suddenly tasteless in his mouth.
Someone had been there with him in that darkness.
Someone familiar, though he couldn’t place why.
Their voice had anchored him when he was drowning, their touch pulling him back from oblivion.
’But who?’
When he completed the trail.
The fragments of memories surfaced not his own, but the original Kyle’s.
Childhood scenes played like a damaged film reel.
A younger version of himself laughing as Aurelia chased him through sun-dappled trees.
Strong hands lifting him onto broad shoulders, his father’s?
The scent of lavender and parchment, his mother reading to him by firelight.
But the memories cut off abruptly.
The awakening ceremony.
His parents’ death.
Those moments remained locked away, as if sealed behind an impenetrable door.
To be exact he don’t have memories from his parents death.
Kyle set down the half-eaten sandwich, his appetite gone.
He rubbed at his temples, as if he could physically coax the missing pieces forward.
Nothing came.
More questions without answers.
With a sigh, he continued to eat his sandwich.
But, one thought circled relentlessly in his mind:
’Who pulled me out of the darkness?’
And more importantly -
’Will they help me again when I need it most?’
***
