novelraw Chapter 477: Your mother’s look
Chapter 477: Your mother’s look
Chapter 477 – Your mother’s look
That was the final decision, and Kaden had neither the strength nor the will to ask why or dig further into the situation.
He was like a lone man walking in a whirlwind inside a harsh desert, following any sign of direction — his eyes blinded by the storm, his body leathered dry.
Yet walking deeper into the whirlwind. Walking toward death itself. But Kaden was not afraid of death.
Oh, not at all.
After everything he had been through since the Dungeon of the Devourer of Souls, Kaden had developed this instinctive fear of making choices.
And when one feared making a choice, that was when they began fearing to live, and reached instead for the easiest option available.
To survive.
Kaden Warborn had reached that level. A level Reditha never thought she would see her master reach.
’Blanche... Blanche, you should have been here.’ She whimpered inwardly, hiding her tears even from Kaden. ’I no longer know what to do. Kaden is lost. And I am lost with him. We need you...’
But the White Phoenix was no more. And her old, gentle, wise voice was gone too, leaving Kaden without one of his last sources of relief.
Reditha had never felt so wretched. She was watching the very origin of her birth suffering so deeply he was dying inside, and all she could do was cry. Cry like a young girl. Cry like a hapless, helpless girl.
That realisation sent her spiralling into self-loathing, lost in her own world where pain and hatred raged. Just like Kaden, she was devouring herself.
Two beings. One broken by the helplessness of watching a loved one become something else.
The other broken still, but not by life’s merciless lessons. By the person she had unknowingly leaned into.
And Kaden wasn’t even aware as he sat in front of Pandora, looking at her innocent, clueless face, her head tilted in that way she had.
"Something’s wrong, Traveller?" She asked, inching slightly toward him, instinctively seeking the closeness they had built over the past week.
Kaden wasn’t willing.
He stopped her with an outstretched palm, his dull red eyes resting flatly on her. The young girl stopped abruptly, her face twisting into confusion laced with hidden pain and fear.
The fear of abandonment.
"Did Pandora do something wrong?" She asked hurriedly, then bowed deeply, head toward the floor. "I am sorry! I am sorry! I am sorry, Traveller!"
Again and again. Seeking forgiveness for something she had never even done.
’Oh, curse this.’ Kaden muttered inwardly, confirming the words of Historian seeing such scene.
Due to Vainglory wounding her severely, Pandora’s form had regressed — from fully grown woman to a young girl. But it hadn’t stopped there.
Her memories had been lost in the process, completely altering her character. In their place, she had adopted the only reference she had: the children she had witnessed around her.
Cute. Clueless. Lively.
Yet when she noticed she was not treated the way those children were — with warmth, with care, with ease — Pandora had begun relentlessly searching for that same feeling.
The tribesmen had tried. But they couldn’t do it. They simply could not look at the very source of their Sorrow, acting sweet and seeking affection, and play along.
Their hearts were rotten with resentment. Yet they could do nothing to her.
Even with her memories gone, Pandora retained an instinct. Something that triggered whenever someone approached the Tower or posed a threat to her existence.
The switch was jarring, and afterward, she never remembered what she had done. As if it were not her at all. As if something else inside her had moved. Something that had survived Vainglory’s attack.
Knowing all of that meant Pandora had been sincere with him the entire time.
And somehow, that made it worse.
He could no longer look at her the same way. And it was not a kind look.
That look broke Pandora more than she had anticipated. She had finally found someone who cared. She had finally tasted what other children had.
And now it felt like it was about to disappear.
Her heart cried in indignation.
She slammed her forehead against the rocky floor — pain exploded across her forehead, but the pain in her chest was worse — crying and begging, "I am sorry! Pandora is sorry!"
Something broke in Kaden at the sight. He looked at her, noticing that despite repeatedly slamming her head into the ground, she bore no bruise. No wound at all.
He suppressed a shudder and slowly moved toward her. Pandora stilled, sensing his presence, then lifted her head with eyes flooding with hope.
Her face was a mess with tears, snot, spit all together. A complete wreck.
But a strange sensation vibrated through his mind at the sight.
’She looks like Rea.’ His face went distant, lost in melancholy as quiet but impactful moments with his fiancée surfaced.
Those moments took over his mind, making it easier to reach down, lift the young girl onto his lap, and begin stroking her hair slowly.
That was all it took.
A few minutes later, Pandora was asleep, her tear-stricken face now carrying a small, satisfied smile.
"Time to move, wise boy." The Historian’s voice cut through sharply, leaning his small body on the wall. "This is not the place for sweet dreams."
Kaden lifted his head and looked at him flatly. "Dreams?" He scoffed weakly, rising slowly and setting Pandora’s sleeping head gently on the ground. "Those were no dreams, old man. Nightmares. All of it, nightmares."
He stood in front of him, looking down into those yellow eyes. "And it’s a nightmare I can’t wake from."
"So it is with life." The yellow man said, scratching his beard as he turned and led the way. "A nightmare, wise boy. An unending one none can escape. But there is a way to thrive inside it."
Kaden followed slowly behind, limping, his body still not healed.
"I need that way then. Tell me." He whispered, and spotted a cane resting against a wall. Without hesitation, he grabbed it with his trembling right hand and leaned into it.
The pain lessened and his pace improved.
"You will know soon enough." Historian said, guiding him through the cave, past beds and tables and worn furniture, until they reached a crimson wall hidden behind another.
Kaden’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
"However," Historian resumed, cutting his index finger, blood trickling down as he began scribing on the wall, "I will not be the one to teach you."
The wall groaned, cracked, then parted open, revealing a door from which heavy shadows leaked, followed by a horrid stench of death and decay.
Historian’s frown deepened. His body shook subtly. "Yes... yes, the timing is right." He muttered under his breath and stepped inside. "Follow me."
Kaden was not thrilled. As someone accustomed to death, the stench inside was almost unbearable.
He shook his head, smiled dryly, and followed, leaning heavily on his cane.
The shadows swallowed him from all sides, blinding everything. The ground beneath his feet was rock at first. But that changed before long, shifting to wood.
And with that shift came a soft, peaceful sound echoing through the darkness.
A sound that had no business being in a place like this.
Yet there it was.
Soon enough, the shadows retreated and light returned.
Kaden opened his mouth to ask the Historian something at the sight around him, then shut it.
His eyes landed on the man seated on the wooden floor, back resting against a carved sword, looking back at him.
Old, skin withered like old clothes with a strong smell of decay hanging about him.
But that was not what Kaden was looking at.
The old man’s hair was black as raven feathers. His eyes were red as blood.
Kaden staggered a step back, his body suddenly weak.
The old man grinned — half his teeth gone, yet somehow it was warm. Mesmerising even.
"Aye, boy. Now that I see you with my own eyes..."
His grin widened.
"...you did indeed get your mother’s look."
—End of Chapter 477—