I let out a slow breath, shaking my head as I crossed my arms. "You're so lost in your own head that you need proof someone standing right in front of you is real? Fine." My voice carried a sharp edge, but there was a trace of amusement in it.
I figured I'd go along with it. It wouldn't cost me anything, and I'd already been watching him for over a week now. If this was some kind of act, I couldn't see the angle he was playing. And if it wasn't—then maybe I'd finally get some answers of my own.
Without another word, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a piece of chalk. The cool, smooth surface pressed against my fingertips as I crouched down and began drawing a magic circle on the floor. The faint scratch of chalk against floor filled the otherwise silent room.
Ahriman stirred from the bed. I glanced at him briefly. His face was unreadable—aside from that ever-present confusion. He moved closer, his steps slow, deliberate, before settling himself down in front of me.
"Hey… what are you doing?"
Ugh.
"You wanted to know how I disappeared, didn't you?" I replied, keeping my focus on the chalk lines. "Then shut up and watch. And maybe take a step back while you're at it. Your face is creeping me out."
He stiffened, his mouth parting as if to protest, but no words came. Instead, he hesitated, then reluctantly stepped back. "I don't get it. You're telling me you escaped… by drawing on the floor with chalk?"
I hummed in confirmation, adding the last intricate details to the pattern.
The air felt heavier, charged, as the circle neared completion. I could feel his skepticism thick in the space between us, his unspoken disbelief lingering. Not that I was surprised—people like him weren't supposed to know about things like this. The other side of the world was something humans walked past every day, blind to its existence.
"I taped your hands and legs," he finally said, his tone sharp. "So how the hell did you get free? And when did you even have time to pull this off?"
Hmph. Someone's observant.
But I had no obligation to explain anything to him.
I paused, only briefly, before shooting him a glance. "Don't you remember the state you were in the last time you started rambling nonsense?"
His brows knitted together, his expression flickering with uncertainty. "That… wasn't a dream?"
I didn't bother answering.
"Done." I stood, dusting my hands off. "We can dissect your existential crisis later. Right now, step into the circle. Think of any place while you do it."
I motioned for him to move.
He just stared at me like I'd asked him to grow a third arm. "You're serious?"
"What part of 'step into the circle' didn't you get?" I sighed, raising an eyebrow. "You wanted to know how I disappeared. Well, this is how. So get on with it."
He hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Alright."
Just as he moved forward, just as he was about to step into the circle, his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.
I barely had time to react.
"H—hey!" I stammered, but before I could pry his grip off, the circle activated.
The world blurred.
A force yanked us downward, weightless and overwhelming, and then, in the next instant, we were falling.
I landed with a soft thud—but not on the ground. Something cushioned the impact beneath me. My hands pressed into fabric, and I realized—
Ahriman.
I blinked, momentarily disoriented, as I found myself sprawled over him. He was lying flat on his back, an enormous bed underneath us.
"Well, that was unexpected," I muttered, pushing myself up. I climbed off of him and took a few steps forward, running a hand down my clothes to straighten them. Turning back, I narrowed my eyes. "Why'd you do that?"
He was still lying there, his expression vacant, his gaze slowly trailing across the room. He didn't answer.
Something about his silence made me shift uncomfortably. My own eyes darted around the unfamiliar space. "Where did you even take us?"
The room was massive. The air carried a faint, pleasant fragrance, something light yet rich, like a blend of aged wood and floral perfume. A huge, luxurious bed dominated the center of the space, the sheets pristine. All around us, there were gleaming trinkets and decor, as if the owner had an obsession with collecting beautiful, unnecessary things.
And then there was the portrait.
A large painting hung directly across from the bed—a woman, regal in presence, her gaze both piercing and distant. My eyes lingered on her face. Who was she?
Ahriman finally moved, slowly sitting up on the bed. His expression mirrored my own confusion. He blinked, then looked around again, as if expecting the walls to shift, as if he was still trying to make sense of where he was.
"What place were you thinking about before you touched the magic circle?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, his eyes locked onto the portrait.
His pupils dilated slightly, his lips parted just a fraction. The way he stared at it—entranced, stunned—it was different from his usual blank expressions.
"Is this for real?" His voice was barely a whisper.
I groaned, rubbing my temple. "Ugh. Why does seeing this guy's face throw me off so much?"
I forced myself to stay composed. My voice was flat when I spoke again. "It's exactly what I told you. This is the place you were thinking about before you activated the magic circle." A hint of exasperation seeped into my tone. "How many times do I have to explain it?"
He shook his head, eyes never leaving the portrait. "But I didn't even know where she lived… Wait, am I dreaming again?"
His voice was so quiet, like he was talking to himself rather than to me.
I clicked my tongue in irritation and stepped up behind him. Without thinking, I flicked the back of his neck with my fingers.
"Ouch." He winced, flinching slightly. A small, startled noise slipped past his lips as he turned, eyes narrowing at me in mild irritation.
"You feel that?" I said, voice steady despite the frustration creeping into my tone. "It's real. Now can we focus on the important stuff?"
"…I'm sorry," he muttered, taking a slow breath. His face was composed, but the hesitation in his eyes gave him away. His usual indifferent mask was cracking—just barely.
I saw it.
The way his fingers twitched. The way he tried to steady his breath.
He was keeping it together on the surface, but inside, he was drowning in questions, in doubt. And yet, he refused to let it show.
It was getting under my skin.
Why didn't he break down like he always did when no one was watching? Why did he insist on keeping this facade in front of me?
My fingers curled into fists at my sides. I pushed the irritation down, keeping my face neutral.
"Can you shut up for a second?" I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. "It's your turn to talk. But first—let's get out of here."