Chapter 33: The Truth He Hides
He made his way to find the Master, who, as usual, was seated on his throne. A smile danced on his lips—something very unusual. Little 9 noticed but didn't question it. He already had too many questions about himself and couldn't afford to add more mysteries to the pile, so he let the Master be as pleased as he wished.
"Father, why are they all looking at me like a ghost? Percy even told me I had died. Did I really die? Then how come I'm back here?"
Oops.
It hit the Master then—when Little 9's lifeless body had hit the ground, he'd called the others urgently and had completely forgotten to warn them to keep quiet. He knew how blabby Percy could be, yet he let them leave without a word of caution.
A flicker of dread coiled in his chest. His fingers tightened against the armrest of the throne. Stupid. Careless. He mentally slapped himself for letting emotions cloud his judgment. He should have handled everything quietly—revived Little 9 in secret, fed him a simple lie, and sent him on his way with no one the wiser.
Now, his mind raced. What if Little 9 remembers more? What if the others start asking questions too? He could feel the lie tightening around him like a noose, and still—he forced his face into calm.
"Well, you passed out from overexerting yourself, and I had them bring you over," the Master answered tactically, voice steady though his thoughts were anything but.
"But if that's the case, why are they staring at me like a ghost? And how did I end up in this room—a room I haven't used in years—with no memory of it at all?" Little 9 asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.
"Well, you must have hit your head hard. Perhaps that's why you don't remember. Get going. Didn't I tell you to rest?" the Master replied, his voice shifting back to its usual strict tone, dodging the questions.
"Well, the others are afraid of me now. And the so-called room I supposedly have sole access to? I don't even know how to open it," the Shrouded One responded sarcastically.
The Master Ignored the sarcasm. "Just go. You'll figure it out. After all, it was your creation," he said dismissively.
The Shrouded One had no choice but to leave—at least temporarily. But he was determined to get answers.
He returned to the door, a million thoughts swirling through his mind. He stood there like someone lost, racking his brain for a way to open it, but nothing came to mind. If he had passed out or died, how had he gotten into the room? Especially if he was the only one with access?
The Master was definitely hiding something. And whatever it was, he made up his mind to uncover it.
Then something miraculous happened.
Frustrated, he mumbled at the door, "You freaking door, why won't you open up and just let me in?"
And the door responded.
He stood there, disbelief etched all over his face. Even in a world where magic was normal, this was something else entirely. He looked behind him, peered through the door to see if someone had opened it, but there was no one. He was completely alone.
He stepped into the house, choosing not to add more questions to the ones he already had. If the door had chosen to open, so be it. Somewhere inside might be the truth—clues about what really happened to him and how he had been revived.