While Heka was at Ansel's house, he found himself settling into his brother's room. A room felt heavy with memories and silence.
His eyes were drawn to a framed photograph resting on the dresser, its glass slightly dusty but the image within still vivid. Ansel noticed Heka's gaze lingering there.
"That's my brother, Hansel." Ansel said softly, his voice carrying a mixture of pride and sorrow.
Heka reached out and took the photo gently in his hands. The image was old, sepia-toned, and showed two young men dressed in matching black suits that resembled something out of a gothic tale, like Dracula.
As Heka studied the photo, he noticed the subtle details that spoke volumes about the family's heritage. Shelves lined with dusty tomes and curious artifacts filled the room collections of witchcraft and wizardry from distant lands, each item meticulously preserved.
It was clear that magic was not just a hobby but a legacy, passed down through generations. They were indeed a wizard family, bound by knowledge and mystery.
Their childhood faces were different. But when he grew up, Ansel's face changed to look like his brother's.
It was as if Hansel's spirit lingered in Ansel's very being. Anyone who saw the photo might easily mistake the older figure was Ansel himself.
"Where is he?" Heka asked quietly, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of hesitation. Despite having visited Ansel's home many times, he had never met Hansel.
"He passed away." Ansel replied simply, the weight of those words hanging heavily between them.
A pang of guilt struck Heka. He hadn't meant to pry or reopen old wounds. He lowered the photo carefully and looked away, feeling the delicate boundary of grief and respect. He was murmured, genuinely remorseful. "Sorry."
Ansel gave a small, understanding nod. "It's okay. Here, lie down in bed." He said, his tone was gentle but firm.
He obeyed what Ansel said. He laid down. He looked at the syringe that Ansel held.
It was time to take the blood. Heka watched closely as Ansel prepared himself, his movements calm and practiced, like an expert. Ansel's hands were steady, his eyes focused, betraying no hint of hesitation.
Beneath the bed, a large, ornate bowl awaited, its surface gleaming faintly in the dim light of the room. The bowl was surprisingly vast, far larger than Heka had expected, and it sat ready to catch the blood that would flow out.
The sheer volume of blood to be taken was daunting, and Heka's curiosity gnawed at him. he murmured, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "The bowl is very big. What do they use my blood for? Will they use it for an offering or…??"
Ansel glanced at him, a shadow crossing his face. Then, with a measured tone, he began to explain the process that awaited Heka's body. How it would be prepared, purified, and eventually readied for what they called the "soul delivery."
Yet, despite the detailed explanation, Ansel carefully avoided revealing the true purpose behind the vast quantity of blood being collected.
Heka chose not to press further. Instead, he let his mind wander through the possibilities, harboring silent questions and unspoken fears. Perhaps it was better this way. Some things were meant to remain hidden, wrapped in shadows and silence.
****
Heka was laid down carefully, his body resting flat as the ritual began. For five minutes, the blood steadily flowed from his body, a deep red stream pouring into the bowl beneath the bed. Surprisingly, he didn't feel weak or dizzy at all.
The only discomfort was the stiffness and numbness creeping through his wrist where the needle had punctured his skin.
He glanced down at the bowl, watching the blood pool and spread. It was an ordinary bowl, plain and unmarked, without any volume chart or measurement lines. This lack of indication made it impossible for him to gauge how much blood had been drawn.
While lying there, Heka's eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. He counted the seconds and minutes, marking the passage of time as the blood continued to pour out.
Five minutes passed, and the soreness in his wrist began to spread, radiating through his hand like a cold wave. His fingers felt frozen, heavy and unresponsive, as if the nerves themselves had been silenced. The numbness was absolute, he couldn't feel a thing.
Just as the clock struck the five-minute mark, Ansel returned to the room. He approached with a careful, concerned expression, checking on Heka's condition. Ansel reported quietly. "Your blood that comes out has reached half a bowl. How about your body? Are you okay? Your hands must be sore."
"I'm fine. Literally, I'm just laying down. Nothing else I do." Heka forced a small smile, trying to ease Ansel's worry.
But Ansel wasn't convinced. His eyes searched Heka's face, disbelief evident. "You don't have to lie. How could someone who lost blood be fine? Well, I will leave. I'll be here in fifteen minutes."
As Ansel left the room, Heka looked down again at the bowl, now nearly full with his blood.
Yet, despite the loss, he felt no dizziness, no weakness. Only the eerie paralysis of his hand where the needle had pierced his skin.
He stared at the clock. The hour hand showed exactly 08.00 pm. He began to realize that there was only one hand that was moving. It was the front one, the second hand. While the other did not move at all.
"Maybe the wall clock is broken." Heka thought to himself, his gaze fixed on the ticking hands.
He closed his eyes briefly, only to be overwhelmed by a sudden wave of sleepiness. The urge to drift off was stronger than he had anticipated. Almost magnetic pull dragging him toward unconsciousness.
Yet, he fought it fiercely, forcing himself to stay awake, to keep his eyes open no matter what.
His mind repeated the spell like a lifeline: My eyes must be opened. Can't be closed.
But the battle was exhausting. He gasped softly, struggling against the heaviness pressing down on his eyelids.
When he dared to glance again at the clock on the wall, his heart skipped a beat. The time read 8:15 p.m. Fifteen minutes had passed in what felt like mere seconds.
A weird sensation crept over him, a mixture of confusion and disbelief. He was certain he had kept himself awake. Yet, here was the undeniable proof that time had slipped away from him.
His eyes remained open, but his mind questioned everything. he whispered to himself, trying to find reassurance. "It's not useless, isn't it? But why does it move so fast? Did I just fall asleep? Is it possible that in just one blink you can jump for 15 minutes?"
He heard the sound of footsteps. They were Ansel and his Grandpa on the way here.
When they entered the room, Heka tried to get up, but his body betrayed him. A heavy stiffness and numbness had settled deep into his muscles and joints, rendering him completely immobile. Panic flickered briefly in his mind. "What happened to my body? Is it because of the effect of bleeding?"
Mr. McVeigh approached calmly, his experienced hands gently grasping Heka's wrist to check his pulse. he turned to Ansel with a firm but quiet command. "Ansel, remove the needle."
Ansel carefully withdrew the needle from Heka's wrist. He warned softly. "Afterward, your hands will feel very sore,"
But the soreness was not confined to his hands alone; it spread throughout Heka's entire body, a deep ache that made every muscle feel heavy and unresponsive. His limbs felt like lead, and the numbness was absolute.
"Lie down first, you must be very weak. Hold on for a while. Your energy will be back soon." Mr. McVeigh advised gently, guiding Heka back onto the bed.
Heka's voice was barely above a whisper as he replied. "Mr McVeigh, Ansel, thank you very much."
"It's okay. Just take a rest first." Ansel said with a small nod.
After they left the room, the silence settled around Heka like a thick blanket. His eyes drifted to the large bowl filled with his blood. The sight unsettled him, stirring a swirl of unanswered questions. What exactly were they going to do with so much blood?
But his body was too exhausted to entertain the thoughts for a long time. His eyelids grew heavy, as if weighted by invisible hands, urging him toward sleep.
He fought it briefly, trying to keep his eyes open, but the fatigue was overwhelming. He closed his eyes for a while, seeking rest.
At that time, there was a very bright and dazzling light. The light was very similar to the light when he was at the mall and met Ansel for the first time.
Something strange happened to him. He seemed to be walking. Even though he didn't remember when he got out of bed at all. He felt that he had not woken up at all.
"Am I dreaming?" Heka whispered to himself, trying to convince his restless mind that he was merely asleep. Yet, deep down, he knew something was different. Something far beyond the ordinary experience of sleep or dreaming.
Unwittingly, he was not asleep at all. His eyes were open, but the world around him was unlike anything he had ever seen.
The surroundings were engulfed in an intense, blinding white light that stretched endlessly in every direction. There was no horizon, no walls, no floor, only a vast expanse of pure, dazzling brightness that seemed to pulse gently with a life of its own.
Heka lifted his hand cautiously, watching as the white light wrapped around his fingers like a soft, glowing mist. The light was as brilliant as the midday sun, yet it carried none of the sun's heat.
Instead, it was cool and soothing, like a gentle fog settling over a quiet morning valley. But it was not the fog.
He could feel no moisture on his skin, no breeze stirring the air. The sensation was strange, both tangible and intangible, as if the light itself was a living presence, neither solid nor vapor.