Kid Ross stood on a tall cliff, surrounded by a thick mist that clouded everything beyond arm's reach. A cold chill crawled up from the massive lake below — the same lake the cliff overlooked.
Wuuh!
A violent wave slammed into the jagged rocks beneath. They were slick with algae, dark, and razor-sharp. One wrong move up here meant death — and that's exactly where Ross stood, trembling, eyes wide with fear. He stared into the Misty passage that led into the unsafe region, and from it came a figure.
"Don't do this! Please don't!" Ross cried out, his voice trembling.
The figure emerged slowly, dramatically, from the mist. His eyes burned with bloodlust, and his body carried that same darkness. The only light that came from him was the reflection off the blade he clenched tightly in his hand. But that wasn't something one would be proud of.
"Ever since I saw you clinging to your mother's womb, you disgusted me. From the very first words you spoke in this world, I've hated you," the man growled. "But I couldn't just kill you, could I? So I waited—for the perfect time, and a reason to make killing you right!"
He raised the sword, stepping closer. The mist cleared enough for Ross to see him fully. It was his father — but not the same man who was once alive. This one looked like the version that had been laid in a coffin, only now his eyes glowed red and furious.
Ross's whole body shook. Sweat trickled down his face. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
"Now that you've lost everything I worked for… I finally have my reason!"
He lunged.
The blade came fast — forceful, direct — aimed straight for Ross's chest. With such power, it wouldn't just pierce him; it would burst his heart like a bubble.
Little Ross squeezed his eyes shut, accepting what was coming.
Thud! Thud!
Elod came close — the blade, closer .
Sing!
It found its way into Ross's chest with a sting like a thousand bees. It drilled through him cleanly, breaking past his ribs as if they weren't even there.
"Nooo!"
He woke up screaming. His head pounded like he'd run a mile. His hand clutched the exact spot where the dream-blade had struck. His hair was a mess, eyes wide, drenched in fear and sweat. The man had woken from a nightmare.
[Beep] [Beep]
An old analog alarm clock blared beside him.
In that moment, he felt like hell — fatigue wrapped around him, boredom weighing him down. Relief came crawling all other his mind but it went as fast as it came as he remembered the troubling situation they found themselves in. A thought crossed his mind, quiet but heavy: I wish I could've kept sleeping.
He turned his head slowly, his body still aching from the dream's grip. His gaze locked onto the clock.
[7:00 AM]
And then, like a computer processing delayed data, his memory kicked in.
"The meeting… with the employee!"
He jolted upright, suddenly awake.
He scanned the room for his trousers, half-forgetting where he'd thrown them last night — until something else caught his eye.
On the table beside the bed sat six different metal syringes, each filled with a unique-colored liquid. Yet one label bound them together:
SOMNEX(sleeping drug)
Ten years ago, Ross was diagnosed with sleep dilution — a rare disease that stole away his ability to rest. At first, it sounded like a gift: more time to think, train, and work. But soon came the side effects — headaches, fevers, high blood pressure — each one dragging him closer to collapse.
Until one doctor offered hope. An experimental injection. It forced his body to experience exhaustion deep enough to finally let him sleep. From then on, he depended on them. The older he got, the more injections he needed — from one, to now, six.
"There you are!" he muttered, spotting his trousers tangled in his blanket, the golden zipper glinting faintly.
In one quick motion, he threw them on, grabbed a white shirt from the wardrobe, brushed his teeth, and bolted downstairs.
"You think he'll like this?" Linda asked, whisking flour in a mixing bowl that matched the color of her apron.
"He will," Marie said from across the kitchen table. "He likes anything sweet. If you should worry about impressing anyone, it's my mom — that woman finds fault in everyone's cooking."
Marie smirked faintly, pressing a bag of ice against her forehead — the self-inflicted punishment for last night's overdrinking.
The mansion around them was spotless. The housekeepers had done their job, and Linda had helped with the cooking so they could rest — maybe Ross's kindness had rubbed off on her after two years of working together.
"Speaking of the Sweetmonster—here he comes," Marie said under her breath, eyes flicking toward the staircase just enough for Linda to notice.
Linda's cheeks warmed instantly. Ever since Marie had joked about "fighting for their love," Linda couldn't help but feel a nervous blush.
"Hi, ladies," Ross said quietly. His voice was calm, not groggy — just soft.
"Hi," Linda answered, her tone shy but genuine.
Ross scanned the table, looking for something to grab in the name of a "quick breakfast." Marie rolled her eyes slightly — she knew this routine all too well.
"The pancakes are right over there," she said, pointing lazily toward a covered container. The other hand stayed loyal to the bag of ice on her forehead.
"Thanks," Ross said, uncovering it.
Linda and Marie exchanged glances — Marie's eyes practically said, "Told you to make pancakes first."
Silence engulfed the kitchen,Ross never made any sound. A silent eater at best.
"Where did you say you're going again?" Marie asked.
"To meet an ex-employee from Axis Industries at an elderly home," Ross replied.
" How did you find him,Many have tried but failed.?"
"I found a name that matched one of Dad's old scholarship programs. She changed her name, but DNA confirmed it's the same person."
"Even dead,dad's still helping us," Marie muttered. "Legends don't die, huh?"
Ross smiled faintly. "We contacted him.He agreed to meet at an elderly center in Brockville."
Squeak!
The door from the sitting room opened, bringing with it an uneasy hush. A figure stepped in — one they both pitied, one they had hidden the company's situation from.
Their mother.
She walked in slowly, wearing a faint smile.