NOVEL NEXT Chapter 217: 210
Just moments ago, Anastasia had been a storm of pure rage. Now, she was walking calmly beside Adam, a serene expression on her face.
The villagers who saw them were amazed.
They all knew Anastasia's temper. It was a legendary force in the village, a fire that, once lit, was almost impossible to extinguish.
Only her father, with his own formidable anger, could ever bring her to heel. Most people believed she had inherited her fiery spirit directly from him. But now, here she was, placid and quiet.
As they walked, Adam let go of Anastasia's hand. He had achieved his goal. He had seen the look of pure, impotent fury on Andrew's face as they left. A small, satisfied smile touched Adam's lips. Anastasia saw it and a warmth spread through her chest.
She misunderstood his smile completely. She thought he was happy to be with her.
They reached their house. Adam stopped at the door and turned to her. "Don't tell anyone at home what happened today," he said, his voice a quiet command.
He didn't wait for her reply. He just walked away, leaving her standing there. Anastasia watched him go, then, after a few seconds, she also went inside.
She found her parents, Ricky and Rachel, sitting at the table, waiting for them. Rachel rushed to her, her face etched with worry. "My son, where were you all day?" she asked Adam.
Adam sat down in his usual wooden chair. Everything in their house was made of simple, sturdy wood. "I spent my day as I always do," he said, his voice flat and uninformative.
Ricky and Rachel exchanged a look.
They decided not to press the issue. But then Ricky's eyes fell on Anastasia.
She was sitting quietly at the table, staring at the wooden surface, a strange, calm expression on her face. This was not the Anastasia he knew. Ricky was surprised.
"Anastasia," he asked, his voice gentle. "What happened to you?"
She looked up.
"Nothing happened," Anastasia said, her voice calm. She was happy. A quiet, hopeful feeling was spreading through her chest. She thought that maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright between her and Adam.
He had defended her. He had spoken to her. He had walked home with her. She had even managed to stop him from leaving the village, or so she believed.
She didn't know the truth. She didn't understand the being that now wore her brother's face. Adam was not in the mood to be stopped. He would not be stopped by anyone. Not by his sister, Anastasia.
Not by his mother, Rachel. Not even by his powerful father, Ricky. They were not his real family. They were just temporary obstacles, caretakers of a vessel he was borrowing.
He didn't even know his own real family, or if he even had one. He was a spirit, a being of immense, ancient power, who had taken over this body to escape a trap.
No one in this quiet, peaceful village knew this terrible, wonderful truth. And so, the night passed quietly, each member of the family lost in their own thoughts, their own hopes, and their own fears.
Adam went back to his room. The simple wooden walls felt both comforting and confining. He lay on his bed, his mind racing, planning his eventual escape.
A short time later, he heard a soft knock at his door. He recognized the footsteps. It was Ricky. He heard the faint sound of the gate outside being closed and latched for the night.
"Come in," Adam said, his voice a flat, emotionless monotone.
Ricky came inside and sat on the edge of Adam's simple wooden bed. The large, powerful man seemed to shrink in the small room, his usual commanding presence softened by a father's concern.
He looked at Adam, at the boy who was his son and yet was a complete stranger, and he spoke in a very low, loving voice, a tone he had not used with his son in a very long time.
"Adam," he said, his voice filled with a deep, quiet regret. "We know… I know… that we have not paid you enough attention. And I also know that you have changed. You have changed completely. You are very different now." He paused, searching for the right words.
"You are stronger. More confident. And… colder." The admission seemed to pain him. "I know I am to blame for much of it. But I want you to know… I am proud of the man you are becoming."
"Maybe I cannot do it," Ricky continued, his voice heavy with a truth he was only just beginning to accept.
His shoulders, usually so broad and straight, seemed to slump with the weight of his admission. "no one in this village can stop you from leaving.
The power you showed today… it's beyond anything I have ever seen." He looked at Adam, not as a father scolding a child, but as one warrior acknowledging another.
"But you can still try. Not for me. Try once, for your mother. Try to see what it means to live in this village, what it means to be a part of this family. Give us that much."
He did not say much more. He had said what he came to say. He stood up, the wooden frame of the bed groaning under his weight.
Then he left the room, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Adam alone in the darkness.
Adam lay there, staring up at the ceiling, Ricky's words echoing in the silent room. He knew, with an absolute certainty, that Ricky and Rachel would do everything in their power to keep him here.
They would try to bind him with love, with duty, with a sense of belonging to this small, isolated community. They would use every emotional tool at their disposal to make him stay.
But Adam had his own timeline, his own pressing agenda. He had to leave. The forces that had trapped him in Eric's body were still out there.
They were hunting spirits, and he was the greatest prize of all. This peaceful village, as strong as its people were, was not a fortress. It was a temporary sanctuary, nothing more.
He had asked for a year, a generous, almost absurd amount of time that had satisfied the chief's public condition. It had quelled the village's immediate fears and given him the space he needed. But in his own mind, he knew he would be gone much sooner. A month, at most.
That was all the time he could afford. The only condition that truly mattered was that he had to prove himself to the village. He could do that today if he wanted to.
He could shatter the mountain at the edge of the forest with a single thought. He could display a fraction of his true power and leave them all in terrified, unquestioning awe.
But a strange, unfamiliar emotion was holding him back. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in centuries, perhaps millennia. A sense of respect. A sense of obligation to the kind, loving parents of this body, the people who had wept for their lost son just before he had arrived.
And because of this strange, new, and inconvenient respect, he would give them a month. He would not tell them this, of course.
That was his secret. But during that month, he would do more than just prove his own strength. He would forge this entire village into a weapon. He would awaken their dormant magical powers, teach them to blend their incredible physical strength with the arcane arts.
He would make them so strong, so self-sufficient, that no one, no beast, and no invading army would ever dare to threaten them again. He would ensure that when he finally left, these people, this family, would be well-protected.
A deep, unsettling feeling had been gnawing at him, a premonition as dark and vast as the deep jungle that surrounded them. He had a sense that something terrible was coming.
He couldn't explain it, he couldn't give it a name, but he could feel it in his very soul, a dissonant chord in the symphony of the world. It was a feeling that had been with him ever since he had been reborn into this world, ever since the strange, coordinated attacks had begun inside the academy, ever since he had felt the touch of the Apostle's power on Void and his disciples.
The world was changing.
Ricky waited for a response. He watched Adam's face, searching for some sign of acceptance, some flicker of emotion. But there was nothing. Adam's expression was a blank, unreadable mask.
Seeing that the boy was not going to say anything more, Ricky let out a quiet sigh. He had done what he could. He stood up from the edge of the bed and turned to leave.
But just as he reached the door, Adam's voice, quiet and low, broke the silence.
"I make no promises," he said. "But I will try."
Ricky stopped, his hand on the door latch. A slow, relieved smile spread across his face. He nodded once, a gesture of thanks and understanding, and then left the room, a new hope blossoming in his heart.
He did not hear the rest of Adam's words, spoken so softly they were barely a whisper, meant only for himself. I will try to keep them safe.
Ricky walked out of the room feeling a profound sense of relief. He thought he had finally convinced his son to stay. He believed that with time, with love and attention, the strange coldness in Adam would thaw, and the boy he once knew would return.
He was wrong. He had no idea that the boy he was trying to save was already gone, replaced by a being far older and more powerful than he could ever imagine.