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Donald entered his home, his cane clattering softly against the wall as he let it go. He stumbled towards the couch, dropping onto it with a heavy sigh. The weight of the day pressed down on him, as he absently turned the ring on his finger. It was a subtle, almost unconscious gesture, but the ring felt heavier tonight.
"Not that it's doing much good," he muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips. The ring, a gift from Nero, was supposed to amplify his resilience and grant him a fraction of Nero's power. Yet, on days like today, it felt more like a token of sympathy.
"Wouldn't hurt to get some sympathy from a pretty nurse, though," he joked, imagining Sofia's reaction to his self-deprecation. She'd probably lecture him on the importance of self-care and offer to upgrade his cane with some fancy tech.
"Yeah, because what I really need is a cane that doubles as a Wi-Fi hotspot," he snickered.
He leaned back, closing his eyes and letting the silence of his apartment envelop him. His mind drifted to Nero and the others, wondering what they were up to. Likely some grand scheme or another, orchestrated with the precision only Nero could muster.
"Maybe next time, I'll convince them to take a break and watch a movie," he mused. "A nice, quiet night in. God knows we all need it."
The ring felt a bit lighter then, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifted by the thought of his friends and their unwavering support.
He got up and dragged his feet towards the bathroom. He felt sweaty after a long day. Once under the cold water, he remembered what Nero told him after explaining the System, Powers, and Memories of the other Nero.
"Donald, your identity is not as simple as it seems." Nero said.
Donald was taken aback, curious, but when Nero added, "I would like to tell you directly, but if I utter another word, it won't do you or me any good. But I don't want to hide anything from my closest friends, and if you want to hear it, anytime, you can come to me, but as your friend, I believe, it will be better if you don't learn it."
Donald's curiosity burned at the memory. He hadn't pressed Nero further at the time, sensing the weight behind his words. The cold water cascaded over his body, washing away the grime but not the thoughts swirling in his mind.
As he stepped out of the shower, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. "What aren't you telling me, Nero?" he muttered, his hand absently turning the ring on his finger.
He dried off and dressed in comfortable clothes, making his way back to the living room. He sank into the couch. The mysteries surrounding Nero, the System, and his own place within this intricate web weighed heavily on him.
Despite the uncertainty, one thing was clear: Nero trusted him. And in this world of shifting alliances and hidden agendas, trust was more valuable than gold.
He found himself remembering the days before he met Nero. In school, or on the streets, he was mocked and shunned. He remembered how lonely it felt. The isolation weighed on him, a constant reminder of his physical limitations. He turned the ring on his finger again, a nervous habit that had formed over the months.
Donald owed Nero his life. When he was at his lowest, Nero had appeared like a beacon of hope. The memory of their first meeting was vivid. He had been ready to give up, to let the world swallow him whole. But Nero had seen something in him, something worth saving.
"Hey, you look like you could use a friend," Nero had said, his voice calm and confident. It was the first time in a long time someone had spoken to him without pity or contempt.
Donald chuckled to himself. Trust Nero to cut through the bullshit. He had been so desperate for a kind word, and Nero had offered that and so much more. Friendship, purpose, and a place in his Familia. It was a debt he could never repay, but he tried every day to live up to the trust Nero had placed in him.
Donald's mind wandered back to the present. He knew there were secrets Nero kept, not out of malice, but perhaps to protect him. If Nero thought it was better for him to stay oblivious, he would respect that. Trust was a rare commodity, and he trusted Nero implicitly.
As sleep took him, Donald found himself in an old dream. Although he knew he was dreaming, he wasn't in control, more like a spectator. These dreams weren't new to him, but they had become more frequent after he received the Lightning Ring from Nero. He saw himself sitting in a vast hall, surrounded by people. The setting was grand and ancient, with high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings and chandeliers casting a golden glow.
Donald, now appearing as a muscular figure with long, flowing blonde hair and a beard, raised a massive tankard of ale. The hall echoed with laughter and the clinking of mugs as his companions, warriors clad in armor, roared in approval.
"Skål!" he bellowed, his voice deep and booming.
"Skål!" the hall responded in unison, the sound reverberating off the stone walls.
To his left sat a broad-shouldered man, his face etched with the lines of many battles. "... , you old goat, you drink like a fish but fight like a lion," he teased, his eyes twinkling with camaraderie.
Donald chuckled, clapping the man on the back. "And you, you big oaf, you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn without me," he retorted, his grin widening.
On his right, a striking woman with braided hair and a fierce gaze leaned in. "..., are you trying to drink the hall dry again?" she asked, her tone mocking yet affectionate.
He raised his mug high. "Someone has to, .... Besides, it's not often we get to celebrate like this."
The woman laughed, a melodic sound that added warmth to the hall. "Just don't pass out before the games start, ...," she teased.
Donald smirked. "Worry not, ... I'll be the last one standing, as always."
As the night wore on, the revelry continued. Stories of past battles and heroic deeds were shared, each tale more exaggerated than the last. A young warrior, barely old enough to hold a sword, approached with wide-eyed admiration.
"... , is it true you once fought a giant with your bare hands?" the boy asked, his voice full of awe.
Donald chuckled, taking a swig of his ale. "Aye, lad, and it was no ordinary giant. It was a frost giant, big as a mountain and twice as ugly."
The boy's eyes widened. "And did you really smash its head with a single blow?"
Donald leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Not just a single blow, lad. It took three. But don't go spreading that around. I have a reputation to uphold."
The hall erupted in laughter as Donald winked at the boy, who scampered off to share the story with his friends.
As the celebration continued, his gaze drifted to the end of the hall where a throne sat. On it was a figure cloaked in shadow, a presence both familiar and distant. He felt a pang of longing and a hint of sadness, knowing this was a place out of reach in his waking life.
He raised his mug one last time. "To friends and family, both near and far, in this world and the next," he declared, his voice tinged with a bittersweet note.
"To friends and family," the hall echoed back, their voices blending into a harmonious chorus.
The dream began to fade, the sounds and sights of the place dimming as Donald felt himself being pulled back to consciousness. He clung to the feeling of camaraderie and warmth, the sense of belonging that these dreams brought him.
Sitting up straight, Donald tried to hold onto the dream, but as always, it slipped away like sand through his fingers. "Why do I see these visions?" he muttered, then glanced at his leg. "Nero said my identity is not simple. How can a cripple like me have an identity worth hiding?" He wryly smiled and touched the ring on his finger. "Lightning. Illumination... Can I use my ring like Nigel and illuminate myself about my identity and dreams?"
He focused, concentrating on the power within the ring. His body tingled with electricity, the air around him crackling with energy. It thrummed with energy, a faint mix of green and blue glow emanating from it. Donald closed his eyes, willing the ring to show him the truth. The energy surged, spreading through his body, filling him with a sense of power and clarity he had never felt before. For a moment, he thought he might actually uncover the secrets that Nero hinted at.
"Come on, show me something," he whispered, concentrating harder.
Just as the vision started to form, a shadowy figure materialized before him, cutting through the burgeoning light. Donald gasped, the energy in the ring faltering as he took in the familiar yet enigmatic presence. The figure was the same one he saw in his dreams, sitting on the throne, shrouded in darkness.
"It is not time yet," the figure intoned, its voice echoing with an otherworldly resonance.
Donald's heart pounded. "Who are you? Why do you keep appearing in my dreams?"
The figure remained silent for a moment, then stepped closer. "I am a part of you, and you are a part of me. Your true identity will be revealed when you are ready, but not before."
Donald clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up. "But I need to know! Nero said—"
The figure raised a hand, silencing him. "Nero knows the burden of truth. He protects you because he cares. Trust in him, and trust in yourself. The time will come when all will be clear."
Donald felt a surge of defiance. "I'm tired of waiting. I want to understand now."
The figure's eyes glinted with something akin to amusement. "Patience, Donald. The path to understanding is not a race. It is a journey."
Before Donald could respond, the figure dissolved into mist, leaving him alone in his living room. The ring's glow faded, and he was left with more questions than answers.
He slumped back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. "A journey, huh?" he muttered. "Well, it better be one hell of a journey."
Sighing, he closed his eyes with his arm, "It at least proves that rings are really capable of great things. Can I at least fix my leg?" he muttered, his tone a mix of hope and skepticism.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the ring. "Come on, do your magic," he whispered, feeling the faint pulse of energy from the Lightning Ring. "If Nigel's ring can amplify resilience, maybe mine can do something similar."
The ring responded with a subtle warmth, spreading up his arm and into his body. Donald's heart quickened, excitement bubbling within him. "Imagine walking without this damn cane," he thought, clenching his fist as the energy intensified.
Moments passed, and the warmth turned to a mild discomfort. Donald winced but held his focus. "Alright, leg, time to see what you're made of," he challenged, gritting his teeth.
The discomfort grew sharper, and Donald's breathing became labored. "Come on, don't wimp out now," he urged himself, pushing through the pain. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he concentrated harder, willing the ring to heal his leg.
Suddenly, the pain spiked, and he let out a pained gasp. "Damn it, this better work," he hissed, his body trembling. Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, a light exploded in his mind, and he lost consciousness.
When he woke up, his clothes were stuck to his body, his sweat dried on him, and his leg was as painful as ever. "Damn it!" He cursed and punched his leg. "Is this also about my identity? How far does this curse go?" He sighed, looking at his reflection in the mirror. "A cripple with a mysterious past. Sounds like a bad novel," he muttered, rubbing his temple.
The ring on his finger felt heavier, almost mocking him. He glared at it, the frustration boiling over. "You were supposed to help," he spat, his voice echoing in the empty room. "Nero's power, huh? More like Nero's pity."
He slumped back onto the couch, closing his eyes. The dream, the pain, the cryptic warnings from Nero—it was all too much. His mind drifted to the early days with Nero. The man had a way of making the impossible seem plausible, of turning the most hopeless situations around. But this... this felt different.
A knock on the door broke his reverie. He considered ignoring it, but the knock came again, more insistent this time. With a groan, he pushed himself up and hobbled to the door, leaning heavily on his strong leg. He opened it to find Nero standing there.
Donald didn't say anything, just limped back inside, leaving the door open. Nero didn't need an invitation. He removed his shoes—Donald was particular about that—and walked inside.
Nero glanced around the room, noticing the disarray. "Rough day?" he asked, his tone light, but with an underlying concern.
Donald slumped onto the couch, rubbing his temples. "You could say that. Tried something new with the ring, but all I got was a migraine and a sore leg."
Nero nodded, settling into a chair across from him. "Pushing boundaries, as usual. What were you aiming for this time?"
"Trying to see if I could heal this damn leg," Donald muttered, frustration evident in his voice. "Guess I overestimated my abilities."
"Ambitious, as always," Nero remarked, a slight smile playing on his lips. "But Rome wasn't built in a day, my friend."
"Yeah, well, Rome probably didn't have a leg that felt like it was made of lead," Donald shot back, a wry grin tugging at his lips.
Nero chuckled softly. "Touché. But you know, sometimes patience and persistence are the best tools. Even for someone as stubborn as you."
Donald sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I know. Just... feels like I'm not making any progress."
Nero's gaze softened. "You're making more progress than you realize, Donald. The ring is powerful, but it takes time to master. And you've come a long way from where you started."
Donald massaged his leg, frustration etched on his face. "I don't think it's about my mastery or the ring's power. I think it's about my identity."
Nero's eyes widened, genuine concern breaking through his usual calm demeanor. "Tell me what happened."
Donald scrutinized Nero's face, searching for any clue that might help him make sense of the situation. "I tried to use the ring to illuminate my identity and the dreams I've been having. It started off okay, but then it got... strange. I saw a figure, shrouded in shadows. He said I wasn't ready to know the truth."
Nero leaned forward, his gaze intense. "What did the figure say exactly?"
Donald closed his eyes, trying to recall every detail. "He said he's a part of me, and I'm a part of him. That my true identity would be revealed when I'm ready, but not before."
Nero sighed, rubbing his temples. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened, is it?"
Donald shook his head. "No, it feels like every time I get close to understanding, something pulls me back. It's frustrating."
Nero's expression softened, and he placed a reassuring hand on Donald's shoulder. "I get it. It's a lot to take in, but you have to trust the process. Sometimes, the truth is revealed in pieces for a reason."
Donald met Nero's gaze, the frustration slowly giving way to determination. "I just want to know who I really am, Nero. I feel like there's a part of me that's missing."
Nero nodded, his voice gentle but firm. "We'll figure it out, Donald. Together. But you need to be patient. Rushing it could do more harm than good."
Donald sighed, leaning back against the couch. "I know you're right. It's just hard, feeling like I'm living half a life."
Nero gave a small smile, his eyes filled with empathy. "I understand. More than you know. But you have to trust that everything will be revealed in time. Focus on what you can do now, and the rest will come."
Donald chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're always the voice of reason, aren't you?"
Nero smirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Someone has to be. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow's another day, and who knows what it will bring."
As Donald settled back into the couch, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. He might not have all the answers yet, but with Nero by his side, he felt a little more prepared to face whatever came next.
Nero stood up, adjusting his suit jacket. "Remember, Donald, your strength isn't just in your abilities or your ring. It's in your resilience, your determination. That's what makes you who you are."
Donald nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. "Thanks, Nero. For everything."
Nero nodded, his expression softening. "Get some rest. We'll tackle this together, one step at a time."
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