It was a hot summer day, and the fields were alive with the incessant chirping of cicadas. The nine-year-old boy darted through the tall grass, laughing as he chased the tiny creatures.
(How strange... I don't remember who I am, but this place it feels familiar, like a memory I can't quite grasp. I know I've been here before...)
The air was thick with nostalgia as if guided by instinct, let the familiarity carry him. His joy was interrupted when he heard a voice ,a soft, warm voice calling from the edge of the field.
"Akira, come! I've prepared some delicious watermelon and cold juice. It's perfect for a hot day like this."
He turned toward the voice and froze. Standing on the veranda of an old Japanese house, his grandmother waved to him. She was supposed to be dead. How could she be here? Yet, her presence filled him with overwhelming joy.
"Grandma!" he shouted, his feet carrying him across the field. He stopped only long enough to kick off his little slippers before climbing onto the wooden floor of the veranda.
His grandmother greeted him with a radiant smile, patting the spot beside her. "Come, sit, my little angel."
He eagerly grabbed a slice of watermelon, sinking his teeth into it. Its sweetness was a balm to the summer heat.
"Slowly, slowly," his grandmother chuckled, patting his back. "There's plenty more in the kitchen. No need to rush."
He swallowed the fruit, wiped his sticky hands on his shorts, and took a gulp of the cold juice. The refreshing drink sent a cool wave through his body, but something didn't feel right. He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something important.
(Why does this feel so bittersweet?)
He looked at his grandmother, her warm smile radiating unconditional love. Without thinking, he threw his arms around her. Tears spilled from his eyes, the realization hitting him like a crashing wave.
"It's all a dream," he whispered.
His grandmother stroked his hair gently, her voice soft but resolute. "Shh, my little one. I know what you're thinking. It's true... but I wanted to see you one last time."
He pulled back, his eyes wide with confusion. "What do you mean, Grandma? Is someone watching us?"
She shook her head, her expression turning somber. "Listen to me, Akira. You mustn't blame your parents for the way they've treated you. It's not their fault."
Anger flared in his chest. "You came to my dream just to talk about them?"
She placed a finger on his lips. "Hush, child. Soon, you'll learn the truth, and I hope you'll understand. But remember this....don't trust that man."
"The truth? What man?"
Before she could answer, the sky turned crimson, and a gust of wind swept through the field, lifting Akira off the ground. He clung to his grandmother, refusing to let go.
"Grandma, protect yourself!"
Her voice was calm amidst the chaos. "It's time for me to go. Just remember don't trust anyone, especially him. Find out the truth about yourself."
The world crumbled around him as he was torn away from her embrace. He looked back one last time, only to see something strange,something terrifying. A massive, chained book hovered where his grandmother had been. The book pulsed with an eerie, fleshy texture, its surface bound in chains that glowed faintly.
"What is this...?" He murmured, his fear mounting.
A voice emanated from the book—a chorus of voices speaking in unison. "We want to talk to you, Theodore."
"Theodore? Who's Theodore?"
"Don't play dumb. You know who you are," the voices said, growing louder.
"Enough! Send me back to the real world!" he shouted.
The book hesitated, almost as if it had emotions. The voices inside argued with each other.
"It's your fault he's angry!"
"No, we should explain properly!"
"Calm down and talk to him!"
Finally, one voice emerged, speaking with authority. "We're sorry. But you must trust us. It's important."
"Trust you? Why should I? You used my grandmother to manipulate me!"
The voices softened. "That wasn't us. It was truly your grandmother. She came to warn you about that man."
"What man?"
"Open the book and find out."
"I can't. I don't have the key," Theodore snapped.
"You are the key, boy! Stop being so dense and open it!" growled a deep, impatient voice.
Hesitant but curious, Theodore reached for the book. As his fingers brushed the chains, one of them snapped open. From within, a man emerged—a striking figure with long, golden hair and piercing blue eyes.
The man smirked, his presence radiating power. "So, you're still this weak, huh?"
"Who are you?" Theodore demanded.
The man chuckled. "From now on, call me Teacher. You'll need me. But first—wake up."
Before Theodore could respond, the man flicked his forehead. The world spun, and everything went black.
Theodore woke up, gasping for air. Sweat dripped from his brow, his chest heaving as he struggled to process the dream. Beside him, Belial's voice broke through his haze.
"My lord, I was about to wake you. What happened?"
Theodore didn't answer immediately, his mind racing with questions. What had he just seen? Who was the man? And what did it all mean?