Chapter XLII: Ripple
Night settles quietly over the city, the kind of night that feels heavier than usual, as if the air itself is holding its breath.
Ryujin lies on his bed, eyes closed, one arm draped over his chest. The room is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlight slipping through the curtains. The sounds of the outside world—distant engines, a barking dog, the hum of electricity—fade slowly as sleep pulls him under.
At first, there is warmth. A familiar warmth. He stands on soft earth, barefoot. The ground feels alive beneath him, cool and damp, like early morning grass after rain. The sky above is neither day nor night, painted in muted gold and pale blue. The air smells faintly of jasmine and old wood.
He knows this place. Before he can speak, a figure appears in front of him. His grandmother. She looks exactly as she did in his childhood memories—hair tied neatly at the back, smile gentle but firm, eyes sharp with a wisdom that never softened even when her voice did. She wears her usual simple dress, sleeves rolled slightly, as if she has just come from the garden.
"Grandma..." Ryujin breathes.
She smiles at him, but there is sadness behind it.
"Ryu," she says softly. "You've grown."
He wants to move toward her, but his feet won't obey. It's as if the earth is holding him in place, not unkindly, but insistently. She steps closer instead.
"You shouldn't let your lightning strike on the wrong tree," she says, her tone calm but serious. "Or it will affect a wildfire, as flames will intensify."
Ryujin frowns. "Lightning...?"
She raises a finger, gently tapping his chest. "Your emotions. Your decisions. They are powerful."
Her eyes lock onto his.
"You are an Aquarius, Ryu."
The words echo strangely, vibrating in the air long after she finishes speaking. Before he can ask what she means, the world trembles. The ground beneath him cracks—not violently, but silently—and darkness seeps through the fissures like ink in water. A cold pull wraps around his body, yanking him backward.
"Grandma!" he calls.
She doesn't move. She only watches him, her expression unreadable, as the void opens fully and swallows him whole. The fall doesn't feel like falling. It feels like being erased. Sound disappears first. Then sensation. Then thought itself begins to blur, stretching thin like glass under pressure.
When awareness returns, Ryujin is no longer alone. He stands in a narrow corridor, walls slick and reflective like polished obsidian. A pale blue light pulses faintly overhead, flickering as if uncertain whether it should exist at all.
Ahead of him, two figures stand. One is familiar. A senior from school—older, taller, someone Ryujin recognizes instantly even though his name refuses to surface. The senior's posture is stiff, his movements unnatural, like a marionette tugged by invisible strings.
The other figure makes Ryujin's skin crawl. A young girl. She looks too young to be standing there—small frame, innocent face, hair tied in playful ribbons. But her smile is wrong. Too wide. Too deliberate. Her eyes gleam with something sharp and predatory. She circles the senior slowly, whispering things Ryujin can't hear. The senior nods again and again, his face empty, hollowed out.
"Stop," Ryujin says, stepping forward.
Neither of them reacts. The girl lifts a finger and gently presses it against the senior's forehead. Blue veins of light spread from the point of contact, crawling across his skin like frost. Ryujin's chest tightens.
"That's not—" he starts.
Suddenly, the air screams. A powerful blue aura erupts from beneath the floor, spiraling upward like a vortex. It wraps around Ryujin before he can move, cold and electric, lifting him off the ground. The corridor shatters. The girl's laughter echoes once—sharp, delighted—before everything collapses into blue.
He lands on solid ground. This time, he is standing in a ring. A circular platform stretches beneath his feet, smooth and seamless, glowing faintly with radiant blue light. The surrounding space is endless, a vast expanse of blue-white energy that hums softly, like a heartbeat slowed to eternity.
The atmosphere is calm. Too calm. Ryujin looks down at his hands. They glow faintly, lines of light tracing along his veins before fading again.
"Okay," he mutters. "This is definitely a dream."
A presence stirs. From the opposite side of the ring, a figure forms—tall, composed, cloaked in flowing garments that shimmer like water under moonlight. His hair is long and pale, his eyes deep and unreadable, reflecting galaxies within them. Pacificus.
"You were almost having a bad dream, Ryujin," Pacificus says, his voice smooth, resonant. "The second one is... something else."
Ryujin exhales slowly. "Figures."
He looks around. "Is that from our same universe?"
Pacificus tilts his head slightly. "Actually, we'll never know, Ryujin."
Ryujin frowns. "What do you mean?"
Pacificus steps closer, his feet not quite touching the ground.
"It depends on what your standing on will produce a ripple through your own timeline."
Ryujin blinks. "Yeah, timeline. Do we have something like that?"
Pacificus pauses. A faint smile touches his lips.
"Alright," he says. "I'll explain. But lemme change the atmosphere first."
He raises a hand. The ring dissolves. The blue void folds inward, reshaping itself like liquid obeying an unseen mold. Shelves rise from the ground, stretching upward endlessly. Books appear one after another, rows upon rows, spiraling into impossible heights.
They now stand inside a grand library. Warm light filters from unseen sources. The air smells of parchment, ink, and time itself. Marble floors gleam beneath their feet, etched with faint constellations.
Pacificus gestures to a nearby table and two chairs.
"Alright," he says casually. "You sit there. I'll sit facing you."
They sit. The chairs are surprisingly solid.
Pacificus folds his hands atop the table. "What do you mean by your query?"
Ryujin leans forward. "Look. Ripple and the timeline. How is that?"
Pacificus studies him carefully.
"I think you didn't think that quite carefully, Ryujin," he says. "What I meant can be interpreted literally... and philosophically."
Ryujin nods slowly. "Alright. Go on."
Pacificus leans back slightly.
"Literally," he begins, "the action you do in the present will affect the future. This is simple cause and effect."
He gestures, and an image forms above the table—a stone dropping into water, ripples expanding outward.
"One choice," Pacificus continues, "creates consequences. Some small. Some massive. Some immediate. Some delayed."
The image shifts—ripples colliding with others, distorting their paths.
"Now," Pacificus says, his tone softening, "philosophically..."
The library darkens slightly, the light turning introspective.
"Philosophically, a ripple is not just an action," Pacificus says. "It is intention. Emotion. Belief."
Ryujin listens intently.
"When you act from anger," Pacificus continues, "your ripple carries distortion. When you act from fear, it carries hesitation. When you act from clarity, it carries balance."
Books around them open silently, pages flipping.
"You do not simply move forward in time," Pacificus says. "You define how time responds to you."
Ryujin swallows.
"Timeline," Pacificus continues, "is not a single road. It is a river braided with countless streams. Your emotions determine which stream you drift into."
Ryujin's thoughts return to his grandmother's words. Lightning. Wildfire.
"Emotion," he murmurs. "That's the lightning."
Pacificus nods approvingly.
"And the wrong tree," Ryujin continues, "is the wrong decision."
"Exactly," Pacificus says. "Unchecked emotion strikes without aim. And when it does, it doesn't just burn one tree—it feeds a wildfire."
Ryujin exhales sharply.
"So you're saying... I should be careful."
Pacificus's gaze sharpens. "I am warning you."
Ryujin looks down at his hands.
"Be extra careful of your emotions," Pacificus says firmly. "They are powerful. More than you realize."
The library begins to fade.
"Remember," Pacificus adds, his voice echoing as the world dissolves, "clarity is not the absence of emotion—but the mastery of it."
Ryujin jolts awake. Morning light streams through the window. His heart pounds, his breath uneven. He sits up slowly, rubbing his face.
"Huh, it's just a dream," he whispers.
Yet the weight of it lingers. He moves through his morning routine almost automatically—eating breakfast in silence, taking a warm bath, letting the water wash away the remnants of blue light and whispered warnings.
By the time he steps outside, the world feels normal again.
At school, the routine welcomes him back—friends, classes, laughter, shared complaints, shared victories. The same old rhythm. But this time, Ryujin pays closer attention.
He listens more. Thinks more. Feels—but with caution. Because somewhere beneath the ordinary noise, he knows. Every step he takes leaves ripples behind. And the future is already listening.
15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡanaNMXDk7x
and then Add to home screen.