The World of Dark Souls
Ron sat motionless in a landscape that seemed to be a mirror of his own soul—a world defined by ruin and decay. Above him, a bruised purple sky was fractured by rhythmic pulses of multi-colored lightning, casting long, jagged shadows across the horizon.
This place looks exactly how I feel, he thought, his eyes tracing the jagged edges of the rubble.
"It's hard," Ron whispered to the empty air. "Letting go of the people who have walked beside me all this time… it's the hardest thing I've ever done."
Restless energy surged through his veins. Spotting a silhouette in the far distance, Ron didn't walk; he leaped. With a single, explosive bound, he cleared miles of wasteland in a heartbeat, landing heavily near the skeletal remains of a structure.
"There is something I still need to take from my house," he muttered, a bitter smile ghosting his lips. "Back to being alone again. Just like when she died."
He closed his eyes, the memory of her stinging like a fresh wound. "Dream, I wish you were here. When you left, I was devastated, but I found a way to survive. Now… I feel that same void opening up again. But I won't let Foster off easily. First, I hunt Kevin."
Ron looked down at his right hand, clenching it until his knuckles turned white. I have to master it. I need to control the prowess of these red eyes. And that man… my mind keeps returning to him, Ricky Racon. Who was he, really?
A cold drop hit his cheek. Then another. Within moments, a heavy rain began to fall, drumming a hollow rhythm against the scorched earth.
Ron stood, tilting his face toward the clouds. Rain? I've never seen it rain here before. He stood there, soaked to the bone and lost in the downpour, until the sound of approaching footsteps broke his trance. He didn't turn; he knew that gait.
"It's been a long time since the sky broke like this," Yardy said, his voice steady. "It's surprising to see you out here. Usually, you stick to the main graveyard. Today, you've wandered quite far."
Ron remained silent, his gaze fixed on the violet horizon. Yardy took a deep breath, his tone softening. "I don't know what's weighing on your mind, Ron. But from where I'm standing… it looks like you're crying."
Ron finally turned, offering a faint, weary smile. "I'm okay, Yardy."
"I might not have the answers," Yardy replied, "but if there is anything I can do, tell me. I will try my best."
"Thank you, Yardy. I needed to hear that."
"Should I inform Dr. Thomas that you've arrived?"
Ron shook his head. "No. I just need to be alone for a while."
Yardy nodded, though he knew better. Dr. Thomas will know you're here soon enough, he thought. Then, in a flicker of movement, Yardy vanished.
Ron stood in the tapering storm for a long while, feeling a strange sense of ease settle over his heart. As the rain slowed to a drizzle, more footsteps approached. He didn't need to look back to know his solitude had ended.
"Welcome," Ron said calmly.
"This is my world, yet you are the one welcoming me?" Dr. Thomas remarked. He was dressed in his signature lab coat, running a hand through his hair.
Ron glanced over his shoulder. "Nice look. You actually look like a doctor today."
Thomas chuckled. "I aim to please. But I am curious—what brings you so far from my headquarters?"
"I just wanted to see this world for what it is," Ron replied. His mind drifted back to Hero Town, his expression darkening with localized grief. He turned to leave, preparing to take flight, when Thomas's voice anchored him.
"Ron."
Ron stopped, but didn't turn around.
"You have to learn to live alone," Thomas said, the playfulness gone from his voice. "Some people are like parasites; they need a host to cling to. They tether their entire happiness to others. When those people leave, or fail to meet their expectations, they shatter."
Ron turned his head slightly, his face a mask of complex emotions.
"As a man, self-reliance is your greatest armor," Thomas continued. "Human connection is vital, yes, but you must be prepared for the worst. Life does not bend to your will, or mine. Hardship is inevitable, Ron. But it offers you a choice."
Ron listened intently, the wind whipping between them.
"First, it offers despair. Second, it offers wisdom. It is entirely up to you which one you claim. You can let the shadows consume you, or you can focus on the strength you've gained from the struggle."
Ron's eyes narrowed. "You're right, Thomas, but—"
"Dream is different," Thomas interrupted softly. "You and she… you both spent your lives in suffering. You were the only pillars you had. That is why your bond is what it is."
Ron's breath caught. "Did you ever have someone? Someone you loved?"
Thomas tilted his head. "What would you do with that information?"
Ron managed a genuine smile. "I just wanted to know if the great Wulkranoth was ever capable of it."
Seeing the smile, Thomas felt a brief flicker of relief. I hope he heals, he thought. He turned to walk away. "I'll leave that for you to figure out."
"Thomas, wait!" Ron called out. Thomas paused. "I remembered something. Can you teach me? I need to know how to control the crimson eyes."
The air suddenly turned frigid. Dr. Thomas's eyes widened as a memory surged unbidden to the front of his mind: standing before Ricky Racon, reaching out a hand for help, only to be met with cold indifference. He remembered the way the sun had silhouetted Ricky's face, leaving only those glowing, crimson eyes visible.
Thomas's eyes narrowed into slits, his entire posture stiffening into something predatory.
Ron felt a chill run down his spine. What's with that look?