—CREAK—
Zhang Han Lu slumped against the endless table.
Leonard's hands—his hands now—dug into the ancient wood until the grain bit into his palms. His knuckles whitened. His chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven pulls of air, as though his lungs had forgotten the rhythm of breathing.
The words on the wall wouldn't leave him.
THERE'S NO ESCAPE.
They weren't there anymore, yet they still dripped inside his skull.
He let out a weak laugh.
—HAAH… HAH…—
"Of course," he muttered hoarsely. "Transmigrated into a damn fantasy novel."
The sound echoed, stretched thin by the vast emptiness.
"And not just any character," he added bitterly, "but the one with the goddess mother who could probably sneeze and level a city."
Silence answered him.
He straightened slowly, forcing the tremor out of his legs, forcing air into his lungs.
Calm down.
Panic wouldn't save him. Knowledge might.
He'd read Chronicles of the Dark Castle more times than he could count. He knew Leonard's life—every triumph, every scar, every tragedy.
And the moment he focused, he felt it.
Power.
A deep, humming presence beneath his skin, like a restrained storm. Shadows trembled at the edge of his vision, eager—obedient. This wasn't the pitiful magic he'd known before.
This was real.
This was terrifying.
But power came with weight.
Leonard's burdens pressed in from all sides:
A fractured empire teetering between the Bright and Dark Castles.
Siblings to protect.
Magicians who went mad chasing truth.
Gods who treated mortal lives like disposable pieces on a board.
And her.
Midnight.
The Lady of the Dark Castle.
His mother.
His stomach twisted violently.
"Survive first," he whispered to himself. "Worry about everything else later."
He paced along the infinite table. The ornate chairs stood unmoving, silent, their high backs looming like judges awaiting a verdict.
No doors.
No windows.
Only waiting.
He flexed his fingers.
A simple flame spell—one that used to sputter and die in his old life—ignited instantly.
—FWOOOM—
A steady blue fire bloomed in his palm, clean and controlled. Shadows leapt along the floor and walls, alive and responsive.
He stared at it.
Strong.
Too strong.
Then—
—CRRK—
The sound was faint.
Sharp.
Wrong.
Zhang Han Lu froze.
Hairline fractures crawled across the stone walls like living veins.
—CRRKKK—
From them seeped thin tendrils of red smoke.
At first, it was almost lazy—curling like incense in a temple.
He blinked. Rubbed his eyes.
"…A gas leak?" he muttered weakly.
But the smoke didn't smell like fire.
It smelled like iron.
Then it poured in.
—WHOOM—
Crimson clouds burst from the walls, flooding the space with terrifying speed. The air thickened instantly, heavy and metallic, clawing at his throat.
He coughed violently.
—HACK—HACK—
Shadows lashed out from his fingers on instinct, slicing through the smoke—
—but it didn't disperse.
It kept coming.
"What the hell—?!"
He staggered back as the haze swallowed the endless library. Left—smoke. Right—more smoke. Straight ahead—nothing but choking red fog.
No exits.
No air.
His back slammed into something solid.
—THUD—
A wall.
One that hadn't existed seconds ago.
His legs gave out. He slid down, chest burning, vision wavering.
The world began to bend.
The table faded.
The chairs dissolved.
The stone walls warped—
—and became wood.
Dim wooden planks closed in around him. A narrow hallway stretched ahead, lit by flickering gas lamps.
—BZZZT… FSSSH—
Pictures lined the walls.
Family portraits.
Vacation photos.
Moments of happiness—
—all ruined.
Faces smeared. Eyes gouged. Features scratched away by furious, unseen claws.
A sound cut through the haze.
—RIIING—
Sharp.
Insistent.
Old-fashioned.
Like a rotary phone.
It came from the room at the end of the hall.
His body moved before his mind could stop it.
Each step felt heavy, dragged forward by something unseen.
Whispers slithered into his ears.
You don't belong here.
A fool.
You were never meant to be here.
An intruder.
A thief wearing another man's life.
He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding.
"Shut up," he growled. "You're not real."
But doubt gnawed at him all the same.
The room resolved fully.
Small. Dusty.
A single table.
And on it—
An ancient black telephone.
—RIIING—RIIING—
It wouldn't stop.
His hand reached out.
Leonard's hand.
The receiver was cold against his skin.
"H-hello?"
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
He frowned. "Is this a joke?"
Then—
A voice answered.
Soft.
Feminine.
Warm as a lullaby.
"Hello, dear."
Ice flooded his veins.
He opened his mouth—
But she continued.
"I'd like to play a little game with you."
A pause.
"A game of riddles."
His mind spun. Fear clawed at him, but strategy flickered beneath it.
A game meant rules.
Rules meant possibility.
"O… okay," he said, forcing his voice steady. "I'll play."
—GIGGLE—
Light.
Delighted.
And utterly wrong.
"Oh, wonderful," she purred. "One riddle. Guess right, and I'll let you escape."
A beat.
"Guess wrong…"
Her tone dropped, velvet wrapped around a blade.
"…and you'll stay here with me. Forever."
His heart slammed against his ribs.
"Do you want to know the riddle, dear?"
"Y-yes," he whispered.
"Oh, splendid." Amusement dripped from every word. "Tell me… what do you call it when it's night, and the clock strikes twelve?"
A pause.
"Guess my name."
Night.
Twelve.
Mid—
"It's mid—"
—CLAMP—
A massive hand seized his wrist.
Cold.
Unyielding.
He looked up.
And up.
And up.
She towered over him—nearly eight feet tall—draped in flowing purple robes that shimmered like a starless sky. Ethereal chains bound four additional arms behind her back, restraining power that made reality itself tremble.
One visible hand held the phone.
The other—
A scythe.
Elegant.
Deadly.
"—night," she finished, her voice no longer confined to the line.
Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
Zhang Han Lu couldn't breathe.
This was terror beyond reason.
Beyond logic.
This was her.
Midnight.
The Lady of the Dark Castle.
Leonard's mother.
The woman who had plunged into the Black Sea armed with nothing but a kitchen knife—and walked out with the corpse of a dragon and the power of death itself.
She brushed the scythe along his cheek.
—SHIIING—
Cold metal kissed skin.
"My dear boy… Leonardo," she murmured. "You're shaking."
Her thumb traced his jaw.
"Are you scared of mommy?"
His mind went blank.
She leaned close, lips brushing his ear.
"Remember this," she whispered. "There's no escape."
A breath.
"And there is certainly no escape from me."
She released him.
He collapsed as her form dissolved into swirling red smoke.
—WHOOSH—
The haze vanished.
The hallway dissolved.
Sunlight streamed in.
Windows formed.
Walls solidified.
A worn couch caught his falling body.
He was home.
Leonard's home.
Footsteps thundered upstairs.
Voices.
Siblings.
Reality rushed back in.
Shaking, Zhang Han Lu forced himself up.
He couldn't let them see him like this.
He moved to the bathroom on instinct.
Cold water splashed against his face.
—SPLASH—
He stared into the mirror.
Leonard's sharp brown eyes stared back.
Tired.
Alive.
The corner of his mouth twitched into a weary half-smile.
"…I guess this is my life now."