The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 562: Where Dust and Shadows Linger

My first step felt heavier than I expected, the cracked ground shifting under the weight of my boot. The cracks whispered, releasing a hiss of stale air. I ignored it. One step after another, I walked, letting my posture settle into that quiet alertness that had become second nature over decades of walking uncertain paths. The horizon didn’t seem to grow closer, but I didn’t let that deter me. If this was a half-realm, illusions might distort distance. I wouldn’t know until I tried.

As I moved, dust rose in little puffs around my feet. Some of it clung to the hem of my coat, painting it a dull gray. My breathing steadied, each inhale tinged with that faint metallic tang. The emptiness pressed in on me, but I refused to let it intimidate me. I’d walked alone many times, in many sorts of deserts and labyrinths, both literal and metaphorical. Loneliness was an old companion.

A shape flickered at the corner of my eye—another hallucination, or perhaps a trick of this realm’s shifting perspective. I halted briefly, scanning the ground, but saw nothing but a swirl of dust. With a quiet exhale, I kept walking. Let the illusions come. I had no time for them.

Minutes, hours, I couldn’t say how long I trudged toward that rocky ridge. The sky’s hue never changed, always that anemic wash that left me guessing whether it was near dawn or near dusk. My boots scuffed over the cracked earth, occasionally dislodging small stones that skittered away. More than once, I wondered if I should be saving my energy, calling up a spell to conjure some protective ward. But I was too drained, my reserves dangerously low. Simple vigilance would have to do for now.

Eventually, I reached the base of the ridge. Up close, it wasn’t as tall as it had appeared from a distance. Perhaps that was another trick of the half-light. The rocks formed a jagged line that sloped upward, offering a modest vantage point over the surrounding wasteland. Carefully, I climbed, testing each outcropping for stability. The stone flaked under my fingers, but none gave way completely. Some stray memory told me I had done this a hundred times before, scaling cliffs or walls in pursuit of secrets or vantage. This felt no different, only the stakes were somehow greater.

At last, I hauled myself onto a relatively flat ledge. Turning to look out over the land, I could see the wide plains of cracked soil and the ghostly shimmer of heat or magic that warbled along the horizon. No sign of life, no sign of a settlement or even a ruin. Just emptiness. An emptiness that felt infinite, indifferent. A prickle of unease crawled up my spine, but I shoved it aside. If there was a way out, I’d find it. If there wasn’t… well, I’d make one.

A gust of wind kicked up dust, forcing me to shield my face. When it settled, I caught a glimpse of something far off: a faint distortion in the air, like a mirage dancing at the edge of vision. It could have been a trick of the light, or it could have been a vestige of the Tapestry’s tears. Without closer inspection, I’d never know. Grimly, I decided that was my next step. If the Tapestry had anchored any other threads here, maybe that distortion would lead me back to where I needed to be.

I stood there a moment longer, letting my mind wander to House Valemore—how the courtyard would look by now. Bodies, debris, that fading shimmer of magic, the raw tension between the Council and the Gravekeepers, and Lorik somewhere in the thick of it. If he’d survived, perhaps he was spinning some scholarly rhetoric to keep them at bay. Or maybe he was dead, and the last piece of knowledge about controlling the Tapestry died with him. I didn’t relish that idea. We might have been uneasy allies at best, but he was the only one I knew who understood the Tapestry’s deeper workings.

Then there was Draven.

Yes, I reminded myself, that’s who I am. Even now, exhausted and stranded, I refused to let the Tapestry define me as anything else. If it tried, it would find a cold wall of defiance. And if Belisarius emerged, if he tried to claim the world as his own, I would be there to greet him. One way or another, we would settle that old score.

A distant rumble caught my ear, faint but growing. It sounded like thunder, but the sky showed no clouds, just the endless, pale wash of an alien horizon. Something was stirring out there. Something big. Perhaps a storm of magic, or a roving beast twisted by the same forces that had cracked this land. I had no intention of waiting for it to find me. With a final glance around, I tightened my grip on my blade’s hilt—more a reflex than a strategy—and started down the ridge in the direction of the mirage.

Every step reaffirmed what I already knew: this place was dangerous. The ground sometimes lurched, as if adjusting itself under an invisible impetus. The air thickened in spots, forming pockets of pressure that popped in my ears. And that rumble, distant at first, was growing louder, an unsettling roar that might have been wind tearing through the canyons or something else entirely.

I marched on, forcing my posture to remain straight, my senses keen. If I was trapped here, the best chance I had was to move, to act, to take control. Let the Tapestry watch. Let it try to box me in. It had failed once already. It would fail again.

And Belisarius… Let him be out there, incomplete, uncertain. Let him try to cross the threshold into the world I inhabited. I’d be waiting. A grim satisfaction twisted my lips into something like a smile, though there was no humor in it. Just anticipation. If the Tapestry expected me to roll over and surrender, it had clearly not studied my nature enough.

I thought again of the final moments at House Valemore—Lorik’s desperate incantations, the Council’s bristling enforcers, the Gravekeepers’ lethal determination. And Draven, the man with a single cold mission: to enforce my will upon whatever threatened me. That was who I was. That was who I remained. And I would keep fighting until I forced fate itself to capitulate.

Perhaps that was pride. Arrogance, even. But if arrogance was the price for survival, I’d pay it. It had kept me alive this long, after all.

A breeze gusted again, pelting my cheeks with grit. Wincing slightly, I raised an arm to shield my eyes, then pushed forward. Every inch of terrain I conquered felt like a statement. I might be weary, battered, exiled to a land that seemed half-dead, but I wasn’t beaten. Not yet, and not ever.

As if in agreement, the distant thunder-like growl subsided for a moment, leaving a fragile silence. In that hush, I could almost hear my own heartbeat, steady despite the fatigue coursing through my veins. Each beat was a promise: I was alive. I was thinking. I was dangerous.

I turned my gaze to the horizon, taking in the landscape one final time before resuming my march. Somewhere out there, Lorik was either dead or bargaining his way to survival. The Council would be tightening its net. The Gravekeepers would be prowling for any chance to resurrect Belisarius—or harness the Tapestry’s power for their own ends. None of them understood that I had no intention of letting this story close without me writing the final lines.

And Belisarius…

For the briefest moment, I saw his face again, half-formed in the lingering echoes of the breach. Not whole, not yet. But close. Dangerously close. It took everything in me to keep the scowl off my face. If he appeared, I’d face him. If he remained a phantom, I’d find a way to banish him once and for all. Either way, this wasn’t finished.

Too close.

A grim chuckle escaped my throat, though it was devoid of warmth. My footsteps carried me forward, one after another, in a cadence that matched my unwavering resolve. I could still taste the grit of dust on my lips, feel the dryness in my throat, sense the ache in every muscle. But none of it mattered. What mattered was that I still had a move to make—this game wasn’t over. Not while I stood upright and could still shape my mana into a blade or a shield.

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I exhaled, rolling my shoulders, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over me. Whatever had begun at House Valemore was far from over. The Tapestry was unraveling, and I was no longer merely an observer.

I was a player.

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And I intended to win.