Who Are You

Tom reappeared in his dreamscape, a frown creasing his brow as he caught the scent of blood. The smell made him want to gag. "Why is it changing again..."

'Hiss-hiss.'

A cold, hoarse voice echoed from a distance. Tom followed the sound, his feet sinking into the muddy ground that felt as if it had been soaked in blood, thick and nauseating. Forcing himself to ignore his surroundings, Tom stepped over piles of white bones and looked up at the figure that was gradually coming into focus.

Although the figure was much taller than him, the features made it clear: this was his future self, but with eyes as red as blood.

'Who are you...'

The young man seemed to find something amusing, a mocking smile playing on his lips as he paced back and forth. He replied in Parseltongue, 'You already know, don't you... Tom Riddle, you disappoint me so much... Crying is for the weak, and we should not shed tears...'

For some reason, Tom felt that this future 'self' was the one who had personally killed Abou in his dream that day. Thinking of that suffocating feeling, Tom pursed his lips in annoyance. He didn't want any of that to happen, at least not now. 'You're not me, you're just... a dream of mine.'

The smile on his lips widened, his handsome face contorting for a moment. The young man clutched his stomach, doubling over with laughter. After a moment, he straightened up abruptly, his eyes fixed on Tom with icy coldness. 'What a foolish and pathetic creature. What are you afraid of? If you're so sure I'm just an illusion, why are you scared? I... am your past, present, and future...'

'I am the existence you most deeply crave. Only by shedding your fear and moving forward with conviction will you avoid death, Tom Riddle... To become the king who stands at the apex, you must... relentlessly pursue power, destroy everything...'

Tom stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. He watched helplessly as the young man opposite him vanished, replaced by a thick black mist that enveloped him from behind. Long fingers reached out from the mist, taking his hand and whispering into his ear with a voice devoid of emotion.

'All are destined to die at birth. But we... are not those who struggle, drowning in fate. We... are those who transcend death, Tom Riddle. Do you think people like us will ever be loved...'

'There is only one thing you need, and that is instinct... If you don't want to be trampled underfoot and scorned as trash, then follow your instincts, make decisions according to your inner desires... The only one who can always stay with you... is me...'

Dazed, Tom was about to utter the spell whispered in his ear when he suddenly remembered the question, 'Will you regret it?' He violently yanked his hand away from the grip holding him. 'I am not you! And I will never become you in this lifetime!'

The young man shrugged indifferently, his blood-red eyes fixed on Tom. 'Is that so? Let's wait and see if you can truly do it... I will always be watching you...'

As the voice gradually faded, the young man slowly merged back into the black mist. Tom let out a sigh of relief, his hands trembling slightly. Everything was too bizarre; he had no idea why it was happening. Despairingly, he squatted on the ground and hugged himself. He couldn't ask anyone for help, couldn't find any answers. "This is too awful, truly too awful... Why is this happening..."