So that was it.
Only now did Tom understand. Voldemort had never intended to keep his promise from the very beginning. Even if he truly handed Harry over to Voldemort, his fate would not have changed in the slightest.
He would still be devoured by Tom Riddle and become the vessel for his resurrection.
Countless memories flooded into Tom's mind.
Along with them came the emotions and sensations contained within those memories.
Those gray emotions were like a terrifying tide—cruel, selfish, and cold. He felt like a heartless predator. In his eyes, people were merely tools, servants, or enemies.
At the orphanage, he could hang the other orphans' pets without the slightest pity. It made him feel superior to everyone else, able to take away whatever was important to them whenever he wished.
After starting school, he cleverly learned another method. He began wearing a gentle mask, pretending to be a friend. He discovered that this made people lower their guard around him and made them easier to manipulate.
But whether he was talking or playing with them, he had never felt any joy. Only magic, and the power represented by magic, could fill the void in his heart.
Tom felt suffocated. He clung tightly to the sole year of memories that truly belonged to him. Amid the gray tide, those fleeting memories were like a shining pearl, giving off a faint glow.
But now, the gray tide stretched endlessly in every direction. Riddle's memories had already smothered that glimmer of light, and his despicable life was drowning him.
He watched Tom Riddle win everyone's favor with a false smile on his face.
He saw him ask Slughorn about Horcruxes. Finally, he saw him open the Chamber of Secrets and unleash the Basilisk to kill Moaning Myrtle.
Those memories filled