Nine Cups

Cold.

Cyberlina felt a bone-chilling cold.

And a sharp pain from her internal organs.

But it was completely within her acceptable range. She even casually gestured to Dumbledore with her empty cup, smiling, "See, no need to worry—" Cyberlina paused, then immediately looked down at the cup, whispering, "Alright... it does have some power."

Before she finished speaking, she turned immediately, her hands trembling as she reached for another cup of liquid, trying to avoid the phantom figure standing beside Dumbledore. But the phantom wasn't fixed in one place; it moved with her gaze. Turning away was useless.

Cyberlina lowered her eyes, watching the liquid in the stone basin fill her cup again. She closed her eyes as she brought it to her lips.

But she could still see.

She could see those familiar, unfocused eyes, emitting a cold light, staring at her—then that face showed a flicker of pain, followed by helplessness—

"You did it anyway."

Cyberlina drank the third cup.

She felt as if she were burning from the inside out, pain in every part of her body, especially her throat. She desperately wanted water to extinguish the fire in her throat.

So she drank the fourth cup.

Dumbledore watched Cyberlina seriously, constantly observing her reaction. When Cyberlina stumbled after drinking her fourth cup, he immediately reached out and took the cup that slipped from her hand.

Cyberlina's eyes were tightly shut, her feet unsteady as she leaned on the stone basin. Her hands braced on the edge of the basin, her back arched, her body bent, her head almost buried in her chest, breathing rapidly. The emerald green light reflected on her face, making her heavy expression look utterly bizarre.

Dumbledore looked at her seriously, gripping the cup in his hand tightly. But he deliberately slowed his voice, asking with concern:

"Cyber, can you still go on?"

"Cyber... stop. You shouldn't do this."

"Shut up."

Cyberlina pushed herself up from the stone basin, leaning forward slightly. Her loose hair slipped unimpeded through the liquid, hanging into the stone basin. She took a few deep breaths, then extended a trembling hand towards Dumbledore.

The illusory scenes and voices repeated, each time getting closer to what she refused to think about.

"Cyber, calm down for a moment, listen to me."

"I told you to shut up!"

"Thank you, Albus, give it to me."

Her voice was almost gritted out, small and weak, yet containing a hint of ferocity that made it unclear whether she was exhausted or enraged.

Dumbledore silently placed the cup in her hand. At the same time, he stepped forward, standing beside Cyberlina, in a position where he could observe her condition and support her body at any moment.

"Cyber... dear, I don't want to argue with you, but you should know what I mean—"

"I told you to shut up! You're not his soul! Why are you making decisions for him! You're just—fake!"

"Clink!"

In the illusion, the ring with the black gem fell to the ground.

In reality, the cup was knocked over into the stone basin, the green liquid sloshing at the rim.

Cyberlina knew very well that these constantly repeating illusions were testing the things she could least tolerate. She also understood that the green liquid, while causing her physical pain, also deepened her feelings about those things, making her extremely distressed until she lost her reason.

But Cyberlina was sure she was still lucid.

Because she knew where she was, knew what she was doing, and could even use the physical and psychological pain to discern—there was a curse in this liquid—or rather, the liquid itself was a curse—it was like something made by crushing a Dementor and melting it into water, then burning it with Crucio and fire.

But it only seemed that way; it was mixed with quite a few curses that had a strong personal flavor.

Cyberlina could only say that this Riddle fellow was indeed a rare talent in curses and dark magic.

Dumbledore picked up the cup filled with liquid. As he hesitated, Cyberlina raised her hand and took the cup. She opened her eyes slightly and, under Dumbledore's worried gaze, smiled and drank the fifth cup.

But no matter how calm she was, she simply couldn't ignore the things dug up from her memories.

The illusion restarted because of her lucidity, and this time, it was obvious—the scene of the illusion began to clarify.

It was no longer an argument between a phantom man and woman.

It began to have a real setting.

A crystal coffin carved with characters older than Ancient Runes appeared before Cyberlina, her breath almost stopping.

A woman with half-white hair knelt before the coffin, holding a strangely shaped wand, carving characters onto the coffin. The ring with the embedded black gem lay by her leg. As she stopped and peered into the coffin—the black gem in the ring suddenly rose into the air, spinning three times—

Cyberlina desperately wanted to close her eyes, but she had already closed them. The illusion, which she couldn't avoid no matter what, made her feel powerless.

She felt a sense of disorientation, as if she were constantly switching between the roles of observer and participant.

The previous second, as an observer, she saw Ominis in the coffin, pale and quiet, with no trace of soul energy on him, and her past self with a numb expression. But the next second, she looked up and saw Ominis, also without soul energy, appearing from the Resurrection Stone.

The Ominis who appeared from the Resurrection Stone was much younger than when he had left. His eyes still looked like gems; though lifeless, they were clear, bright, and radiant.

Both Cyberlina and the woman in the illusion were immersed in it.

But Cyberlina quickly regained her senses because she knew that wasn't Ominis at all; it was merely a projection of his soul, the Ominis from her memory, a projection created by the Resurrection Stone according to her wishes to comfort her. But—

"You shouldn't do this."

Isn't it funny? The projection created according to her wishes actually came to stop her.

"Shut up!"

In the illusion, she lowered her head, still carving words.

Cyberlina knew she was deceiving herself. She knew the projection was right; the real Ominis wouldn't agree with her actions. But she couldn't accept it, couldn't accept that Ominis didn't want to bind his soul with hers.

Whether it was the Cyberlina of the past or the Cyberlina of the present, both clearly understood that Ominis's original intention wasn't that he didn't want to be with her, but she just couldn't accept it.

She couldn't accept that he rejected her.

Already immersed in the pain of losing him, she was now struck another blow.

Intense anger and amplified pain surged from her heart to her throat in an instant, a metallic taste filling her mouth. A searing burn accompanied the pain, making it impossible to breathe, speak, or think. Only the tingling in her fingertips, caused by the violent emotional fluctuations, made her realize she was still conscious, made her realize that a large part of the pain was fake—otherwise, the tingling wouldn't be so pronounced.

But it also made her realize that she was indeed still alive, alive alone.

"Calm down... dear, you know perfectly well what I think, so why are you..."

"You shut up."

"You shut up..."

The illusion and reality overlapped. The angry voice, when it reached reality, was incredibly weak.

For the illusion, the pain was real but false.

For reality, the pain was real, but nowhere near as potent as the intangible pain.

"Cyber... dear, calm down."

"...Shut up... you're not him..."

Cyberlina muttered as she lowered her head, the cup in her hand caught by Dumbledore just as it was about to fall again.

Dumbledore looked at Cyberlina, who was clearly unsteady on her feet. He silently put an arm around her shoulders. After hesitating for a few seconds with the cup, he reached into the stone basin, refilled the cup with liquid, and brought it to Cyberlina's lips.

Cyberlina resisted, yet eagerly drank the sixth cup of green liquid.

"Listen to me, Cyber."

The projection from the Resurrection Stone crouched down as if it were truly alive, tilting its head, its hands searching as if to cup the woman's face, but unable to touch it. It spoke with slight disappointment, its voice gentle, but its words were utterly resolute.

"You and I both know I won't come back. No matter how much effort you put in, it's useless."

"No!"

The woman's eyes, red from sleepless nights, stared intently at the man's phantom.

"You also know my abilities. You know I can do it."

"Precisely because I know, that's why I said not to waste your abilities on something like this."

The woman was enraged by this remark and suddenly stood up, her shoulders and body passing through the man's ethereal hands.

"Shut up! Don't say things like that anymore! If, if I can't even bring you back—"

"Cyberlina!" The man's tone seemed to turn serious. "Have you forgotten what I said before I died!"

Cyberlina held her breath, biting her lower lip as she watched Ominis's phantom stand up before her. Anger was on his face, and his unfocused eyes held a hint of disappointment.

"You promised me you would abide by my dying wish..."

"I don't want to, Omi... I don't want to..." Cyberlina's voice trembled.

"I am willing to follow your wishes, but only when you were alive!" the woman cried hoarsely. "You could still be by my side! You could still—"

"Then why didn't you tell me when you were alive?"

"And then what? You wouldn't have said a word to me!"

"How can you be sure I wouldn't have spoken to you?"

"Because that's just how you are! You always keep things bottled up inside, only speaking when I push you to it!"

"Then push me! Make me say it!"

The illusion fell silent.

Cyberlina lowered her head, suppressing the heat in her eyes.

"I'm scared... Omi... I'm scared..."

"If you really... stopped talking to me, what would I do?"

"How could I not talk to you?"

"Every time we argued before, you wouldn't talk to me for a while. This involves your final wish! If I don't agree, you definitely won't talk to me until the very end!"

"I... you—"

The man habitually lowered his head slightly, turning halfway around in a flustered manner, and looked back at the woman.

"We were together for over twenty years, not twenty days! Why are you always so foolish at times like this! Aren't you the one who's best at knowing what others are thinking!"

"But I just don't know what you're thinking! I tend to overthink things with you! My brain just doesn't work properly when it comes to you, so what!"

"Cyber..."

"Just shut up! I'm serious, shut up, imposter! You're just fake! You can't possibly understand what it feels like for the person you love to give you their dying words! Ha! Can you imagine? Ominis, that guy! Telling me his dying words while he was still breathing?!"

"I'm scared... Omi..."

"I really didn't want to agree, I didn't want to agree, but I'm scared. If I don't agree, he won't even leave me with the last moments..."

Cyberlina breathed heavily, she saw her clenched fists—ugly hands covered in bloodstains, just like decades ago. Her vision began to blur, and she covered her face with her hands—she always lost control in front of Ominis, she always let Ominis see her most unbearable side, she always—messed up in front of Ominis, messed up everything.

It should have been a warm farewell with the help of the Resurrection Stone, but she still messed it up, messed up everything.

In front of Omi.

Once again, and again.

Countless times.

"No... don't make me see..." Cyberlina whimpered.

Dumbledore was shocked. He had never seen Cyberlina so distraught. Even at Mr. Ominis's funeral back then, she had only stood there quietly and upright, wearing a black veil. He held the unsteady Cyberlina as she sat down, stared at the glowing green cup in his hand for a few seconds, then gritted his teeth and brought it to Cyberlina's lips again.

The eighth cup.

The burning sensation in her throat subsided, but the pain intensified. Yet, this seemed to act as a balm for those grief-stricken emotions—she stopped herself from breaking down, allowing only sadness to spread within her heart.

She knew what her Omi said next.

She had experienced all of this.

She knew.

She began to hate herself for still having a shred of reason.

"Cyber, why didn't you argue with me earlier?"

Ominis's hand reached out to her, but it passed through her arm, through her hand, through her now white hair.

"Dear... why... didn't you say these things when I was still alive?"

Ominis's voice was choked with sobs. Cyberlina couldn't hold back anymore. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, her lower lip was already bitten through, and the taste of blood in her mouth became strong again. She leaned forward slightly, but could only touch emptiness, not even feeling his body pass through her.

Pain, so much pain.

Cyberlina felt her entire soul tremble with pain.

Yes, why... why didn't she express her emotions to Omi in the end, why... only at the very end... only when seeking solace by the Resurrection Stone did she realize this.

Was Omi also waiting for her to explode, to vent?

She thought Omi always kept his emotions bottled up, only spitting them out when pushed to the brink, so wasn't she the same in his eyes?

Always, always, always—he was the one who tolerated her, who guided her.

Did she, perhaps, disappoint him when he left?

Why... why did she only understand this so long after he was gone?

Why didn't she say "I'm sorry for disappointing you" to his face, then frantically pour out her heart about how she couldn't leave him at all, and finally tear up all those damned last words, scattering them on his face, telling him that this old lady really didn't want to hear, didn't want to remember, didn't want to obey—

But it was too late.

Cyberlina hated herself so much.

Hated herself for understanding too late.

She wanted Ominis's broken soul, which had been fractured for almost a lifetime, to be whole.

She wanted to see Ominis's dazzling soul one more time.

She wanted to tell him of her love and regrets.

Yet she failed.

Cyberlina opened her tear-filled eyes, letting the tears at the corners of her eyes fall. Her face was calm as she took the cup from Dumbledore's hand and drank the ninth cup of liquid under Dumbledore's shocked gaze.

Merlin's trials were too cruel. The vortex of time was always alluring, but one could not escape.

After her soul hit wall after wall, Cyberlina reached for temporal magic, which was simpler than soul magic, yet more profound.

She looked at Ominis's crystal coffin in the illusion, and through the magical traces attached to it, she looked at his pale face.

She couldn't help but look at him.

Nor could she continue to look at him.

She failed in her farewell to Omi, failed in the soul domain she was familiar with, and finally failed in the Ancient Magic she had used her entire life. Those magical traces that could touch the laws of time went against her wishes, treating her intense obsession as a joke, and with her reluctance, they pushed her further away from Ominis.

A chill swept through her body again. The bone-chilling cold slowly brought Cyberlina's reason back. She tilted her head back, a faint smile on her lips, and calmly watched the illusion shatter.

"Tom is indeed a gifted child," Cyberlina leaned on Dumbledore's shoulder, looking at the cup in her hand, a rich smile on her pale face. "Quite interesting."

Dumbledore pursed his lips and said nothing.

He knew Cyberlina too well. She had clearly approached it with the mindset of watching a child play, but the game had gotten out of hand. He was furious! He had told her not to underestimate Tom! Why couldn't she listen to him more!

Sensing Dumbledore's anger, Cyberlina turned to look at him and said helplessly, "I'm already like this, and you're still angry?"

Dumbledore looked at her expressionlessly, his mind filled with the image of her fragilely calling out Mr. Ominis's name just now. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to scold her. He just sighed heavily, then reached out and hugged her.

"You still have us, Professor."

Dumbledore's aged voice reached her ears, and Cyberlina felt the emotions she hadn't fully contained surge again.

She hugged Dumbledore back, resting her head on his shoulder, burying her face in his white hair, and closed her eyes.

"Mmm."