Reflection in Heterochromatic Eyes

[Host! He looked over! He looked over! (⊙﹏⊙) What do we do, what do we do!]

The system's shriek exploded in Ares's mind, yanking him abruptly from his thoughts of "how to make first contact naturally."

Just moments ago, when the bullies had run off, Tom Riddle—the future Dark Lord—seemed to sense other movement deeper in the alley. He spun his head sharply, those deep, abyss-like black eyes locking precisely onto Ares, who was cowering in the shadows.

Freezing rain slid down Ares's platinum-blond hair (streaked with a few jarring reddish-brown strands), dripping into his heterochromatic eyes and bringing a sting. But he dared not blink, barely holding his breath.

There was no trace of childlike panic or curiosity in Tom's gaze—only a full, predator-like scrutiny and chill. He had just driven off his tormentors with some unknown power, and his aura hadn't faded; he stood like a wounded yet extremely dangerous young beast, bristling with spikes.

Ares could feel the golden Blood Pact mark beneath his left eye warming faintly, as if resonating with something.

"Uh..." Ares opened his mouth, his mind blank. The system was still frantically spamming various panicked emojis, offering no help at all.

Tom said nothing, just stared at him silently, his gaze like a cold probe, as if to peel back Ares's ragged exterior and pierce straight into his soul. His right hand, still gripping the stone, lifted slightly, ready to wield his immature but sufficiently intimidating magic again.

Conflict was imminent.

[Mission! Mission! (;′??Д??`) Non-hostile contact! Host, do something! Act cute? Play dumb? Or just faint?]

Act cute? At Tom Riddle? Ares thought the system must have short-circuited.

In that suffocating silence, Ares, almost by instinct, slowly raised his own right hand—not a fist, not any threatening gesture, just an open palm, facing upward, letting the cold rain fall onto it.

A tiny, submissive posture.

He still said nothing, because he knew any carefully crafted lie would be full of holes under that stare. He just gazed back at Tom with his unique eyes—his left eye a clear blue like the sky after rain, carrying a hint of innocence and goodwill; his right eye a gray-black like the gloom before a storm, bottomless, as if bearing secrets beyond his years.

Light and darkness coexisted on that still-young face, contradictory yet harmonious.

Tom's gaze was indeed firmly caught by those heterochromatic eyes. The coldness and wariness in his eyes seemed to freeze for a moment, showing a tiny, barely visible crack. A clear surprise flickered within, even a hint of... an indescribable shock of finding a "kindred spirit"?

He had never seen eyes like these. Not even in the terrifying stories about freaks and wizards.

What was this guy, hiding deep in the alley, soaked through, looking even more pathetic than himself?

Time seemed to stretch forever, yet also only a moment.

Tom's tense body relaxed an imperceptible fraction, but the vigilance in his eyes didn't fully fade. He finally spoke, his voice as calm as when facing the bullies, but with less sharpness and more curiosity:

"How much did you see?"

Ares's heart skipped a beat. Here it came, the death question.

He pressed his pale lips together and answered cautiously in a child's voice, trembling slightly (half from cold, half from nerves): "I... I saw them run away."

He dodged the issue, saying nothing about the strange "sorcery."

Tom stared at him, as if judging the truth of those words. His gaze slid from Ares's heterochromatic eyes to the golden mark faintly visible under his left eye even in the rain, then finally to his tattered clothes, no better than Tom's own.

"You're not from around here." Tom stated it, not asked. He knew the orphanage and its surroundings like the back of his hand.

Ares silently gave Tom's observation skills a "thumbs up" in his mind, then complained to the system: "See? I told you blending in wouldn't be that easy."

[(｀?ω?′) Host, don't worry! According to this system's scan, the target's curiosity toward you has already surpassed his hostility! That's a good sign! Quick, strike while the iron's hot!]

How was he supposed to strike? Ares felt a bit desperate.

Just then, a fiercer gust of wind swept through the alley, whipping cold rain against the two scrawny children. Ares couldn't help letting out a huge sneeze, shaking like a leaf in the wind. This new body of his seemed especially sensitive to the cold.

The sneeze broke the tense standoff between them.

Tom frowned slightly, seeming a bit impatient with Ares's display of weakness, but the last traces of aggression in his eyes faded. At least this strange guy looked completely harmless.

He stopped looking at Ares, silently stuffed the stone into the pocket of his shabby coat, then turned to leave the gloomy alley.

"Wait... wait up!" Ares called out instinctively.

Tom paused, half-turning to cast a questioning glance.

Ares's mind raced. Contact! He had to establish a connection! He suddenly remembered the system's mention of "local currency," though he didn't know the exact form...

He reached into his own wet pocket, silently chanting: "System, reward, currency, now!"

[Ding! (??????)?? Novice Care Package dispensing...]

His palm felt a slight weight, and Ares touched a few hard, round objects. He pulled them out—a few old-looking British shillings. In this era of the Great Depression, that was a small fortune for a child.

Ares opened his palm, revealing the coins, and tried to make his expression as sincere and harmless as possible: "I... I'm lost. I'm cold. Can this... take me somewhere to get out of the rain and have something hot to eat? I'll split it with you."

He selectively "forgot" the system's warning about "not revealing anomalies." A lost kid with a bit of money but nowhere to go—that identity seemed plausible enough.

Tom's gaze fell on the coins, pausing for a few seconds. Money was always a hard currency, especially at Wood Orphanage. Then his eyes returned to Ares's face, especially those heterochromatic eyes.

His expression was incredibly complex. There was instinctive calculation about the money, suspicion about Ares's origins, but more than that, a deeper, piqued interest. This suddenly appearing "kindred spirit" with strange eyes and markings, and apparently a bit of cash...

Silence stretched again.

Just as Ares thought he would refuse, Tom spoke flatly, his voice still devoid of warmth:

"Follow me."

With that, he didn't linger, walking straight out of the alley with steady steps, as if nothing had happened.

Ares froze for a moment, then a huge wave of relief surged through him. He quickly clutched the coins and trotted after him, carefully keeping a step or two of distance.

[Yay! ?(????)? Mission "Anchor's Beginning" complete! Reward dispensed: Basic Magic Stabilization Technique transmitted! Currency advanced (that's the shillings in your hand, Host)!]

[Host, awesome! You thought of using money to pave the way! A bit cliché, but effective! (★ ω ★)]

Ares had no time to pay attention to the system's belated commentary. He followed behind Tom, watching that thin yet straight-backed silhouette, feeling the newly acquired knowledge in his mind about how to calm the interwoven light and dark magic within his body—his mood was complicated.

The first step, at least, had been taken.

But looking at Tom's blurry figure in the rain, Ares knew this was only the beginning. Tom Riddle was like a heavily guarded castle; just now, he had perhaps only been allowed to stand at the edge of the moat.

To truly enter that castle, he would need more time, more patience, and... more "miracles."

The rain continued to fall. Two figures, one large and one small, walked one behind the other in silence toward the heavy gates of Wood Orphanage. The gears of fate, at this moment, had begun their slow turn.