[Host! He's looking over here! He's looking over here! (⊙﹏⊙) What do we do, what do we do!]
The system's shriek exploded in Ares's mind, violently yanking him out of his thoughts on how to make their first contact naturally.
Just then, after the bullies had run off, Tom Riddle—the future Dark Lord—seemed to have noticed other movement deeper in the alley. He suddenly turned his head, and those deep, black-pool eyes locked precisely onto Ares, who was huddled in the shadows.
Icy rain slid down Ares's platinum-blond hair, streaked with several jarringly reddish-brown strands, and dripped into his heterochromatic eyes, bringing a stinging sensation. But he did not dare blink and nearly held his breath.
There was none of the panic or curiosity expected of a child in Tom's eyes. There was only a complete, predator-like scrutiny and coldness. He had just used some unknown force to drive off those who had bullied him. The aura of it had yet to fade, making him resemble a wounded young beast bristling with spikes—yet one that was extraordinarily dangerous.
Ares could feel the golden Blood Pact Mark beneath his left eye growing faintly hot, as though resonating with something.
"Uh..." Ares opened his mouth, but his mind was completely blank. The system was still frantically flooding his vision with all kinds of panicked emoticons, utterly useless.
Tom said nothing. He merely watched him quietly, his gaze like an icy probe that seemed determined to peel away Ares's bedraggled exterior and pierce straight into his soul. His right hand, tightly clutching the stone, lifted slightly, as though he were ready at any moment to use that immature yet frightening magic again.
Conflict was about to erupt.
[Mission! Mission! (;′??Д??`) Non-hostile contact! Host, do something quickly! Act cute? Play dumb? Or just faint outright?]
Act cute? In front of Tom Riddle? Ares felt the system had probably short-circuited.
Amid that suffocating silence, Ares slowly raised his right hand as though possessed—not into a fist, nor in any threatening gesture. He simply spread open his palm, facing it upward and allowing the cold rain to fall into it.
It was a tiny gesture of weakness.
He still did not speak, because he knew that any carefully fabricated lie could be riddled with flaws beneath such a gaze. He merely looked back at Tom with his unique eyes—his left eye, a brilliant blue like skies clearing after rain, carried a trace of innocence and goodwill; his right eye, gray-black like the gloom before a storm, was unfathomably deep, as though it held secrets far beyond his age.
Light and darkness coexisted upon that still-young face, contradictory yet harmonious.
Tom's gaze was indeed firmly drawn to those heterochromatic eyes. The coldness and wariness in his eyes seemed to freeze for a moment, and an exceedingly faint crack appeared. Clear surprise flashed within them, even a trace of... an indescribable shock at finding one of his own kind?
He had never seen eyes like those before. Not even in those frightening stories about freaks and wizards.
What was this person hiding in the depths of the alley, soaked to the bone and looking even more miserable than him?
Time seemed to pass for a very long while, yet it also seemed like only an instant.
Tom's tense body relaxed by the slightest imperceptible degree, but the vigilance in his eyes did not fade completely. At last, he spoke. His voice was as calm as when he had faced the bullies, though less sharp and more probing.
"How much did you see?"
Ares's heart skipped a beat. Here it was—the deadly question.
He pressed his pale lips together and carefully answered in a child's voice that trembled slightly—half from cold, half from nerves. "I... I saw them run away."
He avoided the important details and said nothing of that strange "magic."
Tom stared at him, seemingly judging whether his words were true. His gaze moved from Ares's heterochromatic eyes to the golden mark beneath his left eye, faintly visible even through the rain, before finally falling upon his worn clothes, which were hardly any better than Tom's own.
"You're not from around here." Tom made it a statement rather than a question. He knew the orphanage and its surroundings inside out.
Ares silently gave Tom's powers of observation a thumbs-up, then grumbled to the system, "See? I told you sneaking in wouldn't be so easy."
[(｀?ω?′) Host, don't be afraid! According to this system's scan, the target's curiosity about you has already exceeded his hostility! That's a good sign! Hurry, strike while the iron's hot!]
How was he supposed to strike while the iron was hot? Ares felt a little desperate.
At that moment, an even fiercer gust of cold wind swept through the alley, carrying icy rain that lashed against the two scrawny children. Ares could not stop himself from letting out a huge sneeze, his entire body shaking like a fallen leaf in the wind. This new body of his seemed particularly sensitive to the cold.
That sneeze broke the tense atmosphere between them.
Tom frowned, seeming slightly impatient with the weakness Ares displayed, but the last trace of aggression in his eyes faded as well. At the very least, this strange person did not seem threatening in any way.
He stopped looking at Ares, silently stuffed the stone into the pocket of his worn coat, then turned around, preparing to leave the gloomy alley.
"W-wait!" Ares called out to him instinctively.
Tom stopped and half turned, casting him an inquiring glance.
Ares's mind raced. Contact! He had to establish a connection! He suddenly remembered the "local currency" the system had mentioned earlier. Though he did not know exactly what form it would take...
He thrust his hand into his soaking-wet pocket and silently called out, "System, reward, currency. I need it now!"
[Ding! (??????)?? Novice Care Package being distributed...]
His palm grew slightly heavier, and Ares felt several hard, round objects. He pulled them out. They were several British Shillings that looked rather old. In this era of economic depression, that counted as a "fortune" for a child.
Ares opened his palm to reveal the coins, trying his best to make his expression look sincere and harmless. "I... I'm lost. I'm cold. Could this... get you to take me somewhere I can shelter from the rain and eat something hot? I'll split it with you."
He selectively "forgot" the system's warning about not exposing anything abnormal. A lost child with a little money but nowhere to go—this identity seemed plausible enough.
Tom's gaze fell upon the coins and lingered for several seconds. Money was hard currency at any time, especially at Wool's Orphanage. Then his eyes returned to Ares's face, particularly those heterochromatic eyes.
His expression was incredibly complicated. There was the instinctive calculation over money, suspicion regarding Ares's origins, but even more than that, a deeper interest that had been stirred. This suddenly appearing "kindred" with strange eyes and markings, who also seemed to have a little money...
Silence spread between them again.
Just when Ares thought he would refuse, Tom spoke flatly, his voice still devoid of warmth.
"Follow me."
With that, he did not linger. He walked straight toward the alley exit, his footsteps steady, as though nothing had happened.
Ares froze for a moment, then immense relief surged through him. He hurriedly clenched the coins and jogged after him, cautiously keeping one or two steps behind.
[Yeah! ?(????)? Mission "Beginning of the Anchor" complete! Reward issued: Basic Magic Stabilization Technique transmitted! Currency advanced—it's the shillings in the host's hand!] [Host, you're amazing! You actually thought of using money to clear the way! It's a little vulgar, but it worked! (★ ω ★)]
Ares had no time to pay attention to the system's belated praise. He followed behind Tom, watching that small yet ramrod-straight back and feeling the new knowledge in his mind about how to calm the intertwined light and dark magic within him. His feelings were complicated.
The first step had finally been taken.
But as he looked at Tom's blurred figure in the rain, Ares knew this was only the beginning. Tom Riddle was like a heavily guarded castle, and perhaps he had only been permitted to stand at the edge of its moat.
To truly enter that castle, he would need more time, more patience, and... more "miracles."
The rain continued to fall. One tall figure and one small figure walked in silence, one after the other, toward the heavy gates of Wool's Orphanage. At that moment, the gears of fate slowly began to turn.
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