CHAPTER 60: 57: TEA PARTY UNDER A BROKEN SKY.

"That’s a rather interesting question."

Edward instinctively braced when he heard the voice, expecting to feel the same pain that he had just felt moment ago. It was a primal instinct really, all of his reasoning screaming at him that this entity that was in front of him, wasn’t meant to be here.

Thankfully, his worries ended up being empty when nothing happened even after a minute passed, not even the smallest prickle could be felt.

His breath was still coming in heavy, despite that, he slowly lowered his arms, looking at the... thing that had just spoken to him.

"Raum." The old man said. "Just call me Raum."

Then he snapped his fingers, and all of a sudden Edward felt his pupils be assaulted by a ray of light.

A brilliant explosion of light enveloped the world, swallowing them whole as it reached its crescendo.

He blinked, reeling in shock as his vision came to focus.

When the light died down, the empty void of space was nowhere. Instead, what lay in-front of Edward was a sprawling meadow, the waves of grass dancing along with the cool breeze that came in from the west.

The sun was descending into the horizon, painting the world a brilliant shade of gold.

And most importantly perhaps, the sky, it looked broken. Literally.

There were cracks running through the vast emptiness of the sky, something that resembled a black goo oozing out of the crevices as it pulsed with a rhythmic intensity.

Edward blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with the events that was unfolding currently.

Raum straightened, and with leisurely steps, walked past Edward.

"Come."

Edward hesitated, his mouth still hanging open as he turned to look at the old man.

There was an ornate table and a couple of chairs in a raised platform behind them.

Raum beckoned him over, pulling back a seat for him as he waited for Edward to get up from the ground.

Edward, still puzzled and more than a little shaken, pushed himself off the ground. His legs felt like jelly, but he forced them to move. Each step toward the platform made the world around him ripple—subtle distortions bending the grass, the light, even the air itself as though the meadow were only a thin cloth stretched over something unthinkable beneath.

He reached the table.

Up close, the furniture was even stranger. The table was carved from a pale white wood, its surface etched with symbols that shifted whenever he looked away. The chairs themselves didn’t cast shadows—only faint distortions on the gold-drenched grass.

Raum stood beside one of them, smiling like a kindly grandfather who had invited him for tea.

The contrast made Edward’s skin crawl.

"Please," Raum said softly, gesturing to the chair. "Sit. You’ve had a long day."

Edward swallowed, his throat dry. "Wh–where are the others?" His voice was smaller than he intended.

Raum smiled wider, the wrinkles along his face folding like creased parchment.

"Safe," he said simply. "For now."

That... didn’t reassure Edward at all.

Still, he sat. The moment he did, the chair adjusted under him, molding itself exactly to the shape of his body. He jerked in surprise—but Raum merely chuckled.

"Relax, child. If I wanted to harm you, you would not be speaking right now."

Terrifying. That was supposed to be reassuring?

Raum took the seat opposite him. The sun behind him flickered—as though it were only a painting someone forgot to finish. The cracked sky above stretched wider, a faint groan echoing across the horizon, like glass grinding under pressure.

Edward hugged his arms to his chest.

"What is this place?" he whispered.

"A question deserving many answers," Raum murmured. "But for now... think of it as a middle ground. A space between myself and your little reality."

He tapped the table once.

A tea set materialized—smooth porcelain painted with gold vines. Steam rose from the delicate cups as though they had been poured moments ago.

Edward flinched.

"I didn’t summon anything," Raum added gently, noticing the reaction. "I merely adjusted the environment. After all, hospitality is important, is it not?"

Edward didn’t touch the tea.

Raum didn’t seem offended. He folded his hands, his old bones cracking softly.

"You have many questions," he said. "And I will answer some. But first—" he tilted his head, studying Edward like a curious collector.

"Do you know why I brought you here?"

Edward’s mind blanked.

"Because... I saw something?" he guessed. "The illusion? The creature behind it?"

A chuckle.

"Partially."

Raum leaned in, his milky eyes sharpening as though turning clear for a split heartbeat.

"But more importantly... you are finally awake enough to see me."

Edward’s breath caught.

"What does that mean?"

Raum smiled without warmth.

"It means your story has begun. Truly begun."

A sound cracked across the meadow—like another fault splitting the sky.

Edward looked up, horrified.

The cracks above them were spreading faster. The oozing blackness pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat—or perhaps, he realized, with Raum’s.

The old man followed Edward’s gaze.

"Ah," he said lightly. "Pay no mind to the sky. That’s just... my influence."

Edward stiffened. "Your—what?"

"My presence is not kind to fragile realities," Raum answered pleasantly, sipping his tea. "But let us not get distracted. You asked what happened."

He set the cup down with a precise, elegant motion.

"You and your companions stumbled into something old. A creature that feeds on perception. One who hoped to swallow you all whole before you even noticed."

Edward shuddered.

"The... the illusion."

"Yes. A delightful little parasite—until it attempted to feed on what is mine."

Edward froze.

"...yours?"

Raum smiled again, soft and ancient.

"Everything that touches your soul, child, inevitably touches me."

Edward’s heart plummeted.

"What are you?"

At this, Raum’s smile faded—not into anger, but into something heavier. Older. His eyes hollowed, darkness swirling beneath the cataracts.

"That’s not important"

He leaned in forward.

"What is more important, is who you are."

The meadow dimmed.

Edward gripped the edge of the table, breathing shakily.

"Then... why me?" he whispered.

Another crack split the sky.

Raum began to smile again—this time small, soft, dangerously fond.

"Because, Edward..." His voice lowered to a velvet murmur.

"You are the only one who can see me clearly."

The ground beneath Edward trembled—whether from fear or Raum’s words, he didn’t know.

But he knew one thing:

He was in the presence of something that wasn’t supposed to exist.