Becoming a dull, empty puppet in front of his loved ones? Breaking their hearts without even caring?
That was a hundred times worse than whatever mind torture awaited him.
If he had to choose, he'd take his chances with the ones who wanted to pry into his secrets.
'…And I won't make it easy for them, that's for sure.'
A dark, spiteful look flickered across his face as his thoughts turned sharp.
"Hey, hold your horses, champ. Who said anything about you losing your emotions?"
"…Ah?" Ashen gave him a questioning look. Wasn't it you?
"That was my price. It won't be the same for you, obviously."
Ashen frowned. "And what's the difference?"
His older self smirked, almost mocking. "What's the difference? Oh, let me enlighten you; an ant's feelings are worthless. Who cares about who a 7th-step scrub loves or hates? The spell you're invoking certainly won't."
Ashen bristled at that.
On one hand, he was relieved that the cost wouldn't be as outrageous as losing his emotions. On the other hand, he hated how casually his feelings were being dismissed… by both his older self and this arrogant spell.
But what was he supposed to do? Hold a grudge against a skill?
…Spoken by the guy who literally threatened his own skill once.
Shaking his head, Old Ashen continued. "Man… I wish I had this ability back when I was a weakass."
Then, as if he hadn't just insulted himself, he casually gestured toward Ashen's golden pupils. "If I were you, though, I'd be more worried about that."
Ashen immediately understood.
"Weaver's Eyes."
"Yep."
Well. Now that he knew the alternative, sacrificing the Weaver's Eyes didn't seem so bad.
Hell, they'd only brought him misery since the moment he got them. And when the time came when he actually needed them? Out of commission.
Not to mention the part where they deemed him unworthy.
'Well, if I'm unworthy of you, then I don't need you either, ' he thought pettily.
His older self smirked. "Seems like you've made your choice."
"Yeah." Ashen almost grinned. "I'm willing to sacrifice the Weaver's Eyes."
Old Ashen raised an eyebrow, murmuring more to himself than to his younger twin, "Well… even without them, you'll manage. You're me, after all…"
Knowing that time was of the essence, Ashen was about to exit the dreamscape and invoke the spell right away.
But just as he turned, his gaze lingered on his older twin's face—those lifeless eyes.
He hesitated.
"…By the way," he asked, almost despite himself. "Why do you look so… dead?"
"…"
Ashen waited. When the silence stretched too long, he assumed he was being ignored and was about to drop the subject… until an unexpected answer stopped him cold.
"…You know, being overwhelmed by the influx of memories isn't the only reason they were sealed," Old Ashen said, voice eerily soft. "Ignorance can sometimes be a bliss, after all."
That dismissive tone only stoked Ashen's frustration.
"You can't know this, you can't know that—aren't they supposed to be my memories in the end?! Why can't I know!?"
His older self remained utterly unfazed, a stark contrast to his outburst.
"Haah… It seems you've got a misunderstanding here." Old Ashen exhaled, almost bored. "I will not answer all your questions. And I certainly won't baby you. If you're looking for a crutch to lean on every time a problem comes your way…" He met Ashen's glare with cold indifference.
"…then you might as well drop dead right now for all I care."
Ashen tensed.
"What's ahead of you can't be solved with that kind of mentality. So forget about getting my help. Take last time as an exception. Either way, the fact that I'm here is proof enough of your capability."
His expression turned distant.
"I survived till the end, after all."
Ashen clenched his fists.
Because deep down… he was relieved when his older self appeared. He had assumed he wouldn't have to struggle as much anymore... That he'd finally have someone to rely on.
He thought he could take it easy.
'I guess I assumed too much,' he thought bitterly.
Still, he tried one last time, unwilling to back down.
"...Then what's your use?"
"…"
"Why did you appear before me?"
"…"
"Going back was your wish, right?—if you're so mighty—then why are we here, talking?"
Old Ashen finally looked at him.
"…We might survive whatever comes our way," he murmured. "But who said anything about the others?"
Ashen froze.
Then his face lost all color.
"What use is there in surviving," Old Ashen continued, voice quiet but unshaking, "if you end up alone in the end?"
"...Ah."
Now Ashen understood.
He finally understood why this man always looked like he was an inch away from offing himself.
"So," Old Ashen smirked, watching the horror settle on his younger counterpart's face, "whenever I interfere or give advice, just know—it's not for you."
Ashen pressed a hand to his forehead, his thoughts spinning. 'What the hell am I even supposed to think anymore?'
His older self gave a light chuckle, but there was no real amusement behind it.
"Above all else," he said, "my path already ended in failure. So what's the point in learning from me and following in my footsteps?"
His dull, lifeless expression softened, just a bit.
"You have to forge your own path. And even if you reach a dead-end too… wouldn't the sum of our strengths be enough to make it to a happy ending?"
For the first time, a real, genuine smile graced the weary man's face.
Before Ashen could answer, darkness swallowed him whole.
When he came to, the same white ceiling greeted him, proof he had returned to the waking world, his other self's final words still echoing in his ears.
"…Work hard, dear little brother. For a world where we don't end up alone."