As the string snapped audibly, the book, which looked as if it could crumble at any sudden movement, opened wide before his shaken eyes, landing upright on his chest.
Huh...?
Its aged cover slowly opened itself, with its edges faintly cracking.
As it fully spread its leather binding, countless pages appeared before his eyes, moving faintly from side to side in a way that only wind could make them do so.
Visibly confused, he pulled his hand away from the strange book, looking at its pages flipping one by one, filled with text in a language he could not comprehend.
Between those pages, he could see countless images flash past his eyes, some drawings he might have seen before and some completely new, taking up pairs of pages with dark ink.
However, something else caught his eye, not noticeable at first glance, but after a moment of observation.
Is it... speeding up?
True to his thoughts, the books pages were gradually starting to speed up, flipping themself faster and louder the longer he watched it stand on his bandaged chest.
Wanting to grab onto the book and close it as fast as he could, not knowing what would happen if it had stayed open longer than it should. He moved his hand towards its cover, just a finger's length away from closing it.
But because he had hesitated a second too long, a stray page was ripped out from the book, landing straight onto his dumb struck face.
When his hand took the page off his nose-
Flap!
Another stuck to it like glue, obscuring his vision.
Old pages were ripped out from the old book's spine, flying anywhere they could within the empty room.
Val, after managing to cover his face with his hand, watched in horror as the floor, walls, and even the ceiling were being erratically enveloped with a white sea of ink and whiteness.
Under Valentine's startled gaze, the book in front of him closed from left to right with a loud clap! Stopping its outburst for him to take in his surroundings, which were now dyed in black and white lines.
He looked down at the book, now visibly thinner with no need for any strings to hold it shut.
And then opened it slowly from right to left, just to notice only a single page was left in the old book, written in the alien language he had read on its cover.
What seemed to be two sentences stood written in the middle of the page.
He frowned visibly at the lack of common words, turning the book sideways in case there was another spell he could read aloud.
But there was nothing else besides the faded cover, which he for some reason could not find again.
All he could do was try to decipher the strange language.
I can't read any of this...
He wasn't very good at languages, only learning English and some stupid foreign words he had no use for.
Flipping the book again so that the page was clear for him to read, he opened his lips, ready to read the sentence out loud.
"Per-"
SLAM!
The door to his room flung open fast, slamming against the poor wall with a thundering bang.
Sunday ran into the room, his quick footsteps making the entire hut shake under his great weight, spreading a sense of unease across the room.
His clothes were messy as if he had run a great distance just to get here, with countless tiny cuts all over his clothes and one sleeve missing from his long white coat, revealing his thick, hairy arm filled with pitch-black tattoos.
"...Sunday?"
Valentine called out to him hesitantly, unsure of what was currently happening.
A cold rush of air brushed past him, forcing his eyes to narrow at the stinging cold, forcing his mind to focus on looking towards the door.
Suddenly, a sense of fear washed over him as he locked his eyes with two tiny flames.
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Petrified, the boy froze.
The book slipped from his feeble grip, bouncing off the bed's soft mattress and falling on the floor, conveniently sliding right under Sunday's feet.
He looked down at it without a word.
His face was pale and sweaty. His golden gaze overflowing with an emotion Valentine had yet to see him express.
For a moment, both of them were silent.
Val watched him pick up the torn book, tracing something on the remaining page with a complicated look in his eyes. He closed it shut, then looked up from it at the paper-filled room.
Finally, he spoke.
"Was this you?"
His tone sounded heavier than usual.
Val swallowed hard, looking around the room as well.
He didn't particularly see anything wrong with paper being scattered everywhere; of course, it's going to be annoying to clean up, but why make such a big deal out of it?
Is there something more to it?
After all, everything here was far different than back at his home; no logic existed that could apply to this strange and magical place.
However, he couldn't deny that he was different.
He couldn't conjure things as Sunday did, nor did he think he would be able to in the future.
Even if he did figure to ask him later, he doubted that the current Sunday would choose to share anything with him.
From the corner of his eye, he could see it clearly.
The man was staring right at him; no, more precisely, it was Val's heart that was the target of that gaze.
A low sigh escaped his lips, perhaps disappointed.
So that's how it really was...
***
"That's what happened?"
Sunday asked with a raised brow, to which Val nodded and pointed at his other items scattered around the room.
"Yeah, all of these never belonged to me in the first place; someone probably dumped them on me before I was found by you."
"Is that so..."
He scratched his giant chin with his thumb, looking down at the leaking pen and the empty lighter that were now in his palm, looking like mere toys compared to his size.
Taking the pen with two of his fingers, the ink - which was still leaking through the broken pen despite hours passing - was staining his tan fingers black.
"Interesting."
Crack!
Murmuring under his breath, he cracked the pen under his fingers, destroying it on the spot without putting in any effort.
However, the next moment, white flames burst out from the crushed fragments, bringing all of it together like a living magnet.
Under Valentine's fascinated gaze, it reconstructed itself on its own, restoring its shape from before he saw it for the first time, now with a clean and straight tip and completed engravings of sun and moon on opposite sides.
!
Val's eyes widened briefly as Sunday handed him the pen, placing it lightly atop his open palm with its flames extinguishing right after.
Looking down at the boy from his stool, he reassured him with his usual smile.
"Thank you for honesty; I won't blame you, but..."
His eyes became clearer, making Val want to straighten up.
"If you find books with this, don't read it. It's not a good path to practice."
Without thinking, Val nodded his head stiffly, prompting the old man to grow a wide grin once more.
His mood swings are worse than a woman's.
Was what he thought as he kept nodding to his words like an idiot until Sunday finished warning him and stood up from his stool, taking away the book and the wooden box alongside him with no effort at all.
Just as he passed through the doorframe...
Hiss!
The pages scattered around the room started catching on fire one by one, turning the room into a thin cage of sparks, crackling rhythmically for Val's ears to hear.
Like a rippling tide, the flames rose across the walls, climbing over them and burning anything out atop the ceiling. A ring formed over his head, wriggling like a giant snake before bursting in every direction, with no ash to remember its warmth.
There was no smoke or unnecessary waste, just a couple of seconds for the fiery song to last.
No flames remained, either on the boy or his surroundings.
After everything came to an end, Valentine noticed a steaming bowl standing on his nightstand, alongside a cup and a white pill next to it.
Despite being so big, he sure is fast.
Smirking to himself as he reached for the bowl and delicately placed it on his rock-solid bandage. He took a spoonful that was inside it and brought it to his lips, tasting the old man's soup.
Seconds later, he put the bowl back and chugged the glass of water in one go.
With his eyes half-closed.
Val said, in a muted voice.
...Too spicy.