The Villain Professor's Second Chance

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice barely audible. The words felt hollow, like a prayer spoken too late. "I'm so sorry…"

The Hollow around him seemed indifferent to his agony. The same breeze that had carried the voices now turned cold, biting at his tear-streaked face as he lay motionless against the doorframe. His body trembled, his breath coming in uneven gasps as the memories ebbed slightly, leaving behind an ache that settled deep in his chest.

"Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding in his head. "Forgive me…" The night seemed to press in around him, heavy with unspoken grief. He stayed there, trembling and broken, as the voices continued to swirl in his mind, fragments of laughter and cries overlapping with unfulfilled promises. It was as though his very soul was being laid bare, the weight of his guilt and sorrow too much to bear. He pounded a weak fist against the door, his strength fading with every passing moment.

The silence that followed felt like a judgment, the stillness of the Hollow offering neither solace nor reprieve. Liora slumped further against the doorframe, his body limp and exhausted. The anguish coursing through him was a tide he could not escape, leaving him to drown in its depths. For a fleeting moment, he wished the door would open and swallow him into the past, a place where he felt he truly belonged.

The world around him faded, the oppressive silence broken only by his ragged breaths and the faint rustle of the night wind. He stayed there, trembling and gasping, the tears flowing freely as the memories consumed him. The door loomed above him, an unyielding sentinel, offering neither solace nor reprieve. For a fleeting moment, he wished it would open and swallow him whole, burying him in the past where he felt he truly belonged.

"Rylan?"

The voice cut through the haze, soft yet laden with disbelief. It wasn't loud, but it carried enough weight to pierce through his torment. He froze, his breath hitching as recognition dawned. Slowly, as though drawn by the weight of the voice alone, he turned his head. His tear-streaked face, marked by exhaustion and anguish, met the gaze of a halfling man standing a few paces away. The figure before him seemed a ghost from another life—his hair now streaked with silver, framing a face weathered by countless trials. Deep lines etched into the man's brow spoke of hardship and resilience, but his eyes, a sharp and piercing green, held a spark of youthful idealism that had defied the years.

The halfling's shoulders were broad for his stature, his frame clad in patched, practical clothing that bore the wear and tear of hard labor and sleepless nights. His hands, rough and calloused, hung by his sides, one of them gripping a small walking stick that looked more like a relic than a tool. Despite his rugged appearance, there was a quiet strength about him—a strength that Liora recognized immediately. It was the same strength that had once made him believe they could change the world together.

"Derrin?" Liora's voice cracked, hoarse and unsteady, barely more than a whisper.

The other man's expression softened, the surprise in his eyes giving way to something warmer, almost disbelieving. His lips curved faintly, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "It is you," Derrin murmured, taking a cautious step closer as though afraid Liora might vanish. "By the gods, Rylan, I thought you were dead."

For a moment, Liora could only stare, the name "Rylan" hanging in the air like a thread to another life. He wiped at his face with trembling hands, trying in vain to compose himself, but the weight of the encounter made it impossible. Derrin's expression, a mixture of cautious joy and deep-seated concern, seemed to draw out all the vulnerability Liora had fought to keep buried.

"What… What are you doing here?" Derrin asked, his voice quieter now but still heavy with emotion. "After all these years…"

Liora shook his head, his voice raw as he replied, "I don't know. I just… I needed to come back."

Derrin studied him for a moment, his brow furrowed. "You look like hell," he said bluntly, though his tone carried more concern than judgment. "How long has it been since you've eaten? Slept?"

Liora let out a hollow laugh. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters," Derrin shot back, his voice firm. He sat down beside Liora, leaning against the doorframe as if to share the weight of his burdens. "You've been running for so long, Rylan. Chasing shadows and leaving the rest of us to pick up the pieces. Do you even know what's left of this place?"

Liora didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the cracked cobblestones beneath his feet. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the weight of Derrin's words like stones piled upon him. Derrin sighed, his tone softening, but his voice carried a tremor of old wounds. "We had dreams, remember? You, me, and the others. We thought we could turn this place around, make it something better." He chuckled bitterly, his fingers absently gripping the walking stick tighter. "We were fools. Stupid fools, chasing an impossible dream. Do you remember the nights we spent, huddled together, sketching out plans like we could fix everything with sheer will?"

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Derrin's green eyes darted to the crooked skyline of The Hollow as though searching for remnants of that vision. "We wanted gardens here, a place where kids could run without dodging broken glass. Markets that sold more than scraps. Homes with roofs that didn't leak every time the skies opened up. Do you remember that mural you tried to paint? Gods, you were awful at it," he added with a faint, melancholic smile.

The faint smirk vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a distant sadness. "And the people we rallied? They believed in us, Rylan. We gave them hope, even if it was fleeting. That hope burned so bright." He paused, his voice faltering. "Then the betrayal…" His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "It snuffed out everything. We scattered like leaves in a storm."

Liora's fingers twitched involuntarily. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he felt the weight of his absence sharpen into a dagger aimed straight at his heart. Still, he said nothing, his silence an acknowledgment of the truth Derrin laid bare.

"We weren't fools," Liora said quietly, his voice carrying a faint edge. "We just didn't have enough time."

"Time wouldn't have changed anything," Derrin replied, his bitterness cutting through the night. "The world doesn't care about halflings like us. It never has."

Liora turned to him, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and sorrow. "I couldn't stay," he said, his voice trembling. "Not after what happened. Not after losing her."

Derrin's expression softened again, and he placed a hand on Liora's shoulder. "You're here now, aren't you? That's something. Maybe… maybe we can still do something."

Liora shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not the same man I was, Derrin. I don't even know who I am anymore."

"You're Rylan Duskwhisper," Derrin said firmly, his grip tightening on Liora's shoulder. "And you're not alone. Not this time."

The words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on Liora's chest. He looked at Derrin, searching his friend's face for answers he wasn't sure he wanted. But there was no judgment in Derrin's eyes, only a quiet determination that mirrored the man Liora had once been.

With Derrin's help, Liora finally managed to rise, though his legs trembled like a newborn colt's, weak and unsteady under the weight of his memories. He dusted off his trousers with slow, deliberate motions, his fingers brushing against the coarse fabric as though grounding himself in the present. The door behind him loomed not just as a physical structure, but as a towering specter of his unresolved past, its jagged edges casting shadows that seemed to whisper accusations.

Derrin's eyes never left him, their piercing green gaze softened by a mixture of concern and sorrow. Lines etched deeply into his weathered face spoke of hardships endured and dreams abandoned, yet his posture carried a quiet strength that belied the heaviness of their shared history. His broad shoulders, clad in patched but well-kept garments, shifted slightly as he stepped closer, his walking stick tapping lightly against the ground. "You've seen better days," Derrin said, his voice tinged with a dry humor that couldn't quite mask his genuine worry.

Liora exhaled shakily, his hand lingering over the doorframe as though reluctant to fully let go. The grain of the wood felt alive beneath his fingertips, a tactile connection to a world he'd once cherished and lost. He glanced at Derrin, his expression a fragile mix of gratitude and grief.

"The ghosts are still here," Liora murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Ghosts or not, you're flesh and blood, and you're standing. That's what matters," Derrin replied firmly, placing a steadying hand on Liora's shoulder. "But you look like you haven't eaten in days. Come on. There's a place nearby where we can sit, eat, and breathe for a moment."

Liora hesitated, his sharp gaze flicking back to the door. The weight of what lay beyond it bore down on him, unyielding, yet Derrin's hand remained a solid anchor, tethering him to the present.

"Rylan, leave it for tonight," Derrin urged, his tone softening but never wavering. "The past isn't going anywhere. The ghosts will still be here tomorrow."

The corners of Liora's mouth twitched as if to form a bitter smile, but he relented with a weary nod. "You're right. Let's go."@@novelbin@@

Together, they turned away from the door, their steps echoing softly in the narrow alley as they walked toward a modest glow in the distance—a halfling inn nestled within the maze of The Hollow, promising warmth and a temporary reprieve. As they moved, Derrin cast a sidelong glance at Liora, his brows still knit in concern, but he refrained from speaking further, leaving the silence to mend what words could not.

"You look like you haven't eaten in days," Derrin said, his tone softening. "Come. There's a place nearby—a proper halfling inn. You need a drink, some food, and a moment to remember where you come from."