Isaac woke to a pounding headache. His body sank into the mattress like he'd been dragged through fog. The clock on the wall glared back at him. 7:30 p.m. Dim evening light cut through the window, painting thin golden stripes across the dusty floor.
He rolled to the edge of the bed, wincing as the springs creaked under his frame. "What the hell happened?" he muttered, rubbing his temples. His thoughts felt scrambled like his head was stuffed with static.
A deep growl rolled from his stomach. Sharp and aching. He clutched his belly with a groan. "Feels like I haven't eaten in days. What the fuck?" He couldn't even remember the last time he had a proper meal. The air in the room pressed down on him, thick with mildew and carrying a faint metallic tang like rust and damp stone.
He tried piecing together what happened after school but the memory kept slipping away in fragments. "Did I pass out again?" he wondered aloud. No one was there to answer.
For a while he just lay there in the silence, the stillness pressing into his ears. Then came the reminder. Faint muffled voices drifting up from downstairs. The clink of cutlery. Bursts of laughter. Dinner.
Isaac's eyes narrowed. Right. Today's Wednesday. He turned his gaze back to the clock. His dad should be home by now. This was probably his best chance to ask him for an early allowance.
He dragged himself upright and shuffled toward the door, one hand still clutching his stomach. His legs felt heavier than usual like each step carried some unseen weight. The floorboards creaked beneath his bare feet as he made his way downstairs.
When he reached the living room doorway he stopped. Everyone was already gathered around the table. Dinner had started without him.
The round dining table was fully set. The air was thick with the mouthwatering scent of roasted chicken and buttered rolls. Andrew sat at the head in his work suit with his tie loosened and his briefcase resting at his feet. Clear signs he'd just gotten home. Isaac still couldn't understand why his father bothered going into the office every day when he was the CEO. He could have run things from home but that wasn't who Andrew was.
Victoria sat across from him in a long nightgown, her posture stiff but composed. Emily and Emma were both in pajama shorts and shirts. Their casual clothes stood in contrast to the tension that hung over the table. Isaac stood in the doorway in a wrinkled t shirt and shorts looking like he'd just crawled out of a hole.
The moment he stepped into view all conversation stopped. Every pair of eyes in the room locked onto him. The silence that followed was so heavy that even his stomach's loud growl seemed deafening in comparison.
"…What?" Isaac asked, blinking. "Is something wrong?"
He glanced behind himself half expecting to see something there but the doorway was empty. When he turned back his father's gaze was fixed sharply on him.
"Dad?" Isaac pressed. "What's wrong? Do I have something on my face?"
Andrew leaned forward slightly, squinting as though trying to puzzle something out. "I can't tell if it's just me but you look… slightly different."
Isaac frowned and flicked his eyes toward the others. None of them spoke but the way their gazes lingered, narrowing in silent scrutiny, was unsettling. It felt like they were studying him. Trying to memorize every new line on his face.
"Different how?" Isaac asked carefully.
Andrew shook his head slowly. "Hard to say. Did you perhaps get a new haircut? Or change your cream?"
Isaac chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. "Nah. It's been a while since I had a haircut. And I haven't changed anything since I got back from school."
Andrew's brow furrowed as he leaned back. "I'm pretty sure something's changed in your appearance," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing as if trying to pinpoint the difference. "But I can't quite put my finger on what it is." He turned to the others. "Please tell me I'm not the only one seeing this."
Victoria set down her fork. Her gaze was sharp but oddly unsettled. "Trust me you're not the only one. To me it feels like he had a growth spurt overnight. But that's not possible. He didn't look like this before he left for school."
Emily had been quiet up until now. She tilted her head and looked Isaac up and down before something clicked. "It's probably because you're not wearing your glasses," she said flatly.
"Otherwise there's no logical reason why you look different. I saw you leave for school this morning and you looked the same as always." She paused then squinted at him. "And how are you even moving around without them?"
Isaac's hand went to his face. His glasses. They weren't there. He hadn't even noticed. His fingers touched the bridge of his nose where they usually sat and felt nothing. How long had he been walking around without them? More importantly how was he seeing right now?
His bad eyesight had been a problem that followed him since fifth grade. He could barely function without his glasses. Everything would turn into a blur. But right now standing in this dining room he could see everything clearly. The grain of the wooden table. The steam rising off the chicken. The tiny crease between his father's eyebrows. All of it sharp and clear like his eyes had never been broken in the first place.
What the hell happened to me?
He kept his face neutral even though his mind was racing. "I think they fell off when I was sleeping," he said casually. "Guess my eyes aren't as bad as I thought."
Nobody looked convinced but nobody pushed it further. Their gazes on Isaac were heavy and unnerving. Like they were examining a stranger who had just slipped into their home. A chill prickled along his skin.
He slid into his seat but the women's eyes tracked him as though he were prey being circled by predators. For once Victoria didn't snap at him or throw an insult. The silence at the table was almost suffocating, broken only by Andrew making occasional small remarks about work.
Isaac shoveled food into his mouth quickly, chewing without tasting. His mind buzzed with the weight of their stares and the realization about his eyes. Then he remembered what he came down to ask. Clearing his throat he spoke, keeping his tone even.
"Dad, can I get an early allowance?" he asked. "I need it for some stuff."
Andrew raised a brow, pausing mid bite. "What happened to the one I gave you last week?"
Isaac didn't even bother looking at Emily. He could already feel the burn of her glare sharpening like knives at the side of his head. "Something came up," he answered flatly. "I had to use it. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
Andrew studied his son quietly for a long moment then sighed and set his utensils down.
"Alright. But Isaac, you need to learn how to save. Forget the fact that you're my first son and I own a company. At some point you'll need to start planning your own life. Most of your peers are already taking part time jobs and earning their own money. You can't always rely on me for everything."
Isaac nodded, biting back irritation. This was why he rarely asked his father for anything. The lectures that always came with it. He could never quite understand how a man as wealthy as his father still acted this way. "Alright. I get it."
His father's sternness softened just a little. "Good." Andrew leaned back and stretched his shoulders. "Anyway I'll be leaving tomorrow on a business trip. Should be back in about a week. Until then you'll be responsible for keeping things in order here. And listen to your stepmother. She's doing her best for you." He reached out and gave Victoria a brief affectionate rub on the back.
Isaac inclined his head. "Alright Dad. I will." On the outside he was calm. But his thoughts simmered. Oh, Dad… if only you knew what this woman was really doing behind your back. Still, not my place to say anything.
Victoria let out a small smile. It was carefully painted onto her lips but it never reached her eyes. Behind it her mind was racing. She couldn't shake the question. Where was the bruise he had yesterday? She was certain she'd seen it this morning and yet now his skin was smooth and glowing, almost polished like it had been oiled.
Emma's thoughts ran in a different direction. Was it the balm she'd given him last night? Had it worked some kind of strange magic? His skin seemed unnaturally radiant for someone who'd come home looking the way he did yesterday.
Emily meanwhile felt her teeth grit. She was disturbed. Furious even. Isaac had asked Andrew for allowance money right in front of her. He knew full well she would have come for it later. This had never happened before. Something about him was off and she didn't like it one bit.
Once dinner ended Isaac rose and gathered his father's and Victoria's plates, ready to take them to the sink. But Victoria's voice cut sharp across the table.
"Where are you going? What about these ones?" She gestured toward Emma and Emily's sides.
Isaac turned and met her gaze evenly. The words that came out from his mouth shocked even him.
"Ma'am I think it's safe to say it would only be appropriate for the juniors to clear up after the meal. Right Dad? At least that's what you always taught me."
Andrew gave a slight nod of approval which only emboldened Isaac. He continued, his voice calm but firm.
"And as for the dishes ma'am you don't have to worry. I'll wash them first thing in the morning. You have my word."
He bowed slightly before adding, "And dinner was great. Thank you. Goodnight ma'am. Goodnight Dad."
The table froze. Jaws slackened. Victoria's eyes went wide. Emma's fork clattered onto her plate. Even Emily blurted out, "What the—"
But Isaac had already turned his back and was walking calmly away.
Inside his chest pounded like a drum. His own words echoed in his skull. There's no way I'd ever talk to her like that. Where the fuck did that come from? His heart raced and the strange swell of confidence left him both shaken and exhilarated. What's happening to me?
He hurried up the stairs, hands trembling as he shut his bedroom door behind him. The stares they'd given him weren't normal. He rushed straight into the bathroom and gripped the sink as he stared into the cracked mirror.
The reflection staring back left him breathless. It was him and yet it wasn't. His face looked like a slightly sharper, polished version of himself. Smoother skin. Brighter eyes. Almost like he'd undergone some kind of subtle surgery. Still recognizable but only those who'd known him for years would truly be able to say it was Isaac.
"What the hell?" he whispered, touching his cheek. The swollen bruise he'd carried home yesterday was gone. Completely gone. Not even the faintest trace. He couldnt feel any ache in that spot Even the torn lip had healed as if it had never been there.
His eyes, once dull and clouded, now glinted with something new. Something alive. He understood now why the women at the table looked more shocked than his father. They'd seen him come home with bruises and cuts and yet tonight he'd come downstairs looking different. Almost radiant.
yes, I did apply balm, he thought, but balm doesn't wipe out bruises overnight. You'd still see something… he was sure Even father had noticed this morning and decided not to bring it up.
Just then memories hit him like a wave. Flooding back all at once. The diary theft. The fight. The writing in blood. The book.
The book.!!
He spun around to leave the bathroom and felt something crack under his foot. He looked down. His glasses. They were on the floor right where they'd fallen earlier. Already broken from yesterday and now completely crushed under his weight. He bent down and picked them up. The frames were bent and both lenses were shattered beyond saving. Out of curiosity he held them up to his face anyway. Everything went blurry the second he looked through them. He pulled them away and the world snapped right back into focus. Crystal clear. Every detail in the room sharp as if his eyes had never been bad in the first place.
"Guess i won't be needing these anymore," he muttered, tossing the ruined frames onto the side table.
He walked back to his bed. There it was. Resting innocently at the edge. The black leather gleaming faintly in the dim light.
"To think it's real," Isaac breathed, his eyes wide. He reached out and his fingers brushed the cover. "But why do I keep forgetting things? Every time I wake up it's like my mind's been wiped clean."
The quill glinted beside the book, its tip darkened with dried blood.
He opened the book to the Bearer's Page. His stats lay before him. No dramatic changes besides the adjustments he'd made. Still the evidence was undeniable.
"So this is what having Charisma at six feels like," he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips. "And to think just two points made this much difference. I didn't even expect it."
The thought chilled him, yet excited him. If six did this… what happens when I reach ten?
Then he remembered the Lust ability. Serpent's Gift. His curiosity prickled. He tugged his shorts down and his eyes widened at the sight.
"Holy shit," he chuckled.
On a normal day his dick was average. Six inches, nothing special. But now? It looked like nine. Thickened. Heavy. Monstrous in comparison to what he was used to. "This is insane. And it's not even erect yet." He stared at it for a second in disbelief. "I can tell this is the real deal." He pulled his shorts back up and shook his head. "But nine inches? Isn't that too big? I've heard not every woman likes it that way." He paused then smirked. "Forget it. No point worrying about it now. It's already happened."
His gaze drifted back to the book. The more he looked at it the more unreal it all seemed. And yet it was all too real.
"I need to know more about how this works," he muttered, grabbing the book with both hands. His pulse quickened. "Best to try out the unique skill. Sevenfold Inquest."
He hesitated. "But who should I use it on? I could describe everyone I met today but I don't think the book would register that."
Then a thought slid across his mind and curled his lips into a smirk.
He opened a blank page. The quill leapt to his fingers, the tendril wrapping tight until blood welled and turned to ink. Isaac leaned forward and with a steady hand began to write. Seven sharp descriptions of the person he wanted to know more about.