Painted in Fate

Chapter 7: Fate's Awakening

The next morning, Babe stood at the edge of the train platform, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets as the cold air nipped at his skin. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts—excitement, fear, curiosity, and a gnawing sense of doubt. He kept replaying his conversation with Nana over and over again, wondering if he was making the right decision by chasing after a house that had only existed in his dreams until now.

What if this was all just a coincidence? What if he was losing his grip on reality?

But then he remembered the way the estate had looked in his painting—the exact detail, the overwhelming sense of familiarity that had sent chills down his spine. No, it wasn't just a coincidence. It couldn't be. Something was drawing him to that house, and he needed to know what it was.

As the train pulled into the station, Babe inhaled deeply and stepped aboard, his heart pounding with each step. This was it. He was finally going to see the place that had haunted his dreams for so long. And maybe, just maybe, he would find some answers.

Meanwhile, back at the Patchanon estate, Billy stood frozen in the library, staring down at the journal in his hands. The words on the pages seemed to blur together as the weight of his family's secrets pressed down on him like a heavy fog.

His grandfather's journal had revealed more than Billy had bargained for. The "debt" his family owed wasn't just some abstract concept. It was real, tangible—and it was tied directly to a boy named Babe Tanatat.

Billy's hands trembled as he flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the neatly written entries. His grandfather had written extensively about the tragic events of the past—how the Patchanon family had been saved by a healer's clan, a clan that had been wiped out in a series of attacks orchestrated by Billy's uncle, Ed.

But the worst part? Billy himself had played a role in their downfall.

According to the journal, Billy had been manipulated by Ed, tricked into placing an artifact that weakened the healers, leaving them vulnerable to the attacks that ultimately destroyed them. Billy's mind reeled as he tried to process the information. He couldn't remember any of it, of course—this had all happened in another lifetime, long before he was born. But the guilt—the crushing weight of guilt—pressed down on him all the same.

How could his family have done something so horrible? How could he have been a part of it?

The journal didn't provide all the answers he wanted. It hinted at a deeper connection between him and Babe, something that went beyond the events of the past. But there was still so much he didn't know, so much that didn't make sense.

Billy slammed the journal shut and ran a hand through his hair, frustration and confusion swirling inside him. His eyes landed on the painting—the one that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. The boy in the portrait, the one his family had supposedly wronged, looked back at him with hauntingly familiar eyes.

Could it be true? Could the boy in the painting really be Babe? And if so, why had fate brought them together again in this lifetime?

Billy's thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. He turned to see his grandfather standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"Grandfather," Billy said, his voice strained. "I've been reading the journal..."

The older man nodded, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate movements. "I thought it was time you learned the truth."

Billy clenched his fists. "You knew? You knew all this time about what happened to Babe's family, about what our uncle did? And you didn't say anything?"

His grandfather sighed, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the past. "Yes, I knew. Our family has carried the burden of that guilt for generations. It's why we've kept the journal, so that none of us would forget the debt we owe."

Billy shook his head, anger bubbling up inside him. "But why? Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why didn't you tell me that I was involved in... in this?" He gestured to the journal, his voice shaking with emotion.

"Because you needed to come to this realization on your own," his grandfather said quietly. "The past is a heavy burden, Billy. But it's not something you can run from. It's something you must face."

Billy's mind raced as he processed his grandfather's words. "And Babe? Does he know? Does he remember any of this?"

His grandfather hesitated for a moment before answering. "I don't know if he remembers everything, but he's been dreaming about it. Just like you have."

Billy's heart skipped a beat. "He's been dreaming about me?"

His grandfather nodded. "Yes. And that's why you must find him. The two of you are connected—bound by the events of the past. If you don't find a way to resolve it, the cycle will continue."

Billy's chest tightened as the weight of his grandfather's words settled over him. He needed to find Babe, to figure out what was going on between them, and to stop the cycle before it destroyed them both.

Babe stepped off the train and found himself standing at the edge of a small, quiet town. The estate wasn't far from here, according to the directions he had found online. His heart pounded in his chest as he made his way through the narrow streets, his mind racing with anticipation and anxiety.

What was he going to find when he got there? Would the house look the same as it did in his dreams? And what about the man—the man he had been painting for years? Would he be real, too?

Babe's breath caught in his throat as the estate came into view. It was just as he had seen it in his dreams—tall, imposing, and hauntingly beautiful. The ivy-covered walls, the grand windows, the sprawling gardens—it was all exactly as he had painted it.

He stood there for a long moment, frozen in place as a wave of déjà vu washed over him. This was real. This was happening. He wasn't losing his mind.

Suddenly, a figure appeared at the edge of the garden. Babe's heart stopped.

It was him.

Billy.

The man from his dreams.

The moment their eyes met, something shifted in the air between them. It was as if time itself had stopped, as if the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of them standing there, staring at each other in stunned silence.

Babe's chest tightened, a flood of emotions crashing over him all at once—love, longing, betrayal, and a deep, aching sadness that he couldn't explain. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn't know why. He didn't even know this man. And yet, in this moment, it felt like he had known him his entire life.

Billy's reaction was just as intense. His eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, he looked like he had seen a ghost. The overwhelming sense of familiarity, of connection, hit him like a freight train. He felt an almost primal need to claim Babe as his own, to never let him go. But alongside that possessiveness came a crushing wave of guilt and shame—a feeling that he had done something unforgivable, something that had cost him this boy, this love, in another lifetime.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. They just stood there, locked in each other's gaze, their emotions swirling in the air between them like a storm waiting to break.

And in that moment, fragmented memories began to surface—flashes of a life long past, a life filled with love and loss, sacrifice and betrayal. It was too much, too overwhelming. Neither of them could make sense of it, but they both felt it. Deep down, they knew that their connection ran far deeper than anything they could comprehend.

Finally, Billy broke the silence.

"You..."

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to explain the surge of emotions crashing over him, how to make sense of the memories flashing in his mind. All he knew was that this boy, this beautiful, broken boy standing before him, was the key to everything.

Babe blinked, tears slipping down his cheeks as he tried to find his voice. "Why... why do I feel like I know you?"

Billy took a hesitant step forward, his heart pounding in his chest. "Because you do."