Leo sat stiff on his bed, his hands grasping the soft give of his blanket. The shattered mirror that had lain in pieces at the conclusion of his last "dream" now dangled whole and undamaged on his bedroom wall. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow gasps.
All of it in his room—the soft sheets, the smell of food cooking up from the kitchen below, the muffled sound of laughter from his sister far away—seemed real. It should be real.
But it wasn't.
The knowledge hung on him like a load, suffocating and inescapable.
He had been trying to talk himself out of it for the last few days. That the whole thing was a dream. That the Bloodclaw Ursan, alive, alone, hurting, and suffering were all in his head. That waking up in his warm bed, in his normal life, with the ones he loved, was reality.
But tiny inconsistencies still bothered him. The way time seemed to lag strangely, the way people's movements occasionally seemed too choreographed, as if it were a perfect performance. Reflected light in glass lingered a fraction of a second longer, and sometimes, when he wasn't looking straight at them, they were off-beat.
It wasn't real. It never was.
His eyes rested on the mirror.
His heart pounding with a close-to-instinct pressure propelling him forward. Slowly, reluctantly, he extended his hand—trembling fingers—and pressed it against the glass.
His breath caught. His hand met no resistance. It moved through like he was inserting it into a glass of cold water.
Leo's eyes widened. The solution was in front of him. This is my way out.
But as soon as he knew it, the world around him responded.
A cold, bone-numbing cold swept over the room. The air thickened as the mirror convulsed, black slime extruding from its edges, running down onto the floor like tar. It crawled with a sickening slowness, reaching out to him like fingers of liquid shadow.
Leo moved sharply away, his heart racing.
So this is what you really are… he pondered bitterly. The mirror had not shattered. He had never gotten out. He was imprisoned in there because that stranger had rammed his head against its face. Not only the whole world… but even the ruins were a deception.
Leo clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
Even with the truth, even with the fact of the lie crushing him, it stung.
Because… what if he simply accepted it?
What if he turned from the mirror, went down the stairs, sat with his family at the table, and let himself believe that this was real? Would it be so bad? Would it be worse than returning to that cold, hard world where death lurked around every turn?
His mind was broken by a soft voice.
"Leo?"
His blood congealed.
It was his mother's voice, tinged with concern. The door behind him creaked a bit open, and he heard the gentle, hesitant footsteps of his mother entering the room.
"Sweetheart, what are you doing?"
Leo clenched his jaw, attempting to maintain his focus on the mirror.
It's not her.
He knew that. He knew that.
But when he heard her voice tremble a bit, when he felt her warmth as she edged closer, his resolve wavered.
Then there was another voice.
"Leo? What's wrong?"
His little sister's voice—small, worried.
Leo's body stiffened as he was caught in a hand closing around his wrist.
"Come on, buddy." Now his father's voice. Deep. Unrushed. "Sit down and talk. You don't look so good."
A shiver ran through Leo's body.
The illusion was enveloping him now. He could sense it, pressing on his mind, trying to overwhelm him with emotions, with memories, with longing.
The tar-like substance around the mirror swelled and pulsed.
It's all fake. It's all fake.
Then came the knockout punch.
"Please don't leave us."
His mother's voice broke at the end, as if she was holding back tears.
Leo's breath caught in his throat.
He wanted this to be real. He wanted it so badly that it hurt.
His entire body trembled as he closed his eyes, his mind screaming at him to turn around, to embrace them, to let himself believe.
But he couldn't.
Because if he did, he knew he would never wake up again.
Leo sucked in a shaky breath, gritting his teeth. It's a trick. Lies. It's not real.
His hand curled into a fist.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Then, without hesitating, he bolted forward.
His legs thrust against the floor, propelling him toward the mirror at full speed.
His "family" shrieked behind him, their voices stretching out of recognition—no longer warm, no longer human.
Leo did not look back.
He sprinted ahead and plunged headfirst through the mirror.
Silence for an instant. Then—
Darkness.
Blackness.
Pitch.
Leo breathed hard as something seized his leg.
A slimy, cold energy encircled his ankle and pulled him downward.
He barely had a chance to react before a second tendril wrapped itself around his waist.
He squirmed and kicked, but the more he fought, the stronger the force pulling him in.
Then, from nowhere, two giant eyes opened.
They were made of sheer darkness, yet somehow they saw into him, through him.
The being holding him was not just pulling on his flesh.
It was pulling on his memories.
Images flashed in front of Leo's eyes—, the utter horror when the Bloodclaw Ursan attacked, the cuddle of the little wolf cub against him, the confusion of his classmates when they were all summoned
They were fading away.
No!
Panic flooded him. He struggled harder, resisting the tendrils.
But the more he struggled, the weaker his thoughts became. His mind felt heavy. Dull.
The memories were unraveling.
Piece by piece, he was vanishing as the person he was.
Leo's screams were swallowed up by the vacuum.