Kael didn't wake up that morning.
Because morning didn't come.
Instead, he opened his eyes to a room filled with mirrors. Each reflection showed a different him—crying, laughing, screaming, dying.
One reflection whispered,
"She screamed for you, and you ran."
Another one sobbed,
"You broke the cycle."
Kael staggered back. "What is this place?"
A hand clapped on his shoulder.
He spun.
A boy, no older than 12, with empty sockets for eyes stood behind him. His voice didn't come from his mouth—it leaked from the walls.
"You remember me, Kael? No… of course you don't. You weren't supposed to. But I remember you. I remember dying in your world."
More figures stepped out of the mirrors. Twisted, familiar… wrong.
"I thought I was alone," Kael murmured.
"You were never alone," said a girl with blood dripping from her fingertips. "You just forgot we existed. They made sure of that."
The Pulse vibrated again. Not a sound. A pressure. A beat in the walls.
The timepiece on Kael's wrist shattered. Sparks and blood flew from his wrist.
The notebook pulsed in red.
One of the "Others" leaned forward, whispering into his ear.
"You were the first to break out, Kael. You opened the door. And now? We're all coming through."
Kael clutched his chest—pain tearing through his ribs like claws.
And in that moment, from behind him, her voice rang out—
soft, broken, terrified:
"Kael…?"
He turned around.
She was standing there, but this time—
she had no eyes.
And she was smiling.
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