I realised this was my dream again. What the hell is actually happening to me? There's a moment between sleep and waking that feels like drowning in syrup,thick, sweet, suffocating. That's where I was. My mind rose like a broken elevator, skipping floors, glitching in bursts of static and light. There was no alarm clock. No birdsong. Just the sensation of being underwater while flames danced over my skin.
Then came the taste. Bitter. Medicinal. It was Wrong. But i couldn't protest. I tried to open my mouth, but my tongue felt stitched to the roof. I moved to lift my hand and felt leather cut into my wrist.
I froze.
Blink.
A ceiling. Gray. Concrete. Cracked in the corner. Not mine.
Blink.
My arms wouldn't move. My legs were strapped. Ankles wrapped in stiff leather buckles. I was sitting in a chair. Not wood. Steel. My breathing became audible, rough, panicked. I tried to scream. Again like in my second dream. Nothing came out. My voice was buried somewhere behind the taste of chemicals.
Adrenaline surged, but my limbs stayed limp. I twisted against the bonds, but all it did was deepen the burning at my wrists.
I scanned the room.
Bare walls, painted a sickly gray, the color of fog that never clears. No windows. One door. Metal. Locked, probably. A small table in the corner. Medical equipment. Knives. Needles. Vials. Things that shouldn't exist together in one place unless someone was doing something illegal. Or inhuman.
And then I saw it.
The mirror.
A full-length mirror leaned against the far wall, but it didn't reflect the room right. Its surface shimmered faintly, like it was underwater. My reflection was there,but off. Too tall. Eyes too wide. Its mouth moved a second behind mine. I looked at it for too long. It blinked when I didn't. I squeezed my eyes shut, heart pounding against my ribcage like it was trying to escape.
This wasn't a prank. This wasn't a mistake. This was a setup. And I was the main event.
I forced my throat to work. "H-Hello?" I croaked, barely audible.
The door creaked open.
My whole body stiffened.
She entered like a shadow disguised in skin. Black trench coat. Crimson scarf. Hair tight. Not the Miss Kaur I knew,the elegant woman who smelled like vanilla lotion and liked RPGs.This woman radiated intent. Cold, calm intent. Like she'd already written the script, and I was late to the performance.
"Oh good," she said, as if she were commenting on the weather. "You're awake."
I couldn't speak. My throat was drying out by the second. I tried to pull my knees to my chest, but the restraints held me still. She walked to the table in the corner and picked up a small silver knife. Not a kitchen knife. Not a scalpel. Something older. Ritualistic. It shimmered with tiny engravings that looked like they'd been scratched in by trembling hands.
"W-Why… are you doing this?" I asked, my voice cracking like old paint.
She didn't answer at first. She walked behind me, slow and methodical, like she was checking the buckles. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, like before,but now it felt artificial. A recording. A familiar song turned wrong.
"Do you know what blood memory is, Ojas?"
"What…?"
"Memories that don't belong to you. Experiences buried in your lineage. Wounds passed down like heirlooms." She leaned in closer to my ear. "Your family has many."
I shook my head. "I don't understand."
She moved in front of me again, crouching to eye level. Her eyes were wide, bright, and terrifyingly calm.
"You are the seventh generation."
My breath hitched. "What… does that mean?"
"The curse reactivates every seven generations. That's how it was written." She smiled. "Your bloodline has avoided it for decades. But you…" she placed a hand on my chest, "...you're the one it's waiting for."
She stood, walking toward the mirror.
"You've seen him, haven't you?" she asked.
I didn't answer.
"Don't lie. You've been dreaming about him for years."
I clenched my teeth. My chest felt tight. How did she know?
"Four eyes. Shadow body. Watching you. You even gave him a name."
"Dollus," I whispered, before I could stop myself.
Her smile widened. "Ah, yes. You gave him a child's name. Understandable. But that's not his true name."
She turned to the mirror and placed her hand on the glass. The reflection rippled like disturbed water.
"His name is Sallos Enmirak."
The name echoed inside my skull. I didn't understand it, but it hurt. Like something sharp slicing through my thoughts.
"Who… is he?" I choked out.
She looked at me, and for the first time, there was something close to pity in her eyes. But it died quickly.
"He was once a Watcher. Now, a prisoner. A fragment bound to your family by a cruel ritual my ancestors performed centuries ago. And now, I am the final key. The last descendant of the family who gave you this curse."
My stomach turned. "You're part of it?"
"I am the instrument," she said. "The curse lives through you,but I will make sure it thrives."
She stepped aside. The mirror began to pulse. My reflection was gone. And he was there instead.
Sallos Enmirak.
Four eyes. All glowing dimly, like forgotten stars. No face. No mouth. Just presence. He raised a hand on the other side of the glass. My body began to shake. I couldn't control my thoughts, it felt like his thoughts were inside me. At a point i forgot who I was.
Miss Kaur didn't flinch.
"I know what you're thinking," she said calmly. "That I'm forcing him to hurt you."
She walked toward me again.
"You're right."
And then she whispered the words that made my heart freeze:
"He doesn't want to."