Days turned into weeks. Weeks bled into months.
I was losing track of time — and my sanity.
At first, I tried to joke to myself, to keep the madness at bay. "If I don't kill these monsters, they'll kill me. And I'm the funny one here, so… no pressure."
My body thinned out. Muscles showed up where flab used to hang. Not exactly a gym transformation, but hey, surviving counts as exercise, right?
Maybe I should become a fitness influencers when I get home.
I made traps — crude, messy things — just in case I came up empty on a hunt. Better to catch something than starve, even if it was just a rock with a stick on it.
Monsters?
Yeah, I met my share. They don't bleed, don't travel in packs. Bigger ones eat the smaller ones, but small doesn't mean weak. Some little freaks hit harder than a truck.
Shapes? Forget recognizable. Each one looked like a bad dream made flesh.
And my ultimate weapon? Just a long, pointy stick. Nothing fancy. But it's killed hundreds by now.
Funny, huh? Me, the kid who never threw a punch, now a monster hunter with a stick. I guess the universe has a weird sense of humor.
I slumped down in my shelter, wiping sweat from my brow.
"Well, at least if I starve to death here, the monsters won't have to work hard to find a snack," I said, forcing a bitter laugh.
The words felt hollow, even to me.
The silence swallowed my joke whole.
I stared into the shadows.
My throat tightened.
I blinked hard, trying to push back the ache.
I missed home. The noise, the chaos, even the dumb arguments.
Anything was better than this endless emptiness.
I sat there, staring into the dark, and my mind drifted back.
Back to a time when my biggest problem was missing the bus, or forgetting my homework.
When my room smelled like mom's cooking, and the world outside wasn't trying to crush me.
I remembered laughing with friends, those stupid jokes that didn't matter but made everything feel lighter.
I remembered the warmth of my bed, the noise of the city, the endless noise that I never thought I'd miss this much.
Who was I before all this? Just a regular kid with glasses, a little awkward, maybe a little scared—but safe.
Now that kid felt so far away, like a ghost I could barely recognize.
And I wasn't sure if I'd ever get him back.
My thoughts drifted to my dad again.
He wasn't perfect. But he loved me the best he could have.
He was tough, hard on me—always pushing, always expecting more. Because he is slowly getting older and weaker.
Back then, I hated it.
I thought he didn't understand me.
I thought I was a failure, a disappointment.
So I shut him out.
I was cold, distant—too stubborn to see what was there beneath it all.
But now... now that he's gone, the silence feels like a weight crushing my chest.
I miss him.
I miss his scolding voice, the way he'd shake his head but still care.
I miss the rough, unspoken kind of love that I never knew how to accept.
I stood, my legs trembling, and stepped outside into the endless red haze.
And with everything I had left, I shouted into the emptiness,
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry for being a failure.
I wish I'd been better.
I wish I'd listened more.
I wish I'd told him I loved him—before it was too late."
The words hung in the air, unanswered.
But the ache inside me echoed louder than ever.
I didn't cry. I couldn't. Not anymore.My tears have already dried from crying every night.
I just stood there, fists clenched, jaw tight. The silence pressed in like a coffin lid.
Then I moved.
I walked until I found a tree. One of those thick, pitch-black ones—twisted and gnarled, harder than steel. The kind that didn't bend. Didn't break.
Perfect.
I stood in front of it, staring at my reflection in its bark. Gaunt face. Hollow eyes. A stranger.
Then I raised my fist.
And punched.
The sound wasn't loud. Just a dull thud.
But it echoed in my chest.
I punched again.
Harder.
Thud.
The third time, something cracked. Not me—the tree.
My fists didn't bleed anymore.
They couldn't.
The skin had long since turned to leather—thick, dead, used to pain.
The world had taken so much from me, it couldn't even take that anymore.
So I kept punching.
Each strike was a word I never said.
Thud.
"I'm sorry."
Thud.
"I was a coward."
Thud.
"I should've listened."
Thud.
"I miss you."
The bark chipped.
The trunk splintered.
My breath hitched.
"I thought I had time!" I shouted, voice cracking into the windless sky. "I thought—dammit—I thought I had time!"
Another punch. Another.
The tree groaned beneath me.
I dropped to my knees, breathing hard, forehead against the ruined bark.
And for a moment—I felt like a little boy again. Lost. Small. Wishing he could go home.
But home was gone.
And I was still here.
I didn't remember falling asleep.
One moment I was leaning against the ruined bark, eyes burning. The next, everything was dark.
But it wasn't the usual kind of dark.
It was… thicker.
When I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong.
Mist.
Heavy. Dense. Pressed against the shelter like it was trying to seep through every crack. It wasn't the kind of mist that drifted lazily through trees—it clung. Thick enough to choke on, with a faint, metallic smell beneath it. Like blood left out too long.
I sat up slowly, heart tight in my chest. Rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
Still there.
I crawled to the edge of the shelter, peeking through the gaps in the fence. The red glow of the sky was gone. Completely blotted out. All I could see was white—no trees, no shadows, just that suffocating fog.
I didn't like it.
For weeks now, the air had been dead but predictable. The sky never changed. The world never shifted.
But now it had.
And I didn't know why.
I stayed low. Silent. Listening.
No sound.
That was the worst part.
No clicking of claws. No dragging footsteps. No cries or hisses or teeth grinding against bone.
Nothing.
It was like the world had taken a breath and was holding it.
I wrapped myself tighter in the blanket I made from scavenged cloth and backed away from the entrance.
No hunting today.
Not with that out there.
For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel hungry.
I just felt small.
Like something was watching.
And I'd already made enough noise.
So I stayed in the shelter.
Back against the wall.
Spear in hand.
And I waited.
I must've dozed off.
Just for a moment.
But when I opened my eyes… the mist was gone.
No — the mist was never there.
I was home.
The ceiling above me wasn't red-stained rock or makeshift tarp — it was painted sky blue, covered in tiny glow-in-the-dark stars. My bed creaked softly beneath me, the cheap springs familiar. The warm smell of fried eggs and tea drifted in from the kitchen.
Then I heard it.
"Ark! Breakfast's ready!"
My mother's voice.
Young. Cheerful. Whole.
My breath caught.
I sat up slowly, heart hammering. The blanket slid off me — soft cotton, not blood-stiff rags. My room looked exactly how I remembered it, down to the posters on the wall and the pile of undone homework on the desk.
"C'mon, sleepyhead!" she called again, followed by the low chuckle of a voice I hadn't heard in months.
Dad.
I stood on shaking legs and walked out of the room.
There they were.
Mom, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, humming as she flipped a pancake. Dad in his old work clothes, sipping coffee and reading the paper.
Alive. Healthy. Smiling.
My throat tightened. I wanted to move, to run to them — but I just stood there.
Watching.
I was small again.
I hadn't even realized until now — my hands were tiny. My legs barely reached the bottom of my old pajamas.
None of this made sense.
None of it should be real.
But it felt real. The warmth. The sound. The smell. Every part of it wrapped around me like a blanket I hadn't felt in what felt like years.
"Come sit," my dad said, folding the paper and smiling at me. "Don't want your food to get cold."
I stared at them. Then at my hands. Then back.
Part of me wanted to cry.
Another part whispered: this isn't right.
And somewhere, deep in the back of my skull, I remembered the mist.
The silence.
The way it reached.
But I didn't move.
Not yet.
Because for the first time in a long, long time…
I wasn't alone.
I knew it wasn't real...
But I didn't want to leave.
Mom was healthy again, humming in the kitchen. Dad sat on the couch, half-watching TV, half-snoring like always. The house smelled like garlic rice and laundry detergent.
It was too perfect.
I sat at the table. Just sat there.
The food was warm. The floor creaked the same way it used to.
Everything was… right.
Too right.
I looked around, and deep down, I already knew.
This wasn't home.
Not really.
Still, I didn't move.
I let myself believe, just for a little longer. Just for one more second.
And then—
It all dissolved.
No warning. No noise.
Just nothing.
I was floating in a void. Or maybe falling.
It was hard to tell. Everything was black, stretching out forever.
And above me—
A colossal clock.
Larger than a city, maybe larger than the world. Its hands turned slowly, grinding through space like it was cutting time apart.
I stared, frozen. My heartbeat echoed in the silence.
Then someone stepped into view.
A figure stood beneath the clock. A woman, I thought — tall, cloaked in a light I couldn't look at directly. Her face was blurred, like reality couldn't decide what she looked like.
Then I heard it.
[{WAKE UP}]
The same voice.
The one that shouted into my skull back at the ritual.
The one that told me, [{Close the portal or everyone dies}]
My chest tightened.
I stepped back. "Who hell are you?" I shouted. My voice bounced in the empty dark.
No answer. She just stood there, like some silent statue in the middle of a nightmare.
My hands shook. Rage bubbled up — sharp and ugly.
"Why didn't you help me?" I snapped. "Why throw me into that stupid world and say nothing?"
Still nothing.
"I almost died out there. I did things. Things I never wanted to do. I was a normal kid — I had a family, a life, and now I'm—"
I choked. My throat burned.
"I'm alone," I whispered. "You don't know what that place does to you. What it took from me."
The figure remained unmoving. Watching. Listening.
But I didn't want silence.
I wanted answers. Or a reason. Or even just someone to tell me I hadn't ruined everything.
But the clock ticked louder.
And then—everything broke.
I gasped and woke up, chest heaving, throat raw. The mist was back. Thicker than before.
Red light bled across the sky.
The void was gone.
The mist appeared again.
Then it parted—like it was afraid.
I stepped forward, squinting at the sudden space above.
A strange wind blew against my skin.
It was the first time in this cursed place that the sky wasn't just red—it was empty.
No clouds.
No sun.
Just a void.
And then…
It opened.
No sound. No warning.
Just… opened.
A colossal eye emerged from the void,
stretching across the heavens like a wound in reality.
Not round. Not human. Not even alive in the way living things were.
It had no lashes, no flesh—just an endless iris spiraling like a galaxy,
colors shifting in ways I couldn't name.
And it was looking straight at me.
I felt nothing at first.
Then everything all at once.
I broke.
Not slowly. Not over time.
Instantly.
The sky bent. My skin screamed. My minn-my mind tore itself into ribbons.
The ground blinked in and out of existence.
I saw myself from above.
Then from the past.
Then from someone else's dream.
I remembered things I'd never lived.
Felt emotions I never owned.
Forgot who I was.
Ark.
Human.
Alive.
None of it made sense.
I laughed. I cried. I drooled.
I screamed inside my own head but couldn't hear it.
I was unraveling.
Not dying—unwriting.
The air turned to equations.
My thoughts bled into the dirt.
Time didn't pass. It collapsed.
I lived a thousand years and none at all in a single blink.
And just before my mind caved in—
[{PRESENT FORM ACTIVITED}]
That woman's voice again?
Tick.
Like a hand pulling me out of a whirlpool.
Time snapped.
The pain halted. The visions froze. The wrongness retreated.
I gasped, collapsing to my knees.
I was back.
Or rather… I hadn't gone anywhere.
Whatever it did to me—it didn't stick.
My hands were shaking. My lips were trembling. My vision—blurred.
I looked up.
The eye was still there, still watching—
but now it was smeared, distorted, like I couldn't fully process it anymore.
Like something inside me was shielding me from it.
I didn't know why.
I didn't know how.
But something inside me had protected my mind.
I staggered back, breath ragged.
Then I realized—
The silence was gone.
All around me… monsters. Dozens. Hundreds.
Frozen no longer.
They stirred.
One by one, their heads turned—toward me.
Joints cracking. Mouths twitching.
A collective awareness, sudden and hungry.
And every single one of them had just woken up.
Because of me.
I whispered,
"…oh shi—"