The world was silent.
Elias blinked, his breath catching in his throat. The tavern, the rain, the broken street—gone. He stood in what looked like the same village square, but the air was thick and unmoving, as though the world itself had stopped breathing.
The cobblestones beneath his boots were slick, though no rain fell. The lamps along the road glowed faintly, yet their flames bent and curled as if burning under water.
"Hello?" His voice sounded wrong—hollow, like it came from a distance.
Something answered.
Not words, but the faint echo of children laughing, distant and sharp, as though carried on a wind that did not exist.
Elias turned slowly. The tavern was still there, but its windows were dark. The wooden sign above the door swayed gently, though the air was utterly still.
A pale figure moved behind the glass.
"Reed…"
His name. Whispered. Drawn out like breath on frost.
Elias stumbled back, his heel striking the cobblestone. The tavern door creaked open by itself, inch by inch, until a black gap yawned wide. The laughter returned, louder now, but distorted—like a chorus of voices all pretending to laugh, none of them human.
His hands trembled. He wanted to run, to scream, to force himself awake. Yet his body refused. Some dreadful pull dragged him toward the tavern's shadowed doorway.
And then—
A hand seized his arm.
Elias spun around.
It was Marta, one of the villagers from the tavern, her face pale and wet with sweat. "You see it too," she whispered, eyes wide with terror. "Don't let it take you inside."
Before Elias could reply, the laughter stopped.
Utter silence.
The tavern door stood wide open, waiting.