The night was restless.
Thunderclap!!
Lightning crackled, illuminating the night in its pale blue color for a second before the cold darkness returned, swallowing the world.
The wind screamed through the alley, slamming against every wall and window as if it wanted to break in and test their strength. Like an angry bull, the wind came heavy and furious. The shutters rattled. The trees bent their branches until they almost touched the ground. Some broke. Some stood—but barely.
It dragged clouds across the sky like torn fabric, burying the moon. But every now and then, the fabric of clouds tore, and the moon managed to slip free, spilling its light before being swallowed again.
The city looked like a graveyard under the silver light of the moon, illuminated for a moment at a time. Roads devoid of cars. Streets devoid of animals. The city devoid of people—and devoid of sound, except for the rustling of tree leaves, which grew louder every second, as if screaming. Screaming a warning. A warning of something waiting in the darkness.
The rain poured down from the sky, slamming against the walls and windows of buildings. And inside one of those buildings, a boy struggled in his sleep.
His body twisted on the bed, beads of sweat covering him, the bedsheet beneath him drenched. His chest rose and fell too fast, as if he were drowning. His fists clutched the fabric. His lips moved, trying to form a word, but failed.
.
.
.
.
The ground was split into endless cracks, like a giant spider's web. Bodies lay scattered, broken and frozen in terror. Blood seeped through the cracks, pouring into a river until the water ran red. The air was thick with smoke. Flames reached the horizon, and screams cut through the haze—pleading, breaking, fading.
The battlefield stretched endlessly, and at its heart, two figures clashed. Their shapes blurred in the firelight, but their presence was undeniable. Every strike shook the ground. Every movement sent ash scattering into the sky.
Their clash left nothing but a wasteland covered in blood, littered with mangled bodies and death.
.
.
.
Thunderclap!!
The boy jolted awake. His breath labored. The thunder broke the silence, and the lightning painted the room blue, casting his shadow long against the wall.
Sweat ran down his temples, soaking the pillow. The ceiling fan creaked above, slicing the air. Shadows clung to the corners. The storm pressed against the window as if it wanted in.
He shoved the blanket off like it was trying to choke him. His body trembled, his hands restless. Sitting at the edge of his bed, he buried his face in his palms.
"That nightmare again…" His whisper was shaky, barely there, but heavy all the same.
Every night. The same battlefield. The same corpses. The same smoke that made him choke even after waking. He hadn't wished for peaceful dreams in years. Sleep wasn't rest anymore. It was punishment.
He dragged in a breath and lifted his head. The door across the room blurred through his unfocused eyes. His chest rose and fell, searching for rhythm.
Slowly, he stood. His legs felt too heavy, like part of him was still trapped in that other world. He moved toward the door. Step by step. Careful. Quiet.
Then he froze.
The air thickened. The back of his neck prickled. Someone—something—was watching.
His hand stopped inches from the doorknob. His head snapped toward the window.
The glass rattled in the storm, but that wasn't what made him stop. In the shifting dark outside, he thought he saw it. A figure. A shadow pressed against the glass, looking at him.
Lightning split the sky.
For that single flash, the room lit up. And the window was empty.
Only the storm. Only his reflection.
His heart slammed against his ribs, but he forced his body to move. He twisted the lock, opened the door.
"Imagination," he muttered, though his voice betrayed him.
.
.
.
The corridor stretched long and narrow, weak bulbs flickering against the dark. He walked soundlessly, each step cautious, his breath shallow. The storm groaned against the walls, windows trembling in their frames.
He stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the light. It stuttered before settling into a dim yellow glow. Shadows still clung to the edges of the room.
Leaning over the sink, Shiv stared into the mirror. His pale face stared back, damp hair plastered to his forehead, lips trembling. His chest still rose unevenly, scraping for air.
He cupped his hands under the tap and splashed cold water on his face. The shock grounded him, droplets trailing down his jaw into the sink. For a moment, he almost felt calm.
Then thunder cracked again. His reflection stared back.
White.
His eyes were white. Not pale. Not tired. White, as though someone had drained the color out of them, leaving something that didn't belong. They glowed faintly in the flickering light, alien and wrong.
He stared. The boy in the mirror stared back, unblinking.
The storm howled outside. Inside, it was just him and those eyes.
"You're not normal," he whispered, as though the mirror needed to be reminded.
"You should not even be born." His voice rose as he glared at the boy in the mirror.
Something twisted inside him. His fist clenched before he could stop it, and he slammed it into the glass.
The mirror cracked with a sharp shatter, lightning splitting into jagged lines. His reflection broke into fragments, a dozen pairs of white eyes staring back at him from every shard.
Blood welled on his knuckles, dripping into the sink, staining the porcelain red. The sting should have hurt. But it didn't. What hurt was how familiar it was.
This wasn't the first time.
He leaned closer, breath fogging the shattered glass. A dozen broken versions of himself glared back—accusing, condemning.
He lifted his hand, trembling, watching the blood slide down his fingers, drop by drop, spattering against the floor.
No matter how much he tried to ignore it. No matter how far he ran. Those eyes always reminded him.
He wasn't like them.
He would never be.
.
.
The storm raged on outside. The city slept, unaware.
And in that small
bathroom, a boy stood bleeding before his own reflection.
"You damn curse bearer," the boy whispered to himself.