Earth, 2035
In a dimly lit room, the only light spilling through half-closed blinds. Outside, a soft drizzle pattered against the window, the rhythm of rain weaving a lullaby for the restless. The air smelled faintly of damp earth, clean and grounding.
Two people sat across from one another in the consulting room.
One was a woman in a white lab coat, her glasses reflecting the faint glow of her desk lamp as she studied the report in her hands. The other was a young man, no more than twenty-five, his posture immaculate, his suit pressed to perfection. Yet the exhaustion in his golden eyes betrayed a restlessness that money could never conceal.
Dr. Ria cleared her throat, her voice calm but professional.
"Mr. Raze Hearth. This is our first session, so let's start with an overview. You are the founder of a multinational tech firm, net worth exceeding a hundred million dollars. A philanthropist, they say—the greatest donor alive, with more than anyone else has given to this world. Yet last week, you assaulted a man, broke his nose, his arm. May I ask… what was the intent behind that?"
Raze leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The sigh was not of regret, but of something heavier—like a man dragging chains across his own mind.
"It's… complicated. And a long story," he murmured. "It started a year ago, with a dream."
Dr. Ria adjusted her glasses, watching him carefully. "Go on."
Raze's gaze drifted to the rain-smeared window, as if searching for words in the storm.
"In that dream… I saw a man. Myself. Or rather, someone who looked like me—same face, same build—but different. His eyes… were deep violet, burning with madness. His hair, black as obsidian. He carried himself with a coldness I cannot describe—like a predator that sees the world only as prey. He was me, but stripped of everything human."
Ria remained silent, her pen hovering above the paper.
Raze's voice lowered, his words sharper.
"The first time, he was in a dark chamber. A cell… no, a torture room. A man was strung up before him, hooks through his shoulders, his ankles shattered. Fingers missing. Nails torn away. My doppelganger stood beside him with a pillar—caked in blood—and a toolbox filled with instruments of cruelty. He did not speak. He did not rage. He only… acted. Cold. Methodical. Efficient."
He swallowed, his hands tightening into fists.
"And the dreams didn't stop. Every night, I saw more. Sometimes he would crush a man's skull with his bare hands until it was unrecognizable. Sometimes he broke bones one by one, savoring each crack. Sometimes… he destroyed not the body, but the soul—slaughtering families before the victim's eyes, then offering the survivor a blade, telling him to choose mercy for himself."
Dr. Ria's brow furrowed slightly, though her expression stayed composed.
"As the weeks passed," Raze continued, "the dreams grew clearer. I didn't just see him anymore. I felt him. His anger. His thirst for power. His hunger to devour everything in his path. And then… last month, it happened. He turned to me. Looked me in the eye."
Raze's voice dropped into a whisper.
"He asked me who I was. Why I looked like him."
Silence filled the room. Only the rain dared speak.
At last, Dr. Ria set down her pen and folded her hands. Her tone was soft, clinical.
"Mr. Hearth… what you're experiencing may not be supernatural. It's likely an alternate ego. Everyone has them, though in your case, it seems more extreme. The mind creates shadows when burdened by stress. Perhaps your immense responsibilities, your constant giving—perhaps you've built a darker half to carry what you cannot."
Raze leaned forward, his golden eyes locking with hers.
"Doctor… this is no shadow."
His voice dropped, rough at the edges, as if confessing to something he could barely contain.
"It's affecting me… deeply. I can feel it—like a fire gnawing at my ribs. The rage. It doesn't wait for reason; it triggers at the smallest things. Last week, I trashed my study over a cup of coffee."
Dr. Ria tilted her head slightly, her pen frozen midair.
"Yes," Raze continued, his words spilling faster now, harsher. "Because the coffee wasn't to my liking. That was all it took. I tore apart the room like a beast—smashed lamps against the wall, shattered my cupboards, broke my windows with a bat. Glass everywhere. Wood splinters in my hands. And yet…" He paused, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "I didn't feel satisfied. Not even a little."
"You asked me about the man whose nose and arm I broke." His gaze hardened, and for the first time, a faint tremor flickered in his golden eyes. "Do you know what the worst part was, Doctor?"
He exhaled sharply,his voice catching. "After I was done with him—when his screams finally registered in my head—I realized what I had done. I wasn't shattering furniture or breaking glass this time. I had hurt a man. A living, breathing human being. And I couldn't even understand where that kind of rage came from."
Silence filled the room, broken only by the steady hum of the rain.
Ria finally set her pen down and leaned forward, her expression calm but firm.
"Okay, Mr. Hearth. This is… concerning, yes, but it is not beyond help. It's not a severe case—at least, not yet. Here is how we will approach this. You will take one week off from work. No calls. No meetings. Nothing. I'll write you a prescription for stress relief, but that's only part of it. What I want you to do is create something. Anything you love. Cook, if you enjoy cooking. Paint, if art speaks to you. Write, craft, meditate, practice light exercises—something that reconnects you to yourself. After a week, we'll meet again. And we'll see where we stand."
Raze leaned back in the chair, his golden eyes drifting to the rain-streaked window once more. For the briefest moment, his expression softened—yet beneath the surface, the storm inside him churned, waiting for the night to come.