Adrian opened his eyes to birdsong.
The air was clean. Soft. Warm. He blinked against the brightness of morning sunlight streaming across his bed. His bed. His sheets. His room.
He sat up slowly, afraid that any sudden movement would shatter the moment.
But nothing broke. The walls were smooth and white. The floor solid beneath his feet. Outside his window, the city bustled with the familiar chaos of life—cars honking, neighbors chatting, the sound of a bus grinding to a stop.
It was all normal. Painfully, wonderfully normal.
For the first time in what felt like centuries, Adrian let himself breathe.
---
The journal sat on the nightstand. He hesitated before touching it, but when he opened it—every page was blank. Not blank in a sinister, waiting way, but clean. Innocent. The horror scrawled across it was gone.
He flipped through faster, desperate. Still nothing. No spirals. No whispers. Just paper.
Tears stung his eyes. "It's over," he whispered. "God, it's finally—over."
His phone buzzed. He lunged for it, relief spilling through him at the sight of normal contact names. Friends. Coworkers. His mother. All waiting there like lifelines.
His hands shook as he called her number.
She answered on the second ring.
"Adrian? Honey, where have you been? I've been so worried."
The sound of her voice undid him. He pressed the phone to his ear, sobbing quietly, trying to swallow the jagged edges of his fear.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm still here."
---
The day moved gently, like a balm. Adrian showered. He ate. He walked outside and felt the sun warm his skin. People smiled at him. Not reflections. Not echoes. People.
Hours passed without spirals, without distortions, without whispers. The longer it went on, the more Adrian dared to believe.
Maybe he'd been sick. Maybe it had all been a psychotic break, a fever dream spun out of insomnia and paranoia. Maybe he had clawed his way back to reality.
By evening, as the city lights flickered on, he almost laughed at himself.
"Paranoid," he muttered. "That's all it was. Just—paranoia."
---
That night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Calm. Tired. Safe. His breathing slowed. His eyes closed. Sleep came easy.
And in the darkness behind his lids, the spiral opened.
Soft at first, a gentle curve glowing faintly in the void. Then another. Then another.
Dozens. Hundreds. Spiraling outward. Inward. Breathing.
Adrian's body froze, though his mind screamed.
The voice returned, soft as silk, curling around his thoughts:
Did you think we let you go?
You never left.
---
Adrian's eyes snapped open. His room was gone.
He was back in the Dimensional.
The spirals pulsed, whispering in unison.
And this time, they laughed.
---