The storm ripped across the sky, clouds swirling like dark smoke, lightning clawing through the heavens. Rain lashed the earth in icy sheets, drenching everything in sight. Ethan crouched behind the remnants of a shattered wall, his boots slipping in the mud.
"Team A, hold the perimeter! Team B, move in for the rescue!" the mission leader barked, voice barely audible over the roar of the storm.
Ethan's ears rang, his senses stretched taut, but he ignored it. Around him, soldiers moved like shadows, rifles raised, eyes flicking toward him with suspicion and disdain. He had few friends here, no one to trust, and the mockery of his peers was as constant as the rain pounding the earth.
"Hope you don't mess this up like training," a voice sneered. Laughter followed, sharp and bitter. Ethan gritted his teeth. He didn't have time for them.
Ahead, lightning tore open the sky, revealing the building where the children were kept — cages lined like relics of some nightmare museum. Tiny, terrified faces peeked out, eyes wide, pleading.
"Where's the boy?" a medic shouted, panic in her voice.
Ethan's gaze snapped south, where a narrow path cut between jagged ruins and twisted metal. Without hesitation, he ran.
"Stop! You'll get yourself killed!" his teammates yelled, but the words were muffled by the storm, swallowed by the roar of rain and thunder.
I don't think about fear. I don't think about getting caught or dying, Ethan told himself, heartbeat hammering. I only think about saving this boy.
The rain fell harder, hammering the world around him. Thunder cracked overhead like the sky itself was splitting. And then he saw him. A small figure huddled beneath the skeleton of a collapsed scaffold, arms wrapped around himself like he was holding the world together. Water ran in rivulets down his cheeks, mingling with the grime of the ruins.
Ethan ran the last few steps, extending a steadying hand.
"It's alright," he whispered. "You're safe now. I've got you."
The boy's eyes glistened with tears, reflecting the lightning in brief, fleeting shards. Trembling, he pointed to a road ahead, slick and silver beneath the storm. Ethan frowned, confusion prickling his skin.
And then he saw the figure sprinting across the street — a man, reckless, moving too fast. A screech of tires, a flash of metal… and the body crumpled beneath the vehicle.
Ethan froze. His own face, pale and soaked, stared back at him from a puddle. The boy's sobs echoed like a bell tolling in the storm.
Fear wrapped him in icy chains. He wanted to move, but the world twisted, the sky splitting with every thunderclap. Shadows flickered where they shouldn't, walls seemed to bend, and for a moment, reality felt liquid, unstable.
Then a blinding flash of lightning, a deafening clap — and Ethan jolted awake.
The sheets tangled around him, sweat soaking his shirt. He pressed his palms to his face, shivering.
"Not this one again…"
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan. He reached for his phone. 7:42 a.m.
"Damn it… I'm going to be late. I have to open the bookshop."
Throwing on a shirt and slipping into worn jeans, he left his apartment. Fog curled around lampposts like ghostly fingers, and the early morning chill clung to his skin.
By the time he arrived, the shop's old brass bell jingled faintly. The owner was already inside, arranging a stack of books near the entrance. He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Ethan's pale, bleary-eyed, and tense form.
"Did you have the dream again?" he asked, voice soft but knowing.
Ethan rubbed his temples. "Yeah…"
"Well, you'll be fine," the old man said, chuckling. "Just a long, good sleep will do you some good."
"Real funny, old man," Ethan muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Mr. Abernathy shuffled off to dust shelves and organise books, humming softly. Ethan lingered a moment, inhaling the comforting scent of old paper and polished wood. Yet, even here, a faint echo of thunder lingered at the edge of his mind.
" Not real… right?", he thought. But something felt off– a shadow that didn't belong, a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, just beyond the corner of a bookshelf.
A chill slid down his spine. Somewhere, deep in the quiet of the bookshop, he felt it: the nightmare wasn't entirely gone.
—--------
Author's Note:
What seems like a simple dream is only the beginning… The truth will unfold soon.