The sun shone through the window sill, casting straight lines across Vael's floor. His alarm beeping over and over, but lay in his bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. Just like any other day, classes, maybe a drink afterward, then home. The usual repetitive day.
Mother: ["Vael, your breakfast is getting cold!"]
He swung his legs over the side of the bed
Vael: ["I'll be there in a sec."]
Rubbed his eyes and got up. He got dressed, grabbed his backpack, and adjusted the strap before stepping into out of his room.
In the kitchen, the smell of toast filled the air. His mom handed him a plate with a small frown.
Mother: ["I saw your last math grade… failing. You've got to focus."]
Vael: ["Yeah, well, maybe failing a little keeps life exciting."]
His dad, sipping coffee, looked over the rim of his mug.
Father: ["I've got a meeting tonight. Don't forget we're going out for dinner afterward."]
Vael: ["Is Rinka coming?"]
Father: ["Of course. We can't just leave your sister here alone."]
He nodded, finishing his breakfast. There was a calm routine to these moments, simple and grounding. He got up, hugged his mom, and headed to school.
Since the university was just a short walk away, Vael continued to live with his parents, keeping the rhythm of home and school neatly intertwined.
The lecture hall was already half full, students murmuring and shuffling papers. Vael slid into his usual spot near the back window, set his notebook on the desk and ran a hand over his right glove — the aristocrat-style piece he always wore. He was gifted it by his late grandfather when he was just a kid.
The professor's voice drowned on about economics, graphs, and supply chains. Vael took notes without really thinking, his attention drifting, zoning out, and his pen tapping absently.
Then, in the corner of his eye, a faint flicker caught him: a thin thread hovering above a student a who was sitting in front of him. It twisted slightly, almost as if it was alive, but subtle enough that he could have imagined it.
Vael: ["--hm?"]
He blinked, it was still there for a split second. The thread shivered once more, then vanished as if aware of him. A strange anomaly to make the day a little less dull.
Vael: ["Probably just my imagination. I haven't been getting the best sleep anyway"]
He didn't speak to the student as though it didn't feel urgent enough to tell her. The lecture continued, yet his mind lingered on that brief thin flicker, an echo that refused to vanish.
When the class ended, Vael stretched and packed up. He walked through the door and out to the hallway which was crowded with students rushing to their next classes.
Just like a second ago, a sudden pressure built behind his eyes, a pain so sharp and disorienting. For a split second, he saw threads everywhere: above students, drifting around stray objects, weaving patterns he couldn't understand. And just as quickly, they vanished.
Vael: ["…What the hell am I seeing…"]
He covered his eye with his hand unsure of what's going on and ducked into the nearest bathroom. Splashing water on his face, he tried to steady himself. The echoes of the threads lingered, unsettling but undeniably real. Just the sight of them alone caused his heart to grow cold.
Vael: ["Okay… focus. It's… weird, but I can't panic."]
He stared at his reflection. Then, in the corner of the mirror, a thin, pale thread hovered, twisting as if caught in a slow current. Without thinking, he lifted a hand. The thread responded, curving gently toward his glove.
Vael froze. He flexed his fingers. The thread followed his motion, curling almost like it had awareness. Confusion and awe tangled in his chest.
Vael: ["…It's… moving on its own? I've never seen anything like this before."]
He tried to guide it, hesitating as it pulsed slightly, resisting him just a fraction, and as it slowly moved towards the exit of the bathroom, it vanished, leaving only empty air.
Vael: ["…Where did it go?"]
Something about its disappearance felt wrong. Almost like it was leading me to something, and this thread wasn't his — yet somehow, he had affected it.
Stepping back into the hallway, Vael ran a hand over his glove, trying to shake the tension. Students streamed past him, oblivious. At the far end, he noticed a figure standing still amid the moving crowd.
Above them, a glowing thread twisted slowly above his head, almost like it was taunting him from afare. Their eyes met briefly. The thread flickered — then along with the thread, he had vanished----.
Vael: ["This has to be a dream right? What was that stringy thing on his head?"]
The question piled up as he slowly walked down the hallway, looking around visually anxious. The image of the thread lingering at the edge of his thoughts. He didn't know it yet, but that fleeting encounter was only the beginning.
After waiting all day for school end, Vael walks in silence back to his house, still trying to make sense of what he saw. His mind races, wondering if he's imagining things — the threads, the reaction, the pull he felt. The thread he felt was so cold... and so miserable.
Walking home, everything around him appeared to be normal.
He gripped the strap of his backpack tighter.
Vael: ['It's probably nothing']
He told himself, though the splotchy echo of his footsteps made the reassurance feel fragile and disingenuous. The familiar sound of the city — the chatter of passing people, the clatter of distant footsteps — felt distant, muted, as if the world itself had fallen quiet. Expecting the warmth of his family, their voices and presence to anchor him when he arrived home.
When he pushed open the front door, a cold draft met him. No smell of food, no chatter from the kitchen. Just silence.
But instead unexpectedly, --- Then his gaze fell to the floor, --- lying motionless on the floor.
Rinka.
Vael: ["…No. No, no, no—"]
The bag slipped from his shoulder. He stumbled forward, his knees hitting the floor hard as he gathered her in his arms.
His eyes widened as his heartbeat grew faster.
Running towards her lifeless body he grabs her
A cold draft whispered through the hallway.
Vael: ["What the hell happened to you! Who did this to you!"]
he cried out in a helpless voice.
His voice cracked, choking on the words.
Shaking her in an attempt you wake her up.
Screaming in hopes his family would come to his rescue and make everything better, nothing happened.
As his screams echoed through the empty house, the air around him seemed to form with tension. A faint, pale thread appeared above his head, twisting in the shape of a jagged spiral.
At first it flickered weakly, hesitant, like it was observing him. But with each surge of pain and rage, it thickened, pulsing violently as if feeding on his grief. It lashed out almost uncontrollably, slicing through the shadows of the room, reflecting his emotional chaos. The thread wasn't just reacting — it was alive, an extension of his will, his fury, and his despair all wrapped in a single, cutting form.
Vael realized the world he had known isn't the truth, deep down he knew her death wasn't any normal killing. Knowing this he felt so weak and powerless from his lack of knowledge.
After what it felt like hours of crying, he crawled up next to her and the thread suddenly became obsolete, as he lied next to her with tears down his face.
He would never be the same..
His hands trembling, the world felt so heavy, each heartbeat echoing with a hollow emptiness. The trauma he endured was like nothing he's felt before.
When the house remained silent and no one returned, he knew he couldn't leave her there. With trembling hands, he found the shovel.
Later that night...
---
------
After digging for hours, Vael stares down at his sister's grave with a blank, empty stare.
Vael: ["I can't believe you were murdered in cold blood; dad wasn't even there to protect you!"]
Vael: ["------"]
The pale thread above him flickered erratically, pulsing like a wounded heartbeat.
He pressed his palm against the soaked dirt, fingers digging into the mud as though trying to cling to her one last time. The shovel slipped from his numb hands, the clang echoing into the storm.
Finally, he whispered one last apology, forcing himself up on unsteady legs. His father's words from that morning echoed in his mind: a meeting, late tonight.
Wiping the rain and tears from his face, he stumbled up on his feet. his steps uneven, but he forced himself forward. Seeking help. - Seeking answers. - Anything to keep from collapsing into despair. He finished the burial, whispered one last apology, and set his eyes toward his father's workplace.
Vael (under his breath): ["…I'm sorry."]