The next morning, the city woke slowly. Mist curled between streetlights, and the air smelled faintly of wet asphalt and forgotten things.
Akira Killua walked briskly to school, headphones bouncing on her neck, hair wild in the wind. Her mind lingered on the previous day—the strange boy with shadows that weren't just shadows.
She didn't know why, but a chill had lingered in her spine when she'd seen him leave. A tiny brush of something unnatural in the alley, a feeling she couldn't name. Curious, unnerving, impossible to ignore.
---
Kylori walked ahead of her, silent as ever. The city itself seemed to yield to his presence; stray cats froze mid-step, pigeons took flight at the edge of his awareness. Shadows stretched subtly, almost imperceptibly, twisting at the corners of alleyways and streets.
Akira noticed none of it.
"Hey, Meykami!" she called, bold as ever, stepping closer.
Kylori's head tilted slightly. His eyes, deep and unreadable, flicked to her, as if noticing her was a choice rather than a necessity.
"Morning," he said softly, words measured, like a blade sliding across glass.
"You… you didn't look at me weirdly today," she said, smirking. "Relaxing a little?"
His shadow shifted underfoot, splitting ever so slightly at the edges. Tendrils stretched toward the corners of nearby walls, investigating, then retreating.
> Nothing to worry about. Not yet.
> "I'm not…" he murmured, then stopped. Silence returned like a curtain falling.
Akira, oblivious, skipped a step to walk beside him. "So… did anything happen yesterday? I mean, besides your shadow trying to… whatever it was doing?"
Kylori's lips twitched—not a smile, but a small flicker of recognition. He said nothing. His shadow pulsed softly, a heartbeat against the world, and somewhere in its folds, a tiny eldritch eye watched her.
---
By noon, Akira found herself lagging behind. The school grounds felt… heavier, darker, when Kylori passed.
A discarded leaf twisted in midair, caught in the pull of something unseen. A breeze carried whispers too low to hear, a static hum of intent from a world she could not see.
Akira frowned. "Okay… maybe there's something weird about this guy," she admitted aloud, though still smiling.
Her curiosity brushed against him like a candle flame. Dangerous? Perhaps. But to Kylori, she was a test, not yet a threat.
> Humans rarely survive curiosity without trembling.
>She seems to be an exception.
A shadow moved against the walls. Not his. Not fully. Something curious, slithering, observing. One of the puppets had wandered just beyond school property, slipping through cracks in the dimension he alone inhabited. It paused, noting her presence, then melted back into the void.
Akira shivered slightly, but attributed it to the breeze.
Kylori's expression remained unchanged, eyes deep, unfathomable. He walked beside her, silent, a human yet not a human. A doorway itself—one that breathed, thought, and waited.
> Some things should not be touched.
But she did.
And he noticed.
---
The day continued with normal classes, lunch, and small interactions, but the world around him had begun to bend subtly toward him, threads of reality fraying at the edges where shadows and whispers lingered.
Akira did not see it. But she felt it, faintly, unknowingly. A tug, a nudge, a pull of awareness she couldn't name.
And Kylori? He allowed it.
> Curiosity is the first step to understanding. And the first step to ruin.
The bell rang. Dusk would soon fall. And the Door—he—would watch, wait, and collect as needed.