The quiet of the countryside was suddenly broken by the flutter of wings.
Richard blinked.
A small black bird landed on the edge of the rooftop, only a few feet away from him. It tilted its head slightly, its dark eyes fixed on him with an odd intensity.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The wind had died.
The fields below the house were completely still, the tall grass frozen under the pale silver glow of the moon.
Richard slowly straightened his back.
Only then did he realize how deeply he had sunk into his memories.
"…Right," he murmured softly.
He was back.
Back on the rooftop.
Back in the present.
Twenty-six years old.
Still staring at the same moon he had watched countless times before.
Still carrying the same unanswered questions.
Richard let out a long breath and rubbed his face.
"For the past year…" he whispered to himself, "…I kept telling myself things were changing."
Meditation.
Long walks through nature.
Hours reading spiritual books Emily had bought for him.
Awareness. Mindfulness. Awakening.
At least, that was what he had tried to believe.
But lately, doubt had begun to creep in.
Quietly.
Slowly.
Like water leaking through cracks.
Richard stared at the moon again, his brows tightening.
"What if it's not awakening?" he muttered.
His voice sounded small in the open night.
"What if I'm just… coping?"
The thought had been following him for months now.
Every strange moment he experienced—every deep stillness, every sudden sense of detachment, every strange pull inside his chest—
Another voice inside his head would answer immediately.
You're imagining it.
You just want to feel special.
You're trying to give meaning to your loneliness.
Richard swallowed.
"…Maybe that's true," he said quietly.
The bird didn't move.
It continued watching him with those sharp black eyes.
And then there was the other thing.
The thing he had never told anyone about.
For the past month, Richard had felt something strange.
Not fear.
Not paranoia.
Just a feeling.
A presence.
Like someone was watching him.
Not from the shadows.
Not from behind walls.
Just… watching.
Like invisible eyes resting on him whenever he was alone.
When he walked outside.
When he tried to sleep.
When he sat in silence like this.
Tonight the feeling was stronger.
Much stronger.
Richard shifted uncomfortably.
"…Why does it feel like that again?"
A faint pressure formed at the back of his mind.
Subtle.
But impossible to ignore.
The bird tilted its head again.
Its eyes looked darker now.
Too still.
Richard's heartbeat began to speed up.
The air around him suddenly felt heavier.
And then—
A thought appeared in his mind.
Clear.
Cold.
Not his.
"You are late."
Richard froze.
The words hadn't come from the wind.
They hadn't come from the bird.
They hadn't come from anywhere outside.
They came from inside his head.
His breath caught in his throat.
"…What?"
Without thinking, Richard slowly lifted his head.
His eyes locked onto the night sky.
Not the moon.
Not the stars.
But the darkness between them.
Something felt wrong.
The sky suddenly looked different.
Not empty.
Layered.
As if the night itself was only a thin veil hiding something vast behind it.
Richard narrowed his eyes, scanning the sky.
"Why does it feel like this…?"
A strange chill crawled up his spine.
This wasn't imagination.
This wasn't anxiety.
This was instinct.
The same instinct animals felt before a predator appeared.
The stars above seemed… wrong.
Too still.
Too perfectly placed.
And then the realization hit him.
It didn't feel like he was looking at the sky.
It felt like the sky was looking back.
Richard's chest tightened.
"…That's impossible."
But the feeling didn't fade.
If anything, it grew stronger.
Like enormous unseen eyes were watching him from beyond the dark expanse of space.
Measuring him.
Waiting.
The bird suddenly flapped its wings and shot into the air.
The sharp sound broke the silence.
But it didn't break the feeling.
Richard slowly stood up from the rooftop tiles.
His heart was pounding now.
"Who's there…?" he whispered.
He didn't even know who he was asking.
The wind returned suddenly, brushing against his face.
But the pressure remained.
Heavy.
Focused.
Personal.
And deep inside his chest—
Something responded.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Richard staggered slightly.
"…What is happening to me…?"
The pressure intensified.
It felt like the air itself had weight.
His vision blurred.
He blinked hard, trying to focus.
But the sky above him seemed to stretch unnaturally.
Too vast.
Too deep.
The stars began to shift.
Not physically.
But somehow his perception of them changed.
As if their impossible distance was collapsing.
A sharp pain suddenly shot through his chest.
"Ah—!"
Richard gasped and stumbled backward, his heel scraping against the edge of the rooftop tiles.
His heartbeat roared in his ears.
Too fast.
Too loud.
"I— I can't—"
The darkness between the stars deepened.
Swirling faintly like ink spreading through water.
And then—
A flash.
Not lightning.
Not light.
A memory.
A hand.
His hand.
But not his.
Covered in strange silver markings that pulsed faintly.
And a voice—
Calling a name.
Not Richard.
Something else.
The pain exploded behind his eyes.
His knees buckled.
The rooftop tilted.
The moon fractured into white shards in his vision.
"Wait—!"
But the word never finished.
Everything went black.
And then—
Silence.
Not the silence of night.
Not the silence of sleep.
But the silence of absence.