Another day has passed, and Monday has come. Kafka finds himself unable to move from his bed, his alarm groaning in life and the light seeping through the curtain's gap.
"Monday again…" He said annoyingly, he attempted to get up yet his body refused to.
"Stupid body." Kafka cursed his own dead body that refused to work, he lay down there motionless, staring at the ceiling.
Waiting for his body to listen, after a while, his finger twitches, signaling him it's already brought back to life.
Without wasting any more time, he got up. His legs felt weak yet he still forced himself to head towards the bathroom.
—----------------
As Kafka finished his shower, his uniform readily and neatly rested on his body. He grabbed his bag and headed downstairs.
There his Mother and Father were already there, eating their breakfast.
"Good morning Kafka." His mother greeted him with a warm smile.
"Good morning, mom." Kafka replied to his mother before sitting down, he looked at his father and said, "Good morning too, dad."
His father looked at him and nodded before saying, "Good morning."
It didn't take long for Kafka to finished his breakfast before getting up, he let the dishes sunk at the sink.
"I'll be going, mom, dad."
"Take care, Kafka!" His mother replied at him, kissing him on his forehead, followed by his father's approval.
"Good luck."
Kafka step out from his house, as always, his journey was nothing but a quiet one. The hum of the engines, laughter of the friends and the chirping bird echoed the surrounding place.
His thoughts were purely focused on the book he found, after all, it was interesting to read something he couldn't quite place his finger on.
"'Thou ask, thy sacrifices and thy acquired power beyond comprehension in exchange of becoming one of THEM'..." He silently recite the sentence he found, The book was nothing extraordinary if you ask Kafka.
It was simply uncovering the mystery of Chaos, the introduction of great evil entity.
sighing to himself, Kafka raised his head towards the sky and,
"...?"
He stared. He stared. He stared. No, he wasn't staring, he was looking.
His head refused to move, his body refuse to move, his mind blank, no thoughts escaped from it.
What Kafka saw was nothing but something. An eyes, bigger than the sun if it was compared to the humans eyes.
It's slit pupils like octopus yet similar like a cat, round like a dog yet sharp like a wolf. It was something, Kafka eyes stared at it.
He can't define it, he can't understand it. He doesn't want to understand it… He want to understand it…
"What…?" A single confusion word escape from his mouth, his pupil did not shrank nor did it experience any other emotions.
It was simply there, staring at the eyes comparable to the sun.
"Ŵ̶̨h̷̘̯̒y̵̼͉͛̍ ̶̠̖́̆h̶͎̗̆a̴͙͑s̶̻͐̀ẗ̵̙͙́̐ ̷͔̖́͛t̶̞̄͘h̷̳͝ö̷̜u̵̠̇̉ ̶̙̞̇̇s̸͇̀t̸̙̾ǎ̵̞̊r̸̬͊̊i̸̤̞͛̎n̶̜͒̅g̵̟̭̽ ̷̘̟̒͛a̶̫̾t̴̮́͝ ̸̦̘̈́̐m̶̟̭̑̆ë̸̥́?̸̩͈͑͛" Its voice echoed everywhere, yet Kafka could not understand it.
It continues to talk yet Kafka remains staring at it. Until, a light slap from his back made him snap out.
He blink there, a blind light entered his eyes, forcing him to squint.
"Ouch." Kafka rubbed his eyes a few times as a gentle sweet melancholy voice appears behind him.
Kafka look back and there, it was Columbina. Dress in white and blue hues uniform.
Columbina tilt her head and ask, "What are you staring at the sky, Kafka?"
"What? I was staring at the sky?" Kafka replied confusionly, his head snapped above and stare.
It's just plain as clear blue sky, as what Kafka saw.
Shaking his head, he replied to her, "It's nothing."
"Anyway, you're pretty early."
"I am." Columbina nodded her head and continue, "Good morning, Kafka."
"Good morning." Kafka greeted her back, before going back to what he was doing- walking.
Their walk was nothing luxurious, aside some students who was passingby greeted Columbina. Which she also respond to them.
By some time, they finally arrived at the school. The school already busted by students, just like the same, they greeted Columbina with great reverend .
"Typical." Kafka thought to himself, shaking his head and went ahead.
Columbina who was next to him immediately called out, running next to Kafka.
"Kafka, where are you going?"
"Class."
Columbina puffed her cheeks slightly, clearly not satisfied with that simple answer.
"You know, it wouldn't hurt to wait for me once in a while."
Kafka glanced at her from the corner of his eye, adjusting the strap of his bag.
"You were the one chatting with everyone."
She gave a light hum, as though accepting defeat, and followed beside him anyway. "Fair point. Still, it's the first day of the week, at least try to look alive."
"Monday isn't made for living," Kafka muttered dryly, opening the classroom door.
Inside, the same blend of chaos and chatter filled the air. Classmates exchanged greetings, desks scraped against the floor, and the smell of cheap marker ink hung faintly in the room. Kafka walked to his seat by the window, placing his bag down and taking out his notebook. Columbina sat one row ahead, turning halfway in her chair to face him.
"You look like someone who fought a war this morning," she teased, her tone light.
"Felt like one," Kafka replied, leaning his chin on his hand and looking out the window. The memory of that eye flickered briefly in his mind — so vividly that it made the back of his neck prickle. For a moment, he swore he could still feel that gaze watching him.
"Kafka?" Columbina's voice pulled him back.
He blinked once, then twice. "Huh?"
"You spaced out again." Her tone softened. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
It was automatic — too quick, too defensive. She stared at him for a heartbeat longer, then smiled. "If you say so."
The bell rang, and their homeroom teacher entered, silencing the class. Kafka forced himself to focus, but his mind wouldn't let go of that image. That vast, impossible eye… its voice echoing from nowhere, the weight of it pressing into his thoughts.
He tapped his pencil against the desk, slow and rhythmic.
"Ŵ̶̨h̷̘̯̒y̵̼͉͛̍ ̶̠̖́̆h̶͎̗̆a̴͙͑s̶̻͐̀ẗ̵̙͙́̐ ̷͔̖́͛t̶̞̄͘h̷̳͝ö̷̜u̵̠̇̉ ̶̙̞̇̇s̸͇̀t̸̙̾ǎ̵̞̊r̸̬͊̊i̸̤̞͛̎n̶̜͒̅g̵̟̭̽ ̷̘̟̒͛a̶̫̾t̴̮́͝ ̸̦̘̈́̐m̶̟̭̑̆ë̸̥́?̸̩͈͑͛"
The words resurfaced in his mind, it was incomprehensible, so abstract, so alien.
He shook his head. Just a hallucination, he told himself. Maybe he was tired — maybe it was the book, the weird imagery infecting his imagination.
The class continued. Time blurred.
By lunch, Columbina was back at her desk, smiling with a tray in hand. "Want to eat together?"
Kafka blinked, breaking from his thoughts. "…Sure."
They ate under a tree in the courtyard. Students' laughter drifted from every direction, sunlight danced between the leaves, and Columbina's soft humming returned. It was peaceful — almost enough to make him forget.
Almost.
But then, as Columbina leaned forward slightly to ask something, her shadow fell across his hand — and for a fraction of a second, Kafka saw it again.
Not her shadow.
An eye.
Wide, watching, unblinking.
He froze.
"Kafka?"
Her voice was there again, gentle, real, grounding him back. The illusion vanished — just sunlight, grass, and her curious expression.
He swallowed hard. "…Nothing. Just spaced out again."
Columbina studied him carefully this time, her closed eyes somehow sharp with perception. "You're seeing something, aren't you?"
He hesitated — lips parting, but no words coming out.
Columbina's faint smile softened. "If it's something you can't explain… don't force yourself to. But," she paused, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "be careful what you keep looking at, Kafka. Sometimes, the things that stare back remember your face."
Kafka said nothing. He just looked at her, at that same serene smile that somehow carried a hint of knowing — of familiarity with things he couldn't name.
The breeze picked up. The leaves rustled.
And for the first time since morning, Kafka felt the faint chill of unease crawl back under his skin.
Before long, Class resumed again. Topic which Kafka hardly listened to– Geography.
The day continues much to Kafka's obliviousness, not like he matters. What made him think too much was the hallucinations he felt, or maybe it wasn't hallucinations at all?
Shaking his head, Kafka stopped his rain of thoughts and chose to lay down his head.
Folding his arms on the desk and letting his head sink into them, half to rest and half to block out the teacher's droning voice. The words on the board blurred together—something about tectonic plates, equators, and trade winds. None of it reached him.
The moment his eyes closed, the quiet hum of the classroom began to fade away. The scrape of pencils softened, the murmur of voices dimmed, until all that was left was a low, distant rumble.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
It wasn't a sound from the room. It came from beneath it—slow, heavy, like something enormous shifting under the floor.
His breath hitched.
"Still looking, are we?"
The voice slithered through the silence, neither male nor female, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Kafka's heart stuttered. He tried to move, but his limbs felt submerged in liquid, his vision dimming around the edges.
A faint glow began to pulse through the cracks in the floor, thin lines of bluish-white light spreading like veins beneath him. Shapes began forming—circles, runes, and spirals he could almost recognize from the book.
He wanted to scream. Wanted to wake up. But the world refused to shift.
"Knowledge has a price, Kafka."
That voice again—soft, familiar, yet wrong.
"Columbina…?" he managed to whisper, barely audible.
And for a heartbeat, she was there—standing at the front of the class where the teacher should've been, smiling gently, her eyes still closed.
But this time, the air around her shimmered like liquid glass, and her shadow stretched too far, crawling along the walls, splitting into branches that looked almost like—
—wings.
Kafka gasped. The rumbling stopped. The glow faded.
And suddenly—
"Mr. Kafka!"
He shot upright, nearly falling out of his chair. The teacher was glaring at him. The entire class turned to look.
"Sleeping again, are we?"
Kafka blinked rapidly, disoriented. The room was normal again. The walls, the students, everything. The air felt heavy but real.
"…Sorry," he muttered.
The teacher sighed and turned back to the board, resuming the lecture.
Kafka sat there motionless, staring down at his desk.
His hand was trembling slightly.
And there, faintly drawn into the surface of his notebook—like someone had pressed it in with a nail—was a small, perfect circle filled with symbols he didn't recognize.
He closed the notebook immediately.
The bell rang soon after.
Columbina turned in her seat, her serene smile still remained on that innocent face of her. "You look pale. Did you dream of something strange?"
Kafka hesitated, then forced a small, dry smile. "Yeah… you could say that."
"Mm." She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "Dreams, huh? Maybe you were dreaming something erotic about me?"
Kafka froze. His mind blanked for a moment as her words registered.
He blinked once. Twice. Then stared at her, bewildered.
Outside the window, sunlight shimmered faintly — too faintly — as if uncertain whether to stay. Columbina's smile, soft and innocent, didn't match the words that had just left her mouth.
"…What?" he finally managed.
"What?" she echoed back, tilting her head with perfect imitation.
They stared at each other in silence — one with genuine confusion, the other with mock curiosity.
Kafka narrowed his eyes. "Why did you say that?"
"Say what?" Columbina replied, her tone lilting, almost playful.
"Don't play dumb. You know what I'm talking about."
But Columbina only smiled wider, as if the tension in his voice didn't exist. Without another word, she rose from her seat, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked toward the door.
"Oi—!" Kafka called after her, grabbing his own bag and following quickly.
---
The hallway outside was filled with the noise of students chatting, lockers closing, and the squeak of shoes on linoleum. Columbina walked ahead, humming softly — the same tune she'd hummed the day they met at the library.
"Are you seriously ignoring me?" Kafka asked, his voice low, catching up beside her.
"Hmm?" She turned her head slightly, her closed eyes giving her smile a strange serenity. "You're still thinking about it? How cute."
Kafka groaned, rubbing his temple. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," she said lightly, "but you followed me, didn't you?"
He paused, realizing she was right.
Her smile deepened — knowing, almost too knowing.
"Anyway," Columbina said, brushing aside the tension with the same grace as her step, "since classes are done, come with me. I need to buy something."
Kafka sighed. "What now?"
"Groceries," she said, twirling slightly as she walked down the steps. "And maybe… something sweet."
He stared at her for a long second, debating whether to just turn around and go home. But somehow, his feet kept moving after her.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was that lingering unease from the "dream." Or maybe it was the faint shimmer of something unseen that trailed in her shadow when the sunlight touched it just right.
Whatever it was, Kafka followed.
The walk to the shopping district was slow and oddly quiet. The late afternoon sun had turned pale, a faint haze covering the streets as if the city itself hadn't woken up fully.
Columbina walked ahead, her white-and-blue uniform swaying gently with each step. Her hair glimmered faintly under the light, her humming soft — the same tune that seemed to follow her everywhere.
Kafka shoved his hands into his pockets. The noise of the crowd dulled behind the thoughts gnawing at him.
"Hey," he called out.
"Hm?" Columbina looked back over her shoulder, smile still perfectly fixed in place.
"That thing you said earlier… in class. Why?"
She stopped walking. For a moment, the world seemed to still — the wind, the chatter, even the faint sound of a car passing by.
Then she turned her head slightly, that same innocent smile curling at the edges.
"Why not?" she said.
Kafka frowned. "You're seriously—"
"Kafka," she interrupted, her tone still soft but her voice carrying a quiet weight now, "you think too much."
Her eyes opened just a sliver — faintly, barely, like a secret escaping a dream — revealing the faintest gleam of pale blue beneath her lashes.
Then she blinked, and it was gone.
"Let's not ruin the day," she said cheerfully again, spinning around and resuming her walk.
Kafka didn't reply. He followed, silent.
---
The grocery store was busier than usual. Rows of fruit and bread lined the aisles, the smell of sugar and yeast mixing with the cool air from the freezers.
Columbina drifted through the aisles like a ghost in daylight, her presence too serene for such a mundane place.
"Which one do you prefer, Kafka? Strawberries or lemons?" she asked suddenly, holding two small jars of jam.
"Lemons," he replied automatically.
"Of course," she smiled. "Bitter things suit you."
Before he could respond, his eyes caught movement near the front of the store.
A woman — tall, elegant, yet visibly weary — stood near the cashier. Her dark violet hair was tied low, her pale fingers clutching a paper bag. She looked distant, her expression fragile but controlled, like someone forcing themselves not to crumble.
Kafka's brows furrowed. Raiden Mei.
He recognized her almost instantly. They had met before — briefly, at an event Columbina dragged him into. Back then, Mei's eyes carried quiet dignity. Now they looked hollow, as if something had been taken from her.
Columbina followed his gaze and smiled faintly. "Oh, It's Mei."
"Yeah," Kafka said. "It is Raiden Mei."
Columbina murmured. "Fate truly knows how to cope."
Her tone was light, but Kafka caught something beneath it — Something else.
They approached slowly. Mei turned, startled at first, then offered a polite, tired smile.
"Kafka. Columbina," she greeted softly. "It's been a while."
"It has," Columbina said warmly. "You've been keeping yourself busy?"
"Trying to," Mei replied, glancing down at the bag in her hand. "Groceries. It's… something to do."
Kafka noticed the faint tremor in her hand when she adjusted her grip. "You should rest more," he said quietly.
"I would," Mei said, her voice barely above a whisper, "Anyway, are you two out of here again?"
A brief silence followed. The hum of the store's ceiling fans filled it.
Then Columbina stepped forward, her voice soft as silk. "Yes, Kafka here said he couldn't live without me so I had to bring him alone."
Hearing what she just said, Kafka stared at her in astonishment and perplexity.
The audacity of this… He thought to himself, yet he didn't outrightly deny it.
Mei looked up, her lips parting slightly in surprise, a fragile smile forming. "Uhhh, it's good, I guess? " she said.
"Fufufu…" Columbina merely chuckled at her own response, the sound light yet strangely distant.
"Why so many groceries, Mei?" Kafka asked, shifting his gaze between the bags she carried and the faint tension in her expression.
"Oh, this?" Mei blinked, then smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well… there's this girl—" She paused mid-sentence, her words hanging for a heartbeat too long before continuing, "—who really likes my cooking. So I have to cook for her."
Kafka stared at her face. That smile she wore—it was bright, almost too bright, a fragile imitation of warmth painted over exhaustion.
"I see. A friend then?" he said quietly.
Mei's eyes lingered on him for a moment before she nodded, her smile softening into something almost wistful.
"...Yes. A friend."
The words came out gently, but Kafka heard something hollow behind them, like a note struck slightly off-key.
Columbina tilted her head, studying Mei's expression with faint curiosity. "You must care about her a lot," she said.
"I suppose I do," Mei replied, glancing down at the paper bag. "She reminds me of who I used to be."
"Ah," Columbina murmured. "Then perhaps she's your second chance."
Mei blinked, taken aback by the phrasing. "Second chance?"
Columbina smiled softly, her eyes half-closed. "Sometimes… people appear in our lives not to save us, but to make us remember we can still be human."
Neither Kafka nor Mei spoke after that. The silence felt heavier than before, like the world itself had dimmed.
Outside, the orange sunset deepened into amber, casting long shadows across the store windows.
"Let's walk you home," Kafka finally said.
Mei opened her mouth to refuse but stopped when she saw the sincerity in his gaze. She nodded. "Alright."
---
The three walked along the quiet street — Columbina's hum filling the air again, the same soft tune that always lingered after her words.
As they turned the corner, Kafka's eyes flicked toward the distant sky. Clouds had gathered there, faint shapes twisting in unnatural symmetry, like something watching.
He blinked, and it was gone.
But Columbina's humming paused for half a second — just enough to make him wonder if she'd seen it too.
Then, just as quickly, she continued walking.
---------------
???????
At first glance, it looked like empty space—
No.
Was it ever empty to begin with?
It was chaos.
The void was dark—darker than black, so absolute that even thought seemed to vanish in it.
All around, the darkness pulsed with movement.
Flesh-like tendrils twisted through the air, their surfaces glistening wetly. Between them, fangs hung suspended like broken glass, and eyes—thousands of eyes—burned faintly like dying stars. Yet even their light could not pierce the vast, breathing dark.
Silence.
Utter silence.
No sound could travel here, no light could live here—
and yet—
Footsteps.
"Hah…! Hah…! Hah…!"
Each gasp tore through the stillness. A lone man ran, stumbling through the abyss, sweat sliding down his neck. Behind him, the tendrils followed—countless, writhing, alive.
He ran—though the word run had no meaning here.
There was no ground, no horizon, no air.
Only motion born from desperation.
The darkness breathed around him, thick and heavy, pressing against his skin like oil. Tendrils writhed from unseen corners, each tipped with a glistening eye that pulsed faintly like a dying heartbeat.
He didn't know where he was heading—
He didn't even know if there was a direction.
The silence broke.
A low hum, deep and infinite, resonated through the void.
It was not sound—it was existence itself vibrating.
Kafka stumbled to his knees, clutching his head as the hum turned to words, words he could not comprehend. They clawed at his thoughts, slipping between the cracks of his sanity.
"̷T̷h̶o̶u̵ ̷a̸r̸e̴ ̵s̵e̶e̷n̸.̵ ̶T̴h̵o̷u̵ ̷h̵a̷s̵t̸ ̵s̴t̷a̶r̸e̵d̶.̶"̴
The air around him twisted. From the endless dark, something began to move—slowly, impossibly large. Its form refused definition; limbs that weren't limbs, flesh that was not flesh, eyes blinking open and shut in patterns that made no sense.
The sight alone pressed against his chest like gravity itself, crushing him, forcing him to kneel.
He wanted to scream, but his voice was gone.
The thing loomed closer. Each breath it took reshaped the space around it, warping geometry, bending color.
Kafka's body was tainted with an black fluid, he squirmed yet the tentacles already grabbed his body.
Then—it spoke again.
"̶R̸e̶m̴e̶m̵b̵e̶r̸…̵ ̴t̸h̴e̸ ̶k̶e̵y̶.̵"̷
Kafka's eyes widened. A flash of silver—
A door. And yet, the world shattered like glass, and he woke with a violent gasp. His forehead was cold, his body drenched in sweat.
Kafka looked at the sky, sweat drippings through his head and faint thunderstorm echoing everywhere as he stared at it.
[END]