Agony had left.
But silence remained.
Not comforting silence—
the kind that feels stitched, artificial, like someone forced the room to forget sound itself.
The art room still smoked.
The floor was charred black where time had screamed and burned.
The smell of stone, iron, and old rain lingered.
Vyom did not move at first.
His knees pressed to the ruined ground, trembling, breath sharp and tiny—like he was afraid if he exhaled too loudly, the fractured world would break again.
Nara leaned against him, her outline flickering… barely holding shape.
Only her eyes were clear—frighteningly clear.
The silence thickened.
A faint ticking echoed…
but not from any clock in the room.
It came from everywhere and nowhere—
like time had been cracked, and now the hollow pieces clicked against each other.
Nara spoke first.
"Don't… pass out."
Her words felt too small against the ruins around them.
Vyom blinked, barely holding on.
His chest still buzzed—like an invisible hand had been inside him moments ago… because it had.
He touched the spot over his heart.
No wound.
No blood.
But warmth—
and something faintly glowing beneath his skin…
like a seed of light that refused to die.
Nara followed his gaze.
"That light…"
Her voice wavered, "Hides you from him—for now."
Vyom didn't answer.
He didn't understand.
He only knew it hurt.
A shiver gripped him when he remembered the reflection's final words—
"That was only the first fracture."
Vyom clamped his tiny hands over his ears.
"I don't want to go back," he whispered.
Nara placed her remaining hand on his shoulder—though the gesture flickered, like even touch was uncertain.
"You won't," she murmured.
"But the breach is open now."
A tremor rolled through the room at her words—
from under the floor, through the walls, into their bones.
Vyom glanced around.
The mirrors were gone—broken into smoky dust.
Paintings hung crooked, melting slightly, as if uncertain whether to remain solid.
The world had…dented.
Something was wrong.
Not just here—
Everywhere.
"Nara…"
His voice was a frail thread.
"…what was that place?"
"The space between seconds," she whispered.
"Hollow time. It exists when reality cannot hold what enters."
Vyom didn't fully understand, but he nodded anyway.
A child's acceptance.
He had no choice.
She wiped his cheek.
Or tried.
Her fingers passed through halfway, then steadied—
"You were almost replaced."
Vyom's breath stuttered.
The reflection's black eyes flashed in his mind.
"He wanted to… become me?"
Nara shook her head.
"No. He wanted you to stop being you."
She swallowed.
"That thing… doesn't want a body. It wants continuity."
Vyom's brows knitted weakly.
"Continu… what?"
Nara paused.
"Imagine a story," she said slowly.
"With pages from different books, glued into one."
Vyom blinked.
"But that story would… be wrong."
"Yes."
Her gaze darkened.
"And still real."
Vyom hugged himself.
He didn't want to think.
Thinking felt like a door—
one the reflection could slip through.
He stayed quiet.
For a long time, neither spoke.
---
A distant sound broke the stillness.
Not footsteps.
Not breathing.
Not anything familiar.
It was…
a soft scraping.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like nails dragging across wood—
but from inside the walls.
Vyom tensed, breath hitching.
Nara straightened instantly—
her fading outline sharpening.
"It's too soon," she whispered.
The scraping grew louder—
traveling, searching.
Vyom backed away until his shoulders hit the cold wall.
"What is it?" he whispered.
Nara didn't answer immediately.
Her eyes darted across the room—calculating, scared.
When she finally spoke—
it was barely a breath.
"Something followed us back."
Vyom felt his stomach drop.
"But… I closed the bridge—"
"You delayed it."
She stepped in front of him, shielding him with her glitching body.
"You can't close what you didn't open."
The scraping stopped.
Silence.
Then—
A soft knock.
Tak.
From inside the wall.
Vyom jolted, covering his mouth.
Another knock.
Tak… tak.
No rhythm.
No message.
Just presence.
Nara whispered urgently—
"Don't respond.
Don't look at where it knocks."
Vyom squeezed his eyes shut.
His breath trembled.
The knocking drifted—
traveling along the wall like fingers tracing for weakness.
Left.
Down.
Up.
Right.
Always searching.
Nara's flicker worsened.
Her voice strained—
"It smells him in you."
Vyom's heart hammered.
"Him?"
"The reflection."
Her head lowered.
"Everything tied to the breach carries his scent."
Vyom shook—small, helpless.
"Why is it… knocking?"
Nara hesitated.
"Because it can't choose its door.
It needs you to open."
Vyom whimpered.
"I don't want to."
Nara smiled faintly—
"That's why you're still here."
The scraping returned—
but farther away now, drifting into the building.
Vyom let out a shaky breath.
"Is it gone?"
"No."
Her voice cut sharply.
"It's listening."
So they waited.
Silent.
Still.
Minutes—or hours—slipped through.
The distant scraping faded…
but the room grew colder.
Vyom's fingers numbed.
Nara's flicker slowed.
Then—
a faint whisper.
Not a voice.
More like a memory echo.
Vyom…
Vyom whimpered, eyes wide.
"It's calling me…"
"Don't answer."
Nara pressed closer.
"Names have weight. Yours is not free."
The whisper thinned, dissolving—
but it left behind a chill that burrowed into bone.
Nara inhaled shakily.
"We need to leave."
Vyom stumbled to his feet, gripping her sleeve.
"But where?"
"The breach made the room unstable.
This place remembers too much of you."
Her eyes darted to the blackened floor.
"If he returns here, it will be easier."
Vyom nodded weakly.
Together, they stepped toward the door.
But the door wasn't there.
Only a wall.
Vyom froze.
"It was here—right here—"
Nara placed a trembling hand against the wall.
Her palm sank in like it was clay.
She pulled back instantly.
"This room is rearranging," she whispered.
"It's rewriting itself around you."
Vyom swallowed hard.
"What do we do?"
"Don't move."
Her tone sharpened.
"It's choosing."
The walls bent—
slow, rippling like they were breathing.
Shapes pressed beneath the surface—
faces with hollow eyes, mouths parted in eternal silence.
Vyom squeezed his own eyes shut.
"Make it stop," he whispered.
"You must not see it," Nara said, voice strained.
"Look inward—remember the light."
Vyom placed his hand over his chest—
over the warmth the reflection failed to steal.
He focused.
The room groaned.
Something inside the wall—many somethings—began to whisper, overlapping.
Not words.
Just intent.
A ripple passed across Vyom's heart—
a faint pulse of gold-light beneath thin skin.
The whispers recoiled—
hissing silently.
The breathing walls stilled.
Faces sank back into plaster.
A line split open in the wall—
a doorway forming, trembling into existence.
Nara exhaled shakily.
"It remembers your choice," she murmured.
Vyom didn't care why.
He just wanted out.
He gripped Nara's hand—
or what remained of it—
and together they stepped through.
---
They emerged into—
Not the hallway.
Something too quiet.
Too rigid.
A staircase—
but not the school's staircase.
This one was old—
ancient wood slick with oil-dark stains,
rails carved with symbols that squirmed when glanced at.
Nara frowned.
"This… isn't the building."
Vyom trembled.
"Then where—"
"The breach," she whispered, "didn't close.
It followed you."
A wind rushed up from below.
Not cold—
but empty.
Vyom shivered.
He clung to Nara.
"What should we do…?"
Nara looked downward—
the stairs spiraled into darkness with no end.
Her voice was firm yet pained.
"We can't stay.
This place is in-between—
It will keep rewriting until… you vanish."
Vyom's throat tightened.
"I'm scared…"
Nara knelt—her flickering form steadying long enough to meet his gaze.
"You survived the fracture," she said softly.
"You can survive this."
He wasn't sure.
But she believed—and that was enough for now.
They began descending.
Step.
Step.
Step.
The stairs creaked but didn't echo.
Even their breaths felt muted.
After a while—
a faint hum emerged from below.
Vyom clung tighter.
"What is that?"
Nara didn't answer.
Her eyes narrowed.
As they went deeper—
the hum separated into layers.
A low drone, like chanting.
A higher tone—musical, broken.
And beneath both—
a heartbeat.
Not his.
Not human.
BOOM…
BOOM…
BOOM…
Each pulse vibrated through the wood—
through their bones.
Vyom staggered.
His vision wavered—
walls melting slightly, reforming into twisted shapes he didn't recognize.
He felt heavy—
as if the air itself pushed him down.
Nara's glitch worsened—
her body flickering into static.
"The bridge is close," she warned.
Vyom struggled.
"I don't… want to go back there…"
"You won't," she said quickly.
"We're heading to what chose you."
Vyom didn't understand.
He only felt dread.
The stairs ended abruptly—
in front of a massive wooden door.
It towered above them,
half-rotten,
half-pulsing with faint golden veins—
the same as Vyom's chest-light.
The heartbeat was loudest here.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Vyom pressed closer to Nara.
"What's behind it?"
Nara looked at him.
Her expression was unreadable.
"Truth," she whispered.
"And hunger."
Vyom's breath froze.
He shook his head quickly.
"No… no… I can't—"
Nara cupped his cheek—her hand glitching but warm.
"You don't need to open it," she said quietly.
"You only need to listen."
The heartbeat slowed.
BOOM…
...BOOM…
The door whispered.
Not in words—
in recognition.
Vyom…
Vyom stepped backward—
but the stairs behind had dissolved into darkness.
He was trapped.
Nara steadied him.
"Only listen," she repeated.
Vyom placed trembling fingers against the door.
It felt—
Warm.
Like skin.
The heartbeat synced with his own…
until he couldn't tell which belonged to whom.
Images bled into his mind—
not memories—
possibilities.
A cradle woven of vines and silver thread.
A stone altar bathed in moonlight.
A child sleeping while shadows kneeled.
A sphere of golden light buried in a small chest.
And beyond—
a darkness waiting…
watching.
Vyom gasped, jerking his hand away.
The door pulsed—
then stilled.
Nara exhaled.
"It marked you," she whispered.
Vyom trembled.
"What does it want?"
Nara stared at the door—
fear, awe, and grief twisting her fading face.
"It wants to come home."
The heartbeat vanished—
leaving a vacuum of silence.
The wood rotted instantly—
crumbling into dust.
Beyond the frame—
only darkness remained.
Deep.
Soundless.
Yet breathing.
Nara pulled Vyom back.
"Don't look," she whispered urgently.
Vyom shut his eyes tight—
tears burning.
Something stirred in the dark—
slow, enormous.
Not approaching—
yet present.
A whisper rose—
one that felt older than language.
A single word—
not heard but felt—
"Soon."
The doorway snapped shut—
boards knitting themselves in reverse.
The stairwell trembled—
then—
Everything went black.
---
When Vyom opened his eyes—
he was back in the school corridor.
Normal lights.
Normal walls.
Normal silence.
His tiny hands shook.
His clothes were burned at the chest—
threads curled, blackened.
The golden warmth beneath his skin still throbbed.
Nara stood beside him—
but she was nearly gone.
Only faint light held her together.
Vyom clutched her desperately.
"Don't go—please—don't leave…"
Nara placed a flickering palm over his heart.
"I'm not leaving," she whispered.
"I'm returning."
Vyom swallowed his sob.
"But I need you—"
"You do," she agreed.
"And that's why I can't stay in this form."
Her fingers faded—
passing through him like warm smoke.
"I'm made of your forgotten time," she said gently.
"If I remain, he will scent me first."
Vyom shook his head—
tears falling silently.
"Nara—don't—"
She smiled softly—
the saddest smile he'd ever seen.
"I'll still be with you.
Not beside you—inside the seconds you keep."
Her outline thinned—
skin dissolving into fractured light.
"You are not alone, Vyom."
Her voice echoed faintly.
"You were never meant to be."
He reached out—
hands passing through her face.
"Wait—!"
But her body broke apart—
petals of light scattering into the air
like fireflies.
The last piece of her—
her voice—
lingered.
"Don't answer when he knocks…"
Then silence.
Real silence.
Vyom stood alone in the corridor—
smoke-yellow hallway lights buzzing above.
He touched his chest.
The heartbeat beneath— not his— answered.
BOOM.
…BOOM.
Vyom's breath shook.
He didn't scream.
Didn't run.
He only whispered—
"Why me?"
The world didn't answer.
But somewhere
far behind the walls—
A single, soft knock
tapped back.
Tak.
Vyom froze.
Silence.
Then—
Tak… tak.
Cold sweat ran down his spine.
He backed away slowly—
hands shaking.
This time—
the knocking whispered with intent.
I found you.
Vyom turned and ran.
The corridor stretched— too long— unreal.
His breath came in gasps—
footsteps slapping the tiled floor.
Behind him—
the knocking followed.
Not faster.
Not louder.
Just inevitable.
Vyom didn't look back.
He only ran—
because now he knew:
The reflection wasn't trying to replace him.
It was trying to return
to something inside him.
Something older.
Something that had answered
when he touched the door.
And though Vyom didn't know its name—
it knew his.
And it was waking.
—End of Chapter 15: THE SILENCE THAT CRAWLS—