The alarm was screaming.
Aurelius jolted upright, gasping like he'd surfaced from drowning. His sheets were drenched, the room cloaked in the gray stillness before dawn. His phone buzzed violently on the nightstand — Jace's name flashing across the cracked screen for what must've been the fifth time.
He didn't answer. Couldn't.
The memories still lingered behind his eyes: the floating citadels, the crimson storms, the voice that had called him My Emperor. Even awake, his pulse refused to settle, his breathing shallow as if the air itself might ignite.
Then he saw it — the faint glow pulsing beneath his skin, the same sigil, thrumming in rhythm with his heartbeat. The lines shimmered faintly, like liquid circuitry under flesh. He pressed his hand to it, half-expecting pain. Instead, a faint vibration hummed against his palm — alive, like something buried was trying to wake.
The phone stopped buzzing. He stared at it, chest tight, before finally grabbing it and answering.
"About damn time," Jace's voice snapped through, equal parts worry and irritation. "You've been ghosting me all night, man. What the hell happened? You didn't show up after class, and you weren't answering—"
"I fell asleep," Aurelius lied, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "Just… passed out, I guess."
Jace scoffed. "You guess? Dude, you've been doing this all week. I thought you had another blackout or something."
Aurelius hesitated, glancing down at the sigil. The faint light had dimmed but not disappeared. It pulsed softly, stubbornly, as though mocking his attempts to ignore it.
"I'm fine," he said at last. "Just tired."
Jace sighed through the line, unconvinced but letting it go. "Fine. But I'm coming by. We've got a midterm to prep for, and I'm not letting you vanish again. I'll bring coffee."
"Jace, I—" But the call had already ended.
He sat there for a moment in silence, phone pressed against his ear long after the line went dead. Outside, the city was waking — rain streaking against the window, neon signs flickering on in the distance. For a moment, the glow reflected across the glass looked like the sigils on his arm. He blinked, and it was gone.
When Jace arrived twenty minutes later, the dorm smelled faintly of burnt coffee and ozone.
"Man, you look like death," Jace said, dropping his backpack beside the desk. "You okay?"
Aurelius shrugged. "Define okay."
Jace frowned. "Define why your eyes look like you haven't slept since the industrial revolution."
"Nightmares," Aurelius muttered. "They're getting worse."
"Still the same?"
He nodded. "Fire, thrones, voices. I don't even know what's real anymore."
Jace pulled out two steaming cups and handed him one. "You've been saying that a lot lately." He hesitated, studying Aurelius's face. "I mean it this time — maybe talk to someone. Doctor, counselor, priest. Hell, an exorcist, if that's your vibe."
Aurelius managed a small smirk. "You volunteering?"
"I charge by the hour," Jace said, grinning briefly. But his eyes softened a second later. "Seriously, though. You've been losing chunks of time. You black out, talk in your sleep, and when you're awake, it's like you're… somewhere else."
Aurelius opened his mouth — to deny it, to lie again — but something in Jace's expression stopped him. Instead, he said quietly, "I see things sometimes. Reflections. Places that shouldn't exist. Like another world bleeding through this one."
Jace leaned back slowly, half-joking but wary. "Bleeding through? Like, hallucinations?"
"Like memories," Aurelius whispered. "Or warnings."
The room went still. Only the rain tapping the window filled the silence.
Finally, Jace exhaled. "You're scaring the shit out of me, man."
"Yeah," Aurelius said softly. "Me too."
The day passed in a blur. Classes, notes, the sound of people laughing in the hall — it all felt distant, dreamlike. Every reflection seemed to shimmer unnaturally. The window in the lecture hall caught the afternoon sun, and for a split second, Aurelius saw not his own face but a man's — regal, scarred, wearing a crown of luminous metal. He blinked. It was gone.
When he glanced at Jace beside him, scribbling notes, he wondered if his friend could sense how close reality was to tearing.
That night, the city was alive in neon. The rain came hard again, painting streaks of red and violet across the streets. Aurelius walked aimlessly after class, hands deep in his jacket pockets, head filled with static. He found himself near the old part of town — abandoned train lines, flickering billboards, alleys no one used anymore.
It was there he felt it again — a vibration deep in his bones. The same pulse that had thrummed in his arm earlier now resonated in the air around him. The neon lights flickered as he passed, each one dimming briefly, as if bowing. He stopped. Looked down. The puddle at his feet rippled though the air was still.
Then he heard it — faint, like an echo through glass.
"You should not be here, not yet…"
The voice was soft, feminine, familiar. It sent a shiver down his spine. He spun, scanning the alley.
"Who's there?"
No answer. Only the sound of rain. He exhaled shakily, stepping backward — and that's when the world bent.
The air rippled. The neon lights stretched like liquid, the puddles at his feet reflecting not the alley but an immense black throne rising above molten glass. He stumbled, blinking hard — and in the reflection of the rainwater, he saw hundreds of figures kneeling, armored in silver and crimson.
He fell to his knees. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat echoing like a drum.
"Aurelius Kael."
The voice again — clear now, close. He looked up. Standing at the end of the alley, framed by the dying glow of a broken sign, was a silhouette. A woman. Her presence bent the rain around her, droplets curving in midair as if afraid to touch her. Her eyes glowed faintly — one human, one mechanical, the faint hum of machinery beneath her skin.
For a second, he thought he was dreaming again. But the chill biting into his hands, the weight of the rain — it was all real.
"Lyra?" he whispered.
The woman tilted her head slightly, but her voice was different — layered, distorted, like a thousand echoes whispering through her.
"You remember my name."
He stood, dizzy and disoriented. "This isn't possible. You're— you're from the dream."
"Not dream," she said softly, stepping closer. "Memory."
The world around them flickered again — the neon signs dissolving into burning banners, the pavement cracking to reveal the same metallic ruins he had seen in his visions.
Aurelius staggered back, clutching his head. "No—no, I'm losing it."
"You're waking up," the echo-voice corrected. Her hand reached toward him, fingertips glowing faintly. The moment she touched his arm, the sigils beneath his skin blazed to life.
He screamed. Not in pain — in recognition. Images slammed into his mind: armies kneeling, his own voice commanding them, the Empire beneath two suns. A betrayal — a blade through his back, a promise broken.
Then silence.
When he opened his eyes again, he was on the ground, gasping. The alley was empty. The rain had stopped. The neon lights were back to normal. The world ordinary again.
But the sigils on his arms — they still glowed faintly, refusing to fade.
When he returned to the dorm, Jace was waiting.
"Where the hell have you been?" Jace demanded, eyes wide with concern. "I've been calling you for hours. You missed our study group. You okay?"
Aurelius closed the door slowly, trying to steady his breathing. "I… think I saw someone."
Jace frowned. "Like who?"
He hesitated. "Her name's Lyra."
"Never heard of her."
"I think… I knew her before. Before this."
Jace's expression darkened. "You're scaring me again."
"Yeah," Aurelius whispered. "Join the club."
He turned toward the mirror on the closet door — and froze. For a split second, his reflection didn't move. Then it smiled. And the glass cracked.
The morning after the blackout felt heavier than the rest. Aurelius Kael sat at the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes lost in the pale light creeping through his blinds. His dorm room looked the same — cluttered desk, cold coffee mug, textbooks scattered like debris — but there was something off about the air. It hummed, faintly, as though whispering in a frequency only he could feel.
He rubbed his temples. His head pulsed with fragments — voices, fire, whispers, and that same unbearable light he'd seen in the mirror the night before. For a second, he thought he saw smoke curling at the edge of his vision, but when he blinked, it was gone.
"Get a grip," he muttered to himself. "You're just tired. That's all."
He showered quickly, threw on his jacket, and stepped outside into the cool morning air. The college courtyard was alive as always — laughter, chatter, the rhythmic shuffle of students heading to class. Yet Aurelius couldn't shake the sense that everything was out of sync, as if he were watching a replay of reality half a second too late.
"Yo, Kael!"
Jace's voice cut through the fog in his mind. The tall, easy-smiling friend waved from across the courtyard, a paper cup in one hand and a half-eaten donut in the other. "You alive, man? You missed out last night. Everyone thought you bailed 'cause of the midterm."
Aurelius forced a smile. "Yeah. Something like that."
"Something like that?" Jace frowned. "Dude, you look like hell. You been sleeping at all?"
"Barely. Been having… weird dreams."
Jace shrugged. "Welcome to college. You're officially one of us." He laughed, slinging an arm over Aurelius's shoulder. "Come on, coffee's on me. You look like you're about to collapse."
They walked together through the campus pathways, the morning sun filtering through the trees. Students passed by, waves of conversation rising and fading like tides. For the first time in days, Aurelius tried to focus on something ordinary — the sound of birds, the chatter of classmates, the smell of roasted beans from the coffee kiosk near the library.
It was almost enough to feel normal. Almost.
They sat by the fountain near the lecture halls, sipping coffee and watching the world drift past. Jace was talking about a party, about girls, about how he'd finally worked up the courage to talk to the girl from his literature class. Aurelius nodded at the right times, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
In the reflection of the fountain's surface, he saw not his face — but something behind it. A flicker. Like another version of him staring back, eyes faintly glowing gold before the image dissolved.
His cup trembled in his hand.
"You okay?" Jace asked, noticing the shake.
"Yeah," Aurelius said quickly. "Just—just tired, man. Been feeling off lately."
Jace raised a brow. "You sure it's not those blackout things again?"
Aurelius froze. "What?"
"Come on, man. You've been spacing out. You don't remember? Last week you zoned out in the cafeteria for like ten minutes. I tried to talk to you, but you just… weren't there. You looked right through me."
He hesitated. "Then yesterday, after the group study, you just disappeared. I thought maybe you went to the dorms, but when I called, your phone was dead."
Aurelius stared at him, the sound of the fountain suddenly distant.
"Did I say anything before I left?"
"Yeah…" Jace frowned, trying to recall. "You said something weird. Something about... fire and glass."
Aurelius felt his pulse spike. His mouth went dry.
"Fire and glass," he repeated under his breath, the words tasting like déjà vu.
Jace studied him, now worried. "You sure you're okay, bro? You're kinda scaring me right now."
"I'm fine," Aurelius lied, forcing a small smile. "I just need sleep. Maybe I'll skip the afternoon classes."
Later that day, Aurelius sat alone in the campus library. The quiet there was both a blessing and a curse. The whisper of turning pages, the soft click of keyboards, the faint hum of the air conditioner — everything should have been peaceful. But peace was the one thing he couldn't find.
He stared blankly at the notes for his history class. The words swam, twisting into strange symbols before snapping back to normal. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, but the symbols returned, glowing faintly across the margins of his notebook.
He reached out to touch them. And the air shimmered.
A faint ripple, like a heatwave, spread from his hand. For an instant, the world around him flickered — the bookshelves became ruins, the sunlight turned crimson, and distant screams echoed through the walls. Then it was gone.
The library returned. Quiet. Still. Unbroken.
Aurelius stood, heart pounding. A few nearby students gave him a look as he backed away from his desk, his breath uneven. He had seen something — felt something — that didn't belong in this world. And it was getting stronger.
He made his way to the dorm rooftop after sunset. The night sky stretched endlessly above him, dotted with stars. The city lights blinked below, pulsing like veins through the darkness. He sat at the edge, phone in hand, but didn't open it. Instead, he just stared out — lost.
He didn't know when the blackouts had started. Maybe it had been months. Maybe longer. But each time he woke, he remembered less — not what happened during the blackout, but who he was becoming because of them.
It wasn't fear anymore that haunted him. It was familiarity. Every time he blacked out, he felt… right. Like something ancient and burning beneath his skin was stretching, remembering.
He clenched his fist. "Who am I really?" he whispered. The wind carried his voice away.
Then he saw it — across the street, on the reflective glass of the science building — a faint shimmer. His reflection was standing still, but the eyes were glowing again. Slowly, deliberately, the reflection lifted its hand and pressed it against the glass.
Aurelius froze. His reflection smiled. And the glass cracked.
The world collapsed in on itself. The air screamed. Then everything fell silent.