Morning arrived without warmth.
Sunlight slipped through the torn curtains and fell across Aelion's face as he lay on the floor. He didn't remember when he had finally fallen asleep. All he remembered was the darkness, the strange rhythmic pulse, and the crack of light that had appeared for a brief moment before vanishing as if it had never existed.
Aelion slowly opened his eyes. The morning light reflected off the cracked mirror leaning against the corner of the room, splitting his face into several warped fragments. He looked away, unwilling to see the reflection of himself that felt increasingly foreign.
Aelion's head was heavy. His throat dry. And his chest… still warm, as though a small ember lingered beneath his skin.
Not a dream, he thought. None of it was a dream.
He sat up slowly. As he stood, the room's light suddenly switched on by itself—despite the fact that he hadn't touched the switch. Aelion stared at it without blinking. This time, the light stayed steady, unlike the night before.
For a moment, he felt a strange sensation at the tips of his fingers—like the air around him shifted, following the movement of his hand. He raised his hand slightly, and the light flickered once. He lowered it; the light steadied.
Aelion swallowed. "Not… a coincidence," he muttered quietly.
He grabbed his thin jacket, put it on, and opened the door to his room. The apartment hallway smelled of rust and damp dust. His footsteps echoed faintly, as though the building itself was reluctant to acknowledge sound.
As he descended the stairs, other tenants stared at him—not with hatred, but with a subtle curiosity wrapped in unease. As if they saw something in him but couldn't explain what it was. Aelion averted his gaze and continued walking, unwilling to interact with anyone.
Outside, the city was waking up. Yet the noises felt distant to him, as though muffled behind an invisible layer. The sound of vehicles, footsteps, vendors calling out—all of it sounded faint, as if he were walking inside a sealed bubble.
Aelion made his way to a small kiosk at the end of the street to buy bread. The shop owner—a middle-aged woman with a stern face—looked at him briefly before turning away without a word. He wasn't offended; he was used to being treated that way.
But when he reached out to pay, the digital scanner on the counter glitched violently, emitting a loud beep as its screen trembled with distorted patterns. The woman flinched.
"This thing's been broken since yesterday," she said quickly, as if trying to convince herself.
But Aelion knew better. The machine had worked perfectly before he touched it.
He merely shrugged and walked away with the bread in hand. Behind him, the woman kept tapping the scanner, hoping it would work again.
Aelion walked toward a small park in the middle of the district. The place was usually a quiet refuge for children or the elderly, but this morning it was nearly empty. Only two people sat on a bench far from where he stood.
He sat beneath an old tree with thick roots protruding from the ground. The tree looked frail yet stubbornly alive, refusing to die despite the harshness of its surroundings.
Aelion took a bite of the bread, trying to distract himself from last night. But no matter how hard he tried, the memories clung to him like a shadow that refused to let go.
The crack of light.
The strange rhythm along his spine.
The light that followed his movements.
His pupils glowing for a brief second.
And… that warmth.
Aelion closed his eyes, feeling the subtle pulse within his body. Not painful. Not comforting. Just… present. Like something waiting to be named.
Suddenly, a voice broke the quiet behind him.
"You're new around here, aren't you?"
Aelion opened his eyes and turned. A middle-aged man in a park maintenance uniform stood a short distance away. His face was gentle—very different from the looks Aelion had received from others. He held a manual grass cutter, his hat tilted slightly, making him look warm and unthreatening.
Aelion nodded slowly. "Just three days."
"You look like you're still not used to this place." The man smiled softly. "It's all right. Most people aren't."
Aelion didn't answer. He took another bite of his bread. But the man didn't leave.
"You look tired," he said. "Like someone who's walked a long way."
Aelion exhaled. "And hasn't gotten anywhere."
The man chuckled lightly. "There are many people who feel that way. But not many who admit it so honestly."
Aelion wasn't sure how to respond. He felt the urge to get angry, but had no reason to. He felt like running, but didn't know from what. And he felt like fighting, but couldn't find an enemy.
The man stroked his chin. "I once saw someone like you."
Aelion turned to him. "Like me?"
"Yes," the man said without hesitation. "Someone who also… carried something inside them. Something ordinary people didn't have."
Aelion's heart pounded hard.
"You… know something?" he asked quietly.
The man stared at him for a long moment, as if deciding whether to speak or not. But before he could answer, a child called from across the park.
"Mr. Renlor! The swing is stuck again!"
The man sighed. "Ah, well. Duty calls."
He glanced back at Aelion, his eyes gentler this time. "Be careful. Not everyone can accept things—ah, forget it. Have a good day."
Aelion wanted to ask more—about what the man had seen, what he meant by "carrying something," and why he seemed so certain. But Renlor had already walked away, leaving Aelion with more questions than before.
Aelion looked at his hands. Hands that had once been used only to survive were now the center of something he didn't understand.
Something growing stronger.
Something becoming alive.
Something that refused to stay still.
Suddenly, the wind surged without warning. Leaves spiraled, grass bowed, and the old tree behind Aelion groaned as if being forced to bend. Aelion shot to his feet, stepping back.
The air expanded—like a vast unseen breath being drawn.
And within that gust, the rhythmic sound returned.
Dum… dum… dum…
But this time, the sound didn't come from inside him.
It came from the air in front of him.
As if the world itself was responding to his presence.
Aelion stared at the empty space before him.
"Something… is following me," he whispered.
And whether it was the wind or just intuition, he felt something approaching.
Something greater than the crack of light.
Something waiting beyond the reality he knew.
This chapter had answered nothing.
But for Aelion, one thing was certain:
The world was no longer silent.
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