1:42 AM – Rudran's Bedroom
The world outside was quiet, but not peaceful.
It was the kind of silence that trembled—like the breath before a scream.
Rudran sat on his bed, still dressed, back pressed to the wall. The bulb overhead had long died, and he hadn't replaced it. His room was a cage of dim outlines: one shelf sagging with books, a desk cluttered with cracked headphones and fading sketches, and posters of anime heroes that now felt like lies.
The lights were off. Not because he wanted sleep.
Because he didn't want to see his shadow.
But it didn't need light anymore.
Even in the dark, it moved. It was darker than dark—curling unnaturally along the edges of the walls, pulsing with a faint, sick violet hue. It beat with him. Breathed with him.
Then it spoke.
> "You're awake now…"
The voice didn't echo in the air. It unfolded inside his skull—low, layered, ancient. Like something buried beneath stone for centuries. And somehow… familiar.
Rudran's breath caught. His fists clenched against the sheet.
"Who are you?"
The shadow rippled. A jagged silhouette pushed through—an arm first, then a head. Not fully formed. Not fully real. A face carved from shifting obsidian and smoke, features warping between rage and sorrow.
> "I am the door.
And the key.
You brushed the edge of the abyss…
I answered."
He swallowed, throat dry as ash. "What do you want?"
> "To survive. Like you.
But unlike you… I remember what's coming."
The words weren't just heard—they pressed against him. Like gravity made of dread.
Rudran stood slowly, bare feet cold against the floor. "Are you... part of me now?"
The shadow's form coiled like a serpent in water.
> "I am you.
What you were never meant to become.
What the cracks awakened—
and the gods abandoned."
A sudden chill swept the room. His breath frosted in the air. The shadow surged, spiraling around his wrist—and for a heartbeat, his hand transformed again: armored in blackened plates, glowing with violet fractures that pulsed like a heartbeat.
He stared at it.
It didn't feel evil.
It felt like grief.
Like every unspoken fear. Every buried scream. Every night he pretended to be okay.
"What can I do with this?"
> "Open paths.
Close space.
Shatter light.
Burn gods—if they bleed."
"And the cost?"
The figure leaned close—its voice a whisper layered with fire.
> "Everything… eventually."
Rudran lowered his hand. In his mind, he saw his mother's weary smile. His brother's scolding turned desperate. His friends—Zayn's dumb jokes, Hiro's quiet support, Arin's fiery loyalty—still clinging to normalcy in a world unraveling.
He let the power dim.
"Then I'll learn. But on my terms."
The shadow flickered—not in defiance, but approval. A thousand eyes hidden in the dark blinked once, then vanished.
> "Very well.
Then let us begin."
The room fell still.
But Rudran didn't feel alone anymore.
And for the first time…
he wasn't sure that was a good thing.
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