"William… Liam… Limm… come here…"
The voice whispered—softly, yet echoing as if it came from the narrow gap between dream and reality. A voice that shouldn't exist, yet impossible to ignore.
Liam's eyelids slowly opened. His first sight was the dull metal ceiling, cracked by rust and time. He lay on an iron bed—cold, without a mattress, cutting into his back like a razor blade embedded silently. His hands and feet were bound with old leather straps. Rough. Constricting. Restricting.
He tried to move. But his body felt foreign. Numb. Frozen.
The only thing he could move was his head—and even that with great effort. His gaze swept across the dimly lit room. The metal walls reflected the faint light from the lamp above. In the corner of the room, medical instruments were neatly arranged. Too sharp. Too clean. Too ready—as if waiting for their turn to be used.
"Damn it... this dream again!!" Liam shouted, this time not in his mind. His voice was loud, breaking the silence, releasing all the pent-up disgust.
"Aaaaargh! Coward! Daring to hide behind shadows! Afraid, huh?!"
Liam kept cursing, making the unseen figure the target of his hatred, anger, and the ruin of his life. He struggled, forcing his body out of the bonds. But the harder he fought, the tighter the ropes gripped him. His breath was labored. His heartbeat echoed loudly in the empty space.
"You coward! Do you think my life isn't already ruined enough?! Do you think this is a game?!"
His screams echoed. And then… silence. A silence that hung like a threat.
A loud thud. The air shook. Like a metal door being forced open. The sound came from behind the thick glass in front of his bed—from the long corridor piercing the darkness.
Footsteps followed. Heavy. Slow. Full of pressure.
The corridor seemed empty.
But the footsteps kept getting closer.
And then he saw it.
The figure.
Almost two meters tall. His body was thin, but every movement carried an invisible weight. His face was hidden behind a dull black cloth covering his eyes. His skin was pale, like a freshly risen corpse, with black veins pulsing slowly beneath the surface. He wore a long black robe, its edges rotting and dragging along the floor, leaving dark trails like wounds.
He stopped directly in front of the glass.
Staring at Liam—even without eyes.
Liam returned the gaze with a cynical glare. "You came too, huh…"
The door opened silently. The air suddenly grew cold. The figure stepped inside. Slowly. Unstoppable. Absolute.
It stood beside the bed. Liam stared at it, his jaw tightening. He prepared himself. To fight. To die.
The figure raised its hand. Its fingers were long, thin, and cold. It touched Liam's cheek—too gentle for something so terrifying.
Then, it whispered:
"What did you say? Do you think you're brave?"
Liam's body froze. No words could come out. Only his heartbeat grew wild.
"Be silent and obey… you weakling."
Liam tried to turn his head, but the finger was now in front of his eyes.
"This vision… is mine."
In one calm motion, it plucked out Liam's right eye.
The pain was indescribable. Hot. Burning. Searing to the bone marrow. Blood flowed, soaking his face.
And then—darkness.
Liam awoke gasping for breath. His body was drenched in cold sweat. The sheets beneath him were damp and wrinkled. His eyes widened, staring at the normal ceiling of his room—not rusted. Not covered in blood.
He quickly touched his face. His eyes. Both were still there.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
But that night... Liam couldn't sleep anymore.
He sat on the edge of the bed, opening the window. The night air crept in, bringing emptiness. His thoughts swirled, lost in a labyrinth of memories and nightmares. When the morning light crept in, he was still there, staring at the empty sky.
"Alright… I have to finish it."
With a weary step, he headed to the bathroom. The morning routine was now nothing more than the remnants of a worn-out way of life.
But when he looked at his reflection in the mirror—he froze.
His eyes.
The iris of his right eye was now glowing red. Bright. As if there was a fire burning inside his eyeball.
"What is this… from last night's dream?" he murmured softly.
Instantly, his expression changed. Tension turned to anger. His jaw tightened. His fist struck the mirror.
The glass shattered. Blood dripped. Wounds appeared.
But a few minutes later, the wounds—as if swallowed by time—disappeared without a trace.
Without medicine. Without stitches.
With frustration, Liam took a shower. Cold water touched the wounds that had just healed.
It had been a week since his family… was gone. The school handled the case because he was still a minor. Whatever they did, somehow, Liam was cleared of all charges.
No publicity. No legal proceedings. As if the case… had been swept under the rug.
Liam now lived alone in the house where the tragedy had occurred. He wasn't afraid. He felt closer—much closer—to his family there.
But his life was now empty.
And each day… irrational events continued to haunt him. Dark dreams. Physical changes. Strange voices.
Everything feels prearranged. Like a path already laid out. By something—or someone—who has been watching him for a long time.
The government left him with one thing: aid money—enough to survive… until he graduates.
But what is the point of surviving if his life is now nothing more than a shadow?
Before heading to school, Liam put on a black jacket and placed some flowers in his backpack. His steps were slow as he walked along the quiet path toward a place he hadn't missed in the past seven days: his family's grave.
Three headstones stood in silence. The names that once filled the house with laughter and stories were now just silent carvings on frozen ground.
Liam kneels before his sister Hiyana's grave. He places the flowers with trembling hands, then touches the headstone briefly.
"I can't find peace yet. But I promise, I'll find out why all this happened," he whispers softly.
The morning breeze ruffles his hair. Cool, yet not soothing.
He stood up. He looked at the tombstones one last time.
Then he turned around.
He walked away—toward school. Toward a reality that was growing increasingly indistinguishable from a dream.