The chair creaked beneath Nael as he shifted uneasily, the oppressive silence pressing against his chest like a heavy hand. The four gray walls surrounding him felt closer than they should, almost pulsing with a subtle, unseen life. There were no windows, no clock, no decorations — just the metallic hum of the overhead light, and his own reflection staring back from the giant, one-way mirror.
Nael's fingers twitched nervously on his lap. He had been sitting there for what felt like hours, the minutes stretching and warping in the absence of any natural cues. Time, in this place, was an illusion.
And then —
The voice
Soft. Calm. Too close.
"Nael...
He jerked upright, heart hammering in his chest. He scanned the room with wide eyes. No one. Just the stark walls and that mirror, reflecting his fear back at him.
He stood up so fast that the chair clattered backwards, the sharp sound slicing through the heavy air. His shoes squeaked slightly as he crossed the room, palm flattening against the cold, smooth glass.
"Who's there?" he demanded, but his voice sounded small, almost muted against the thick walls.
The mirror offered no answers. Only his own wide, frantic eyes.
"Nael..." the voice repeated, softer this time, almost coaxing.
It wasn't coming from outside.
It was coming from inside.
Inside his mind.
Nael stumbled back, breath hitching. His head throbbed, a dull ache pulsing just behind his temples. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to stay calm.
"This isn't real. This isn't real," he whispered.
But deep down, he knew better. Nothing about today had felt real. Not the way he'd been dragged into the black van with tinted windows. Not the way the streets had seemed to fold into themselves as they drove. And certainly not the cold, clinical facility he now found himself imprisoned in.
The sharp click of the door jolted him from his spiraling thoughts.
He whirled around just as the heavy door swung open.
A woman entered, her steps measured and deliberate. She wore a fitted charcoal blazer, her auburn hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. Everything about her screamed control — from the way she moved, to the faint, calculated smile she wore.
Yet her eyes...
Her eyes betrayed her.
They were searching, almost gentle. As if she, too, was caught in something much bigger than herself.
"You heard it, didn't you?" she said, her voice low, as if careful not to disturb the thick atmosphere of the room.
Nael swallowed. He hesitated, then nodded once.
"The voice."
Another small nod from her, as if she had expected nothing less.
"You're not the first," she said softly, almost with a tinge of sorrow.
Without further comment, she placed a thick, manila folder onto the table. It landed with a soft thud that sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness.
Nael's gaze dropped to the folder.
Nael Arwan
Subject: Phase One - Response Evaluation
Phase One?
Subject?
"What is this place?" Nael rasped, voice rough from disuse.
The woman offered no answer. Instead, she simply pushed the folder slightly closer to him, an unspoken invitation.
Nael approached the table cautiously. He slid the folder open, fingers trembling.
Inside were photographs — blurry, grainy shots of him walking the city streets. Sitting in cafés. Reading alone in the park. Hundreds of them. Some from angles that suggested he had been followed for months, maybe longer.
He flipped to the next page.
A report.
A clinical breakdown of his habits, his routines, his "anomalies."
Anomalies?
His pulse raced. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to look up at the woman.
"Why me?" he demanded, his voice sharp now, cutting through the heavy air.
"You were chosen," she said simply.
"Chosen for what?"
Her smile faltered slightly.
"To remember.
Nael stared at the woman, the words "to remember" echoing through his mind like a fading scream.
"Remember what?" he wanted to ask, but something inside him hesitated. Something primal. As if the answer itself could break him.
The woman watched him closely, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Your memories were... altered," she said carefully, as if tasting each word before releasing it. "Fragments of the truth were buried. Hidden. For your own protection."
Nael took a step back, his mind reeling.
"You're lying," he said, shaking his head. "I would remember if something like that had happened."
"Would you?" she replied softly.
And somehow, he knew — deep down — she was right.
There were holes in his past.
Little things he had always brushed aside: forgotten faces, lost days, strange dreams that clung to him long after waking.
"You were part of something, Nael," she continued. "Something important. Something dangerous. When it fell apart, you were given a choice."
"A choice?"
"To forget... or to live with the weight of it."
Nael's breath came quicker now. His hands trembled at his sides.
"And I chose to forget?"
"You begged for it."
The words hit him harder than he expected, knocking the wind from his lungs. He staggered, gripping the edge of the table for support.
The woman stepped closer, her voice dropping into a whisper.
"But memories are like seeds. You can bury them... but they grow in the dark."
A sudden wave of dizziness washed over Nael. He squeezed his eyes shut, but flashes of something — fire, screams, a hand reaching for him through the smoke — seared across his vision.
"No," he gasped. "I don't want this."
"You have no choice anymore," she said gently. "The Shadow has found you again."
The Shadow.
The name coiled in his gut like a serpent, familiar yet foreign. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the lights flickered overhead.
Both Nael and the woman froze.
A low hum filled the room, growing louder, vibrating through the floor and into Nael's bones.
The woman's expression hardened. She reached into her blazer and pulled out a small device — a sleek black square no bigger than her palm.
"They're coming," she said, her voice tight. "I bought us time, but it's running out."
Nael backed away instinctively.
"Who's coming?"
She tapped rapidly on the device. The mirror on the wall shimmered — not a reflection, but a screen. It lit up with a swirling mass of static, then resolved into an image:
A corridor. Dark. Empty.
No — not empty.
Figures moved at the edges of the frame, their forms indistinct. Shadows that walked like men but flickered unnaturally, as if reality itself rejected them.
"They know you're awake now," the woman said. "We have to move."
Nael hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to run the other way. But where would he go? He didn't even know where he was.
Before he could decide, the woman crossed the room in two strides. She pressed her palm against a panel hidden in the wall. A section of it slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a narrow, dimly-lit passage.
"Come with me," she said urgently.
Nael stared at her, heart pounding. He had no reason to trust her. For all he knew, this could be another trap.
But he had seen the figures.
And somehow, he knew —
He didn't want to face them alone.
Gritting his teeth, he nodded once and stepped through the opening.
The wall sealed behind them, plunging them into darkness.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, shallow and quick.
Then, faintly, the voice returned.
Softer than ever, almost tender.
"Remember, Nael..."
---
The passageway was tight, barely wide enough for Nael to move without brushing against the cold, metallic walls. It sloped downward at a shallow angle, leading them deeper into the unknown. The only illumination came from thin strips of pale blue light embedded along the floor, casting ghostly shadows that danced with every step.
The woman moved with purpose, her heels silent against the metal. Nael followed closely, every nerve on fire. His mind raced with questions, but he bit them back. Survival first. Answers later.
After what felt like forever, the passage opened into a small antechamber. A heavy steel door stood at the far end, guarded by an old-fashioned keypad.
The woman turned to him, her face serious.
"You'll need this," she said, pressing a small earpiece into his hand.
Nael hesitated, then slipped it into his ear. A soft hum confirmed it was active.
"You can talk to me through it if we get separated," she explained.
Before he could respond, she entered a rapid sequence on the keypad. The door hissed and swung open with a groan of strained metal.
Beyond it was a vast underground facility — cavernous, dimly lit, filled with long-forgotten technology and the stale scent of dust and electricity. Broken monitors lined the walls, cables snaked across the floor like veins, and overhead, massive ventilation fans spun lazily.
Nael's steps faltered. This place was abandoned... but not dead. He could feel it — the hum of dormant machines, the breath of something ancient stirring in the dark.
The woman led him down a series of metal walkways suspended over the open floor. Below them, he glimpsed strange structures — pods, maybe? — half-shattered and leaking dark fluids that pooled into stagnant lakes.
"What was this place?" he whispered.
She glanced over her shoulder. "It was meant to be a sanctuary. A place where people like you could be safe."
"People like me?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she pointed toward a massive glass cylinder at the center of the room, encased in layers of scaffolding and shielded by heavy plating.
"That's why you're here," she said.
Nael frowned, squinting through the gloom. The cylinder was cracked in several places, and frost coated its surface, but he could just make out a shape inside.
A figure.
Floating.
As they approached, a chill ran through Nael's body. The figure inside wasn't fully human — not anymore. Its limbs were elongated, its eyes dark and hollow. Shadows curled around it like smoke, coiling and uncoiling in slow, hypnotic motions.
It was... waiting.
"What the hell is that?" he asked, voice low.
The woman's expression tightened.
"That," she said grimly, "is what happens when the Shadow wins."
Nael stared at the creature in horror, every instinct urging him to turn and run. But he couldn't move. Couldn't look away.
The woman touched a panel on the side of the cylinder, and the glass flickered, revealing lines of data — biological readouts, psychic resonance levels, containment protocols.
"Once," she said, "it was a man. Like you."
Nael felt sick.
"Who did this?"
She hesitated before answering.
"You did."
The words hit him like a hammer.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "That's not possible."
"You don't remember — not yet. But you will. And when you do..." She looked him square in the eye. "You'll understand why you must never let the Shadow touch you again."
Suddenly, alarms blared through the facility, a deafening wail that shook the very floor.
"They found us!" the woman shouted.
From the far end of the room, doors burst open, and figures poured in — the same flickering shadows from the corridor footage. They moved with jerky, unnatural motions, their forms distorting with every step.
"Run!" she ordered, grabbing Nael's arm.
They sprinted across the walkway, the clang of their footsteps echoing through the massive chamber. Behind them, the shadows surged forward, an unstoppable tide of darkness.
Nael's lungs burned as they raced through a labyrinth of maintenance tunnels. The woman navigated with precision, leading him through twists and turns until they reached another door.
"This way!" she yelled over the blaring alarms.
She slammed her hand against a panel, and the door slid open just enough for them to slip through. They emerged into what looked like a subway platform, long-abandoned, with rusted tracks vanishing into blackness.
Panting, Nael turned to her.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The woman gave a grim smile.
"My name is Lysa," she said. "I used to be your handler."
Before Nael could react, a tremor shook the platform. The shadows had found another way through.
"Come on!" Lysa shouted.
She leaped down onto the tracks, motioning for Nael to follow.
With no other choice, he jumped — just as a wall of shadow burst through the door behind them.
They ran into the darkness, the rails clattering beneath their feet, the echoes of pursuit growing ever closer.
Somewhere ahead, a faint light glowed. A way out, or another trap?
Nael didn't know.
All he knew was that the voice was still with him, whispering in the back of his mind.
"Remember, Nael. You have to remember."
The world outside the tunnels hit them like a different dimension. A jagged skyline clawed at the crimson-stained sky, and a thin mist coiled along the ground, swallowing the ruins of what must have once been a thriving city.
Nael stumbled forward, his heart hammering against his ribs. His shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat and fear. Lysa was a few steps ahead, scanning the desolate landscape with sharp, practiced eyes.
"We need to move," she urged, glancing over her shoulder. "This mist isn't natural. It follows the others."
Nael opened his mouth to ask, but a sudden crack of movement from behind snapped his attention back. Shadows—dozens of them—were spilling out from the tunnel like oil, writhing, forming limbs, reaching.
He didn't need more convincing. They ran.
Past broken lampposts, collapsed towers, the skeletal remains of a city that had lost a war he didn't remember fighting. Every breath Nael took felt heavier, each step slower, like invisible hands were trying to drag him down.
"Where are we going?" he gasped.
"There's a safehouse," Lysa said. "But it's far. We might not make it unless—" She stopped, her eyes widening.
From the mist ahead, a figure emerged.
Nael skidded to a halt, instinct screaming danger. The figure was cloaked, faceless, moving with an inhuman grace. It raised a hand—not in greeting, but in summons.
The voice returned. But this time, it wasn't in his head. It vibrated the very air around him.
"Come home, Nael."
He staggered back, clutching his skull. Images flashed before his eyes: A city burning. A throne of glass. A boy standing alone in the ruins, a crown too heavy on his brow.
"No," he whispered. "No, I don't know you!"
"You will," the voice promised, soft and terrible. "Soon."
Lysa grabbed his arm, yanking him sideways just as a tendril of shadow lashed out, splitting the earth where he'd stood.
"This way!" she shouted.
Blindly, he followed. Through alleys swallowed by vines, over cracked bridges, into a labyrinth of rusting freight containers piled high. The mist thickened, blinding. Every step felt like moving deeper into a dream—or a nightmare.
Finally, Lysa shoved open a metal door hidden between two shipping crates. She pushed Nael inside and slammed it shut behind them, bolting it with trembling hands.
Darkness swallowed them.
For a long moment, Nael could only hear their ragged breathing.
Then a flicker of orange as Lysa lit a tiny oil lamp, casting a fragile circle of light around them.
They were inside a tiny room—barely larger than a closet. Dust motes swirled in the air. There were no windows, no exits besides the door they came through.
Safe, for now.
Lysa leaned against the wall, sliding down until she sat heavily on the floor. "That," she panted, "was too close."
Nael sank beside her, his legs shaking too much to stand.
He buried his face in his hands.
"What's happening to me?" His voice broke on the last word.
Lysa didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned forward, her voice low and serious.
"You're waking up," she said. "Piece by piece."
Nael lifted his head. In the dim light, her face was drawn, almost fearful.
"There are things you don't remember," she continued. "Things they erased. But you were never meant to stay asleep forever."
Outside, the shadows hissed against the container walls.
A reminder that forgetting was no longer an option.
Nael pressed his back against the cold steel and stared at the flickering flame.
Whatever life he thought he had… it was already over.
And the real one—the dangerous, impossible one—was just beginning.