Jalil felt like he was floating, his body drifting forward, step by slow, heavy step. He couldn't feel his own legs, but they moved in unison with the other souls around him, keeping pace in an endless line. Faces blurred around him, all staring straight ahead, their expressions slack and empty. He wanted to say something, to understand what was happening, but his own thoughts were distant, like shadows he couldn't grasp.
Somewhere, in the pit of his mind, he wondered who he was—why he was here. Every time he tried to reach for those answers, his memories slipped further away, dissolving like mist. He closed his eyes, trying to hold onto something—anything—but there was nothing but blankness.
In the stillness, something stirred. A faint murmur began to rise, moving through the line, a sound so quiet it was almost as if it were inside his own head. At first, Jalil thought it was the murmurs of the other souls, but it was… different. Darker. The sound grew clearer, until he could make out words, a chant threading through the silence like a shadow.
"Round and round, the shadows creep,
Guarding secrets that we keep,
Step away, and pay the price,
Lost in shadows, cold as ice…"
The rhyme echoed softly, wrapping around him like a chilling breeze. The words sank deep into his bones, and a strange, twisted sense of comfort spread through him. He felt his mind going numb again, as if he were sinking back into that endless trance. And yet… a spark lingered, a distant echo tugging at him.
The rhyme felt so close, so familiar.
Memories flickered like dying embers—small, fragmented images of warmth and light. A woman's voice, soft and weary, whispering words he'd once clung to as he drifted to sleep. His mother's voice.
His chest tightened as a long-forgotten memory surfaced: the way his mother used to sing to him in low, hushed tones, stroking his hair, trying to comfort him even when she was lost in her own sorrows. The rhyme was twisted here, echoing hollowly through the darkness, but it was the same tune. His mother's lullaby.
His heart hammered against his ribs as the fog in his mind began to clear. Memories flooded back—the cramped, dim apartment, the dusty smell of their worn couch, his mother's soft gaze. The pain—the last, blinding burst of agony he'd felt before everything had gone black.
He wasn't supposed to be here. This place, this line of lost souls—it wasn't where he belonged. He had to get back. He had to find his mother. The thought cut through the last traces of the fog, and he gasped, stumbling as his body awoke, breaking free from the trance.
He glanced around, suddenly aware of the hundreds of silent figures surrounding him. Some turned their heads slowly to look at him, their eyes blank, almost as if they hadn't noticed him before. He took a step backward, the urge to run building in his chest.
But then he saw them.
They moved along the edges of the line, their silhouettes barely visible in the dim, ghostly light. Tall, skeletal figures cloaked in shadow, holding massive, gleaming scythes that seemed to slice through the very air. Their faces were hidden beneath dark, twisted hoods, but their eyes glowed—a cold, merciless blue that sent chills down Jalil's spine. One by one, their heads turned, those hollow eyes locking onto him.
The rhyme grew louder, spilling from the beings' mouths in a twisted chorus.
"Turn away, the price is steep,
In shadows dark, forever sleep…"
Panic surged through him. He had to move. He had to get out of here.
With a sharp intake of breath, Jalil turned and ran.
He dashed away from the line, his feet pounding against the invisible ground. His heart beat wildly as he pushed forward, running faster than he'd ever run before. The whispers grew louder, rising to a fierce, rhythmic chant that seemed to chase him into the darkness. He didn't dare look back, but he could hear them—heavy, shuffling footsteps and the slow, dragging scrape of scythes against the ground.
His breaths came in frantic gasps, his lungs burning as he ran. He felt something brush against his shoulder—a cold, skeletal hand, reaching, clawing. He yelped and stumbled, nearly losing his balance, but he pushed himself forward, a single thought driving him: I have to get back to her. I have to get back to Mom.
The shadows around him seemed to come alive, twisting and stretching as though they wanted to pull him down. Strange, dark tendrils reached from the ground, clutching at his ankles, trying to drag him back. He stumbled, nearly falling, but he managed to pull himself free, his mother's lullaby echoing in his mind, steadying him.
And then, for a moment, he heard her voice—not the cold, hollow chant of the beings, but his mother's real voice, soft and warm, singing the lullaby just as she had in those quiet, fragile moments they shared.
"Mom…" he whispered, the word catching in his throat.
He kept running, his mother's voice guiding him, his memories pulling him forward through the darkness. The creatures' footsteps were loud, but somehow they never quite reached him, as if an invisible force kept them just out of reach. He didn't understand it, but he didn't need to. All that mattered was that he kept moving, kept following the faint, fading light of his memories.
Finally, he looked back, and to his amazement, the beings were slowing, their shadows stretching and fading until they were nothing more than distant shapes against the darkness.
He stumbled to a halt, his legs trembling, his chest heaving. He was alone, the silence thick and heavy. The line, the other souls, and the monstrous creatures were gone.
For a moment, he felt a flicker of relief, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, creeping dread. He was lost, adrift in a vast, endless void with no clear path forward. But he had escaped—escaped the trance, escaped the line.
He took a deep breath, clutching the memory of his mother close, letting it fill him with strength. He didn't know where he was or what lay ahead, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would find a way back. He had to.