Elijah drifted into an uneasy sleep, his mind sinking into the abyss of his subconscious. This time, there was no nostalgic beginning, no comforting echoes of the past.
The darkness was immediate and oppressive, wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud.
He blinked, and the scene shifted.
A single, dim light illuminated the space around him, casting long shadows across a bloodied floor.
His heart sank as he looked down and saw Oliver's lifeless body sprawled at his feet, his once bright eyes dull and vacant.
Elijah's breath hitched.
Blood pooled beneath the corpse, staining the floor and seeping toward his feet.
A nauseating wave rolled through him as he instinctively stepped back, only to feel something wet and sticky on his hands.
"No... no..." he muttered, taking a shaky step back.
He raised them slowly, dreading what he already knew. His palms were smeared with blood.
"No..." His voice trembled, barely audible at first. "No, no, no..."
He staggered back, his entire body trembling. "I didn't... I didn't do this... I didn't kill him!" he stammered, the words spilling out like a mantra, a desperate attempt to convince himself
He began to rub his hands on his clothes, desperate to rid himself of the crimson stain, but it wouldn't come off.
"No, I didn't... I didn't kill Oliver!" he cried, his voice cracking. His words grew louder, more frantic, as if saying them enough times might make them true.
Then, a voice spoke behind him, smooth and cutting, each word like a dagger to his chest.
"Yeah, you're not. But you might as well have killed him."
Elijah whipped around, his heart hammering in his chest.
A shadowy figure stood there, cloaked in darkness. The faint light from above barely reached them, but their outline was unmistakable—tall and commanding, with a presence that felt both familiar and foreign.
The figure stepped closer, and Elijah's breath caught. The shadow was no longer faceless—it was him.
Elijah's chest tightened. "What are you talking about?" he snapped, his voice louder, angrier.
The figure took a step closer, and Elijah instinctively stepped back. "You should've been there, Elijah," they said, their voice dripping with disdain. "You could've saved him. But you didn't. You let him die."
"I didn't know..." Elijah's voice cracked, tears streaming down his face. "I didn't know it would happen..."
"That's the thing about weakness," the other Elijah hissed. "It doesn't matter if you didn't know. It doesn't matter if you didn't mean to. Weakness kills."
Elijah dropped to his knees, his hands covering his face. The blood on them smeared across his skin, warm and sticky.
"I didn't mean to be weak," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen..."
The other Elijah smirked, his eyes gleaming with a cruel, unsettling light. His uniform was pristine, but his hands, too, were drenched in blood.
"Meaning doesn't matter," the other Elijah said coldly. "Intentions don't matter. Results do. And the result? He's dead, and you let it happen."
The weight of those words crushed him. His mind screamed in denial, but deep down, a small part of him wondered if they were true. If he'd been stronger, if he'd tried harder, could Oliver have been saved?
Elijah's knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, clutching his head. "Stop it... Just stop..." he muttered, his voice breaking.
The figure crouched down in front of him, their face now a grotesque mimicry of Oliver's. "You carry his blood on your hands, Elijah. No matter how much you deny it, you'll always be guilty."
Elijah clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "Shut up," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Face it," the doppelganger continued, stepping closer until their faces were inches apart. "You've been running from this for a month. You think pretending it wasn't your fault will change anything? You think staying in the corps and making excuses that this is all for Oliver's revenge will make up for it?"
"You killed him, face it!" the voice was taunting.
Elijah stumbled back, his knees threatening to give way. "No!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the void. "I didn't kill Oliver! I couldn't—I would never—"
Elijah's knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, his hands clutching his head.
The shadows coiled tighter around him, pressing against his chest. Memories flashed through his mind—Oliver's laugh, the way he'd encouraged Elijah, how he'd always had Elijah's back. Then, the final image: Oliver lying in the Esper test room, his blood pooling beneath him.
"You're no different from the rest of them," the other Elijah said, its voice dripping with disdain. "A failure. A coward. A monster."
Elijah clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "I'm not a monster," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I'm not..."
"Then prove it," the figure snarled. "Prove it, or you'll lose more than just Oliver."
"Stop it," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Just stop..."
The other Elijah knelt beside him, leaning in close.
"You can't run from the truth," he hissed. "You'll carry this guilt with you forever. And one day, it'll consume you."
Elijah couldn't breathe. The room—the void—seemed to close in on him, the air thick and suffocating. The figure reached out, their hand almost touching his face, and he flinched.
"Accept it," they whispered. "You're no hero, Elijah. You're just like them."
"NO!" Elijah screamed, his voice reverberating through the void.
The darkness shattered like glass, and he bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. His chest heaved as he clutched the sheets, drenched in sweat.
He looked around frantically, his heart still racing, before realizing he was back in his dorm room. The familiar surroundings did little to calm him.
But Elijah didn't feel relieved.
The dream's words lingered, their weight crushing.
For a moment, he stared at his hands, half-expecting to see blood. They were clean, but the phantom sensation lingered.
Elijah buried his face in his hands, his mind replaying the haunting words.
"You're just like them."
His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. "I'm not," he whispered to himself, his voice shaky. "I'm not like them."
But the doubt lingered, a shadow he couldn't shake.
"You'll carry this guilt forever..."
He buried his face in his hands, trying to steady his breathing.
No matter how far he ran or how hard he tried to forget, Oliver's death haunted him, a shadow he couldn't escape.