River Storm woke up gasping for breath, his mind clouded, like the remnants of a nightmare that had just disappeared. His breathing was heavy, his body drenched in sweat, despite the coldness of the room around him. The shadows on the walls felt deeper, more oppressive, and the light filtering through the dusty curtains seemed somehow... wrong.
He sat up in bed, his heart pounding, his pulse throbbing in his ears. His head throbbed, a dull ache that seemed to have settled in his skull. He rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the heaviness. Something was off. The air, the feel of the sheets, the way the floor creaked under his weight—it was all too familiar, but not quite right.
A flash of memory flashed before his eyes: a city burning, people screaming, a strange clock ticking in the background. His chest tightened. His mind raced, chasing the image, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting them on the cold wooden floor. His head spun, and for a moment, he felt as if the room itself was shifting. Had he been here before? Had he lain in this bed countless times, in this same forgotten room? His hand touched the scar on his palm, still fresh, as if it had just been carved into his skin. He stared at it, confused. Haven't I noticed this before?
The clock on the wall ticked, its hands moving strangely. He squinted at it—8:27. He hadn't been awake long. Or had he?
River stood and staggered to the window, pulling back the curtains. The city outside was alive, the streets bustling as usual, but the rhythm felt strange—too slow, too fast. His stomach lurched.
As he looked outside, his mind drifted back to the flash of fire, the chaos, the clock, but the memory refused to settle. It was a heat haze, out of reach. But there was one thing he knew for sure: Something had gone terribly wrong.
There was a knock on the door, and River's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't sure why he felt uneasy about it—he had heard that knock before, hadn't he?
"River? Are you awake?" a familiar voice came from behind the door. It was Elliot Graves, his roommate and—for the past few months, at least—his reluctant anchor.
River opened the door, and Elliot stood there, arms crossed, an amused smile on his lips. He was dressed in his usual rumpled clothes, looking like he hadn't slept in days. However, it wasn't unusual for Elliot to appear half-dazed. The man had a habit of working after hours and was always caught up in one project or another.
"You look like a nutcase," Elliot said, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. "What happened this time?"
River didn't answer right away. His gaze flicked back to the scar on his palm, then back to Elliot. "I don't... I don't remember what happened."
Elliot raised an eyebrow. "No wonder. You've been sleeping all morning. Another nightmare?"
River rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog. He wasn't sure how much of what he was experiencing was real. The memories from before—the fire, the clock, the feeling of time passing—felt like they had just happened. But the room... was too quiet. Too familiar.
"Yeah," River mumbled, not sure what to say. "Nightmare."
Elliot looked at her with a mixture of worry and annoyance. "Okay, try not to make things worse. You have a lot to do today, and you're going to be late."
River blinked. "Okay. Okay."
But his mind kept racing. What had happened? Why did everything feel so out of sync?
"Hey," Elliot said, his voice breaking through River's thoughts. "You still with me?"
River forced himself to pull his thoughts back to the present, but the discomfort was eating away at him. He tried to shake off the strange, persistent feeling of déjà vu. His life had always felt like a series of half-remembered moments, but now, it was worse—every moment felt like it had already happened, like he was chasing something that had already passed.
Elliot seemed to notice his lack of focus and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Are you sure you're okay? You're acting weirder than usual."
River smiled at her, though it didn't reach his eyes—just to calm Elliot and his worries. "Yeah, just tired. Bad night."
Elliot narrowed his eyes. "If you keep this up, I'm going to start thinking this is more than just a nightmare. You've been looking like this for days. Are you sure you didn't hit your head or something?"
"I'm fine," River said quickly, but his voice was shaking. He wasn't fine, not at all. There was something he couldn't explain, a feeling that was still beneath the surface.
"Okay." Elliot didn't sound convinced, but he dropped it. Instead, he tossed a small bottle of something onto the bed, and River glanced at it.
"What's this?"
"A coffee substitute," Elliot replied, his cocky grin returning to its usual self. "Because it seems like you're stuck in some kind of loop. I thought it might help."
River stared at the bottle, its contents swirling with dim light. It was some kind of alchemical concoction, the kind Elliot liked to play with when he was feeling particularly creative. He had mentioned it before—a chemical cocktail that gave you the energy of coffee without the side effects. Elliot always had his own methods for dealing with the chaos of the city.
River opened the lid and sniffed it carefully. The scent was familiar, yet distant. For a moment, it reminded him of the smell of smoke from his dream, when he saw the city burning. But then the scent changed to a coffee scent mixed with... something that was an alchemical compound, River didn't quite understand, but he knew that he didn't need to sniff too long into the scent.
"Thank you," River muttered, still not fully make sense of the present. He drained the bottle quickly, the liquid burning his throat, and waited for the usual burst of energy.
As the effects began to take hold, a fleeting thought crossed River's mind—hadn't he done this before? Wasn't there something about the taste, the way it felt on his tongue, that connected him to something deeper, something forgotten?
Before he could think about it any further, Elliot turned back to the door. "You'd better get going. I don't think your mechanic internship will wait around forever."
River nodded absently, still lost in thought. "Yes. I got it."
Elliot paused in the doorway, looking at River once more. "If you need to talk about it, man, you know where to find me. But seriously, you better figure this out before it gets worse."
River just nodded in response. He didn't want to explain, didn't know how to explain what he couldn't even understand.
As Elliot disappeared down the hall, River stood there, feeling the weight of silence settle over him again. The feeling that something was off—the gnawing suspicion that he was trapped in a cycle—now thickened into something undeniable.
He went back to the window, staring out at the city, trying to force some order into his chaotic thoughts. The streets outside were bustling with their usual hustle and bustle, but something felt wrong about it all. Too orderly. Too controlled.
River pushed aside the lingering fear in his chest as he prepared to face the day. Elliot's coffee substitute was starting to take effect, and though his mind was still a little fuzzy, his sharpness was slowly returning.
He walked into the small, cramped bathroom to clean himself. The mirror was steamy from the shower, but as he wiped it off, his reflection surprised him. His hair was damp, a little tangled, but the scar on his palm—the one that had been there when he woke up—caught his attention again. He rubbed it absentmindedly, but the feeling was so... new. So familiar, yet so strange.
He frowned at his reflection, but the moment passed, and he moved on with his life. There was no time to think about it. He had a routine to follow.
By the time he put on his usual old coat and boots, the pain in his head had eased, but a strange unease still clung to him like the damp air in the room. Everything felt... a little off, as if the world had tilted far enough that he couldn't quite trust it.
He stepped into the hallway, past Elliot's door. There was no sign of him, though his shoes were outside. River ignored him—Elliot came and go at odd hours, doing his own thing.
The walk to the market was uneventful, but there was something beyond his grasp. He couldn't help but notice the way the people moved—too fast, too slow. The faces in the crowd all seemed to blend together, It was as if they were one face replicated a thousand times over, so familiar yet so foreign. It was as if he knew them, but he didn't. River wasn't even sure he had ever said hello to any of them.
When River stopped at a stall to buy fresh fruit, the vendor, a middle-aged man with a warm smile, greeted him with a nod. "Good morning, River. It's been a while since I last saw you. How are you?"
River blinked, surprised at the familiarity in the man's voice. "Uh, yeah. I'm good." He smiled thinly, not sure why his response felt so hollow.
However, the vendor didn't seem to notice, and continued with his work. "The apples you usually buy, sir?" he asked, holding out the basket.
"Yes. Thank you."
River took the apples, and as he handed over the coins, he couldn't shake the strange feeling that this exchange had happened before—almost exactly like this. But no, it didn't make sense. This was just a market transaction. It didn't mean anything. It had clearly happened before.
But he felt a lingering unease as he left the stall, apple in hand. The city around him felt strangely quiet today. The sounds of the bustling streets—people talking, the clink of coins, the distant hum of conversation—seemed faint, as if the sounds themselves were out of sync with reality.
His feet carried him to a small park nearby, a quiet place he often visited when he needed a break. He sat down on a nearby bench, his thoughts swirling like the autumn leaves that began to fall around him.
The wind picked up, and River pulled his coat tighter around him. He stared at the trees, the leaves swirling in chaotic patterns that seemed too perfect—too planned. He rubbed his face, trying to clear his mind. His thoughts felt like they were racing ahead of him, and he couldn't keep up.
It was as if there was a gap between what he saw and what he felt. The world seemed the same, but there was something inside him that tugged at the edges of his perception, whispering that something was wrong.
He took a deep breath. Maybe it was just lack of sleep.
His mind drifted back to the moment he had woken up. The room, the scar on his palm, the confusion. It all felt like something he had experienced before—an echo of the past—but he couldn't quite place it. And that feeling of déjà vu, that nagging feeling that he had been here before, began to creep up his spine once more.
River pushed the thought away and stared at the apple in his hand. The vendor's face appeared in his memory, his voice clear in River's mind. It's been a long time since I last saw you.
The world didn't make sense, but his routines did. Apples. The market. A walk in the park. The way the wind blew. It all felt... like something he should have predicted. Like something he should have remembered. But River felt spontaneous—apples, the market, walk in the park—they felt spontaneous when River did them.
With a frustrated sigh, River stood up, tossing the apples into his coat pocket. He had to forget about this. He had to stop thinking about it.
As he walked back to the apartment, his steps slowed. The streets seemed longer than usual, the faces in the crowd still too unfamiliar. He reached the door of their apartment building, but as his hand touched the doorknob, something tugged at him again. A voice. A feeling.
It was as if, just for a moment, he could almost hear his own thoughts echoing back to him.
"Sooner or later, you have to face it."
He stopped, his hand still on the doorknob. His words hung in the air, but there was no one around to speak them. He shook his head.
Maybe because of the wind.
He opened the door and stepped inside.