a dazzling world, overflowing with screams and moans, fractured like a fragile glass, shadows twisted and voices echoed and an overwhelming sense of chaos consumed everything, then all at once it all shattered.
"Ahh!"
Seven jerked awake with his breath ragged and his body tensed.
his eyes darted around the dimly lit room, searching for the remnants of the nightmare but there were none, just the quiet hum of the night and faint light of the moon filtering through the curtains.
For a few lingering seconds he remained still, his mind catching up with reality, it had only been a dream, yet the sensation clung to him, leaving behind an eerie sensation, his heart pounded against his ribs and his fingers twitched slightly as if expecting something- something terrifying - but nothing did.
He inhaled slowly, then pouted his lips as he exhaled a long sigh of relief. before forcing himself to shake off the lingering dread, with that sigh Seven pushed aside his blanket, its warmth quickly abandoning his skin.
Seven sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, rubbing his face with his hands. His body was awake, but his mind was still trapped in that fractured world of chaos.
A dull ache throbbed in his temples, a remnant of the fear that had clung to him in his sleep. He let out another slow breath and stood up, his legs slightly unsteady as he made his way toward the bathroom.
The cold tiles sent a sharp chill up his spine as he stepped inside.
He turned on the faucet, letting the icy water pool in his hands before splashing it onto his face. The shock of it helped, if only a little.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, watching the droplets slide down his pale skin. His eyes were sunken, the dark circles beneath them deeper than usual.
The dream shouldn't have unsettled him this much, but something about it felt... different. Too vivid. Too real.
Seven ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed. "It was just a dream," he muttered, as if saying it aloud would make it true. He dried his face, turned off the light, and walked back to his bed. Maybe if he forced himself to sleep, morning would come faster.
He laid down, shifting uncomfortably under the covers. But sleep didn't come. No matter how many times he closed his eyes, his mind refused to quiet down. The echoes of screams, the twisting shadows—they lurked at the edges of his consciousness, refusing to fade. A strange, suffocating weight settled over his chest, an unshakable sense of unease gnawing at him. It wasn't fear, not exactly, but something deeper, something worse.
Time crawled by. He turned over, then again, counting the hours as they slipped away. The night stretched endlessly, and exhaustion weighed on his body, yet his mind remained alert—trapped in a cycle of unease.
And then, finally, the sun rose.
**
The clock read 6:30 AM. The world outside was still caught in the fragile stillness between night and day, where the sky remained a deep, inky blue, only beginning to yield to the first traces of dawn.
The air carried a crisp chill, the kind that bit at the skin yet felt oddly refreshing.
Seven pushed aside his blanket and sat up, his body sluggish from the lack of sleep. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to shake off the heaviness clinging to his mind. With a sigh, he finally stood, his bare feet meeting the cool wooden floor as he made his way out of his room.
The faint sound of sizzling oil and the rhythmic clatter of utensils greeted him from the kitchen. A warm glow spilled into the hallway, the soft scent of eggs and toast wafting through the air.
Standing at the stove was a woman, her long dark hair cascading down her back, slightly tousled from sleep. Loose strands framed her sharp yet delicate features, and her deep brown eyes held the quiet focus of someone lost in routine. She wore an oversized sweater that draped over her small frame, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal slender wrists. Despite her tired posture, there was a certain warmth in her presence—calm, steady. His sister named Rain.
Rain had always been an early riser, just like him. It was a habit she never broke—waking up at dawn, making breakfast, moving through the motions of the morning like clockwork. Seven leaned against the doorway, watching her for a moment before speaking.
"I'm heading out," he said, voice still rough from sleep.
His sister glanced back at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Morning jog?"
He nodded.
"Alright, be safe." She turned back to the stove, flipping the eggs with practiced ease.
Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "Want me to save you some?"
Seven hesitated for a second before shaking his head.
"I'll eat later."
"Okies," she said simply, her voice light, unconcerned.
With that, he grabbed his coat and stepped outside.
The cold air greeted him instantly, sharp yet strangely welcome, a contrast to the suffocating heaviness that had clung to his chest all night. His breath curled in the morning air, a fleeting mist that dissipated as quickly as it formed
**
The streets were quiet, almost eerily so. The remnants of the night still clung stubbornly to the edges of the city, stretching out the silence before the inevitable rush of the day began. Streetlights flickered uncertainly, their glow struggling against the approaching dawn. The pavement beneath his feet was damp, glistening faintly from the early morning dew.
He moved without thinking, his footsteps rhythmic against the concrete, the only sound accompanying him in the stillness. It should have been calming—this solitude, this brief moment of peace before the world stirred. And yet, something gnawed at him, something intangible yet suffocating, as though the dream hadn't fully let go.
As Seven walked, his mind remained a blur, his thoughts tangled in the restless haze of exhaustion. He had been here a hundred times before, had taken this same path so many mornings—but today, something felt different. A presence in the air, a whisper just beyond perception. He shuddered but told himself it was just the lack of sleep.
And so, he kept walking.
It started as a whisper in the air, a shift in the very fabric of reality. The city lights flickered—just for a moment—but long enough for Seven to pause. The noise around him dulled, as if he had been submerged underwater. A pressure built in his skull, something deep and ancient, pressing against his thoughts. His breath hitched.
And then, the ground beneath him was gone.
A force—silent, unseen—pulled him downward, or perhaps upward, or in a direction he couldn't even comprehend. Panic surged through his veins as his vision warped, twisting into streaks of light and shadow. He tried to scream, but no sound came. The world he knew—the city, the cold, the routine—shattered around him.
And then, there was nothing.
Just silence.
And the feeling of falling into something unknown.
Darkness wrapped around Seven like a thick fog, suffocating and endless. He was falling—at least, that's what it felt like. Yet there was no wind, no sensation of motion, just the overwhelming feeling of being pulled through something far beyond his understanding.
His mind screamed for answers, but there was nothing to grasp onto. He tried to move, to reach out, but his limbs felt weightless, disconnected from reality. The pressure in his skull built, twisting his thoughts into fragments. Was this a dream? A hallucination? Had he lost his mind?
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the fall ended.