Seven's breath came in ragged gasps as panic surged through him.
"What's happening?!"
he shouted into the void, his voice bouncing back in a haunting echo.
The ground had trembled violently beneath him, an earthquake? No, it couldn't have been. His mind raced, his thoughts shifting rapidly, terrified of what this sudden force might mean.
The image of his sister, Rain, back at home, flashed in his mind. What if she was caught in the quake too? Was she safe? The worry gnawed at him, but he pushed it down for the moment, unsure of how to help her from wherever—or whatever—this was.
He forced himself to open his eyes, hoping for some clarity, but there was no difference. The darkness didn't shift or fade, and the world around him remained unchanged. It was as if the very concept of light had ceased to exist.
Hesitantly, Seven took a step forward, only to find himself falling once more. This time, there was no ground beneath him, just the cold, unforgiving air.
He tumbled, his body jolting as he rolled down something hard and uneven.
Stairs? He couldn't see them, couldn't make sense of what was happening, but he could feel them. He kept rolling for what seemed like an eternity—three seconds, perhaps—until the motion abruptly stopped. The stairs ended, and he came to a painful halt, crashing against something solid.
"Ahh, it hurts!"
Seven winced, his body aching from the fall. His thoughts scrambled for focus as he lay there, his heart pounding. Taking a few deep, steadying breaths, he tried to calm his racing mind.
Slowly, he sat up, his arms trembling from the effort.
The darkness was suffocating. His eyes couldn't adjust; they simply refused to see anything.
Seven kneeled on the cold ground, hesitating as he reached out with his hand, feeling for some sort of anchor. His fingertips brushed against the rough texture of the floor. Carefully, he patted the ground around him, testing for stability, afraid to make another mistake and fall once more.
With his hand slowly sweeping the floor, he found a sense of control, a small thread of assurance. But even as he tried to focus, the overwhelming silence and the disorienting emptiness threatened to pull him deeper into confusion. Where was he? What was this place? And more importantly, how was he supposed to get out of it?
The questions echoed in his mind, unanswered, as the darkness around him continued to press in.
"Kiiiek!"
The screeching sound shattered the oppressive silence, making Seven's heart leap in his chest. It was a sharp, high-pitched cry—like something in agony or a beast in pain.
The noise seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, echoing through the darkness that swallowed him whole. It wasn't just loud—it was visceral, a guttural wail that felt like it crawled into his very bones. His breath caught, his body instinctively freezing, muscles tense, unable to move. The sound pierced through him like a blade, the kind that cuts deep into your chest and doesn't let go.
Every inch of his body screamed at him to run, to move, to get away from whatever that noise was. His heart hammered in his ears, faster and faster, as his hands balled into fists by his sides. But there was no escape. His feet were rooted to the spot, his legs frozen like stone. He couldn't make them move, couldn't force his body to act. He felt like a spectator inside his own body, trapped in a prison of fear.
The darkness around him felt thick, like it was pressing in on him, suffocating him, dragging him deeper into some unknown place. There was no light, no landmarks, nothing that gave him a sense of direction.
He couldn't even tell if his eyes were open or closed—his vision was as black as if the very concept of sight had been stolen from him. It was as if he were submerged in a void, floating in nothingness, each breath feeling like it might be his last.
He couldn't hear anything but his own panicked breathing and the relentless beating of his heart, pounding in his chest as if it wanted to escape.
'Move, move!'
Seven silently screamed at himself. He tried to force his limbs into action, but they refused, each muscle locked in place, unwilling to cooperate. It was as if something invisible had wrapped itself around him, holding him still in its cold grip.
His body betrayed him.
His thoughts spiraled faster than he could control them. What was that sound? Was it a wild animal? A monster? Was something lurking in the dark, just beyond his reach? The thought made his skin crawl, his spine tingling with a cold that seeped in from the edges of his body, freezing him from the inside out. And still, he couldn't move, couldn't act. His body wouldn't listen.
It was as if his own flesh had turned against him, refusing to follow his desperate commands.
'What is happening?' The question was a silent scream in his mind, echoing over and over, tumbling through his thoughts. Was this real? Was this just a nightmare? A hallucination? His mind reeled with possibilities, trying to latch onto any explanation that made sense. But every thought felt jumbled, disconnected, slipping through his fingers like water.
What was this place? Where was he? Was he even alive? The questions came faster now, each one more frantic, more desperate than the last. He tried to calm himself, to take control of his racing mind, but it was like trying to hold onto a fraying thread. He couldn't focus, couldn't center himself. His own thoughts felt like they were attacking him, pulling him in different directions until his chest tightened and his breath quickened.
'Calm down'
He tried to tell himself, but the words were hollow, meaningless. The screech echoed again, louder this time, closer, sending a fresh wave of terror through him. His eyes, still unable to see, couldn't focus on anything, but he imagined something—something terrible, something monstrous—just waiting for him to make a mistake. Was it closing in? Was it watching him? The thought sent a shiver down his spine that he couldn't shake off.
He took a breath, trying to force his body to react, to move, but all he could do was sit there in the cold, crushing darkness. The world around him felt like it was collapsing, folding in on itself, and he was trapped in the middle of it all—alone. Alone and unable to escape.
The screech echoed one more time, and this time, he felt it in his bones, deep and unnatural. His heart skipped a beat, his pulse racing. Was it getting closer? The idea of something, anything, coming out of the dark, reaching for him, was too much. It felt like the air around him was closing in, suffocating him, as if the darkness itself was alive and hungry. The walls were closing in, the pressure building against his chest. There was nowhere to run. No one to help him.
Seven's mind screamed for an answer, for a way out, for anything that would make sense of this nightmare. But all he heard was the deafening silence and that terrible screech, and the only thing that made any sense was that he was utterly, hopelessly alone.
**
After what felt like an eternity of paralyzing fear, Seven forced himself to take a few deep, shaky breaths. The sharp, ragged gasps of panic began to slow, and with each breath, the tightness in his chest loosened, just enough to let him regain control over his frozen limbs. His hands, stiff and trembling, finally obeyed his will. He flexed his fingers, one at a time, feeling the subtle strength returning, the sensation of touch grounding him back to his reality—whatever this reality was.
Slowly, carefully, he shifted his weight, inching his body toward his left side.
His movements were deliberate, almost methodical, every motion cautious as if the very act of breathing too deeply might trigger the return of the fear that still clung to him.
The darkness pressed against him like a thick, oppressive blanket, but his fingers scraped against the cold, smooth floor, a faint reminder that he was still grounded in this unfamiliar place.
The sensation, although unsettling, was better than the suffocating fear of being utterly adrift.
He was determined to find something—anything—to hold onto. A wall, perhaps, to guide him, to break the crushing silence that surrounded him.
His body tensed with every rustle, every shift in the darkness. The quiet seemed to press in, suffocating, as though it was alive, waiting for him to make the slightest mistake.
He couldn't afford to be careless, couldn't afford to panic again. His heart thudded in his ears, drowning out everything else, but he fought to steady it, fought to focus.
'Just a wall, just something to help you get your bearings', he thought, trying to keep his mind from spiraling again. Slowly, his hands moved along the ground, seeking anything solid in the darkness, his fingertips brushing against the cold floor, feeling for an edge, a corner, something—anything.
His body felt clumsy, disoriented, but his movements remained careful, quiet, almost as if he feared making even the slightest noise might invite something far worse than the screech he'd already heard. The more he crawled, the more his anxiety grew, his mind racing for an explanation.
Was there something watching him? Waiting for him to make a mistake? The thought gnawed at him, and he forced it away, focusing on the tactile sensations of the ground beneath him.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, his fingers met something. Cold. Rough. The surface was uneven, like stone or thick stonework. A wall—he almost let out a breath of relief, but instead he pressed his palm flat against it, feeling for any imperfections, cracks, or openings.
The texture of the surface was familiar in a way that almost seemed comforting. He let his hand linger for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself further before continuing his exploration.
The darkness still surrounded him, and his mind still screamed with questions, but at least now he had something—something that could offer him direction. He leaned against the wall, letting it support him for a moment, his head spinning slightly from the disorientation.
Still, it was better than the fear of being lost in the void.
Whatever had happened, wherever he was now, it was real. The nightmare from earlier hadn't just been a dream.
It had been something far worse, something he couldn't yet understand. But he had to keep moving.