The Last Dream
Max stood in front of the mirror.
It was taller now—reaching above the trees. Its surface was no longer cracked, but smooth, perfect. A flawless sheet of silver waiting for the world to look too long.
He didn't remember how he got there.
Only that the forest felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still.
Behind him, footsteps.
He turned.
The others were there.
Nori. Jess. Sky. Lumen. Eli.
None of them spoke. But in each face, the same understanding:
This was the end.
The mirror pulsed.
And then—
It opened.
Not like glass breaking.
Like a door.
They stepped through.
---
Inside was not a forest.
It was not a room.
It was him.
The boy.
The chair.
But this time, the chair was empty.
And the boy… was all of them.
A patchwork thing—stitched from smiles they had faked, thoughts they had buried, fears they had whispered only to themselves in the dark.
He didn't speak.
He simply raised a hand.
And offered them a choice.
---
"Stay," a voice said—not aloud, but inside.
"Stay, and sleep. Stay, and forget. You'll never be afraid again. You'll never be alone again."
He stepped forward.
"Or wake."
Behind them, the mirror was still open—but flickering now.
Cracking at the edges.
Reality trying to reclaim them.
---
Nori took Sky's hand.
Jess reached for Lumen.
Eli, breathing hard, pressed the locket against his chest.
And Max said, "We choose us."
---
The boy's smile faltered.
Just slightly.
And then—
He screamed.
The room shattered.
The chair burst into flame.
The mirror behind them cracked into a thousand pieces, light pouring through like sunrise after endless night.
---
They fell.
Through memories, through echoes, through themselves.
And then—
---
They woke.
Back in their own beds.
The sky outside just beginning to glow with morning.
No blood.
No mirrors.
Just breath.
Just silence.
---
Later, they would all find each other again.
Without speaking, they would meet in the woods, at the place where it all began.
There would be no sign of the mirror.
Only an empty patch of earth.
And in that silence, they would know:
They ended it.
Together.
But some nights—
When the wind shifted just right—
They could almost hear the sound of a chair creaking.
Waiting.