Kael awoke, face-down on velvet. For a moment, he thought he was dead—until he breathed and choked on the scent of roses and rust.
He sat up.
A grand room stretched around him—candlelit, quiet, and empty. Ornate wallpaper peeled from the corners, as if the room had once been beautiful, but time had touched it cruelly. Every surface was covered in layers of dust...except one.
A round table in the center.
A tea set.
And a single photo frame. Face-down.
Kael rose slowly, uneasy but calm—for once, nothing screamed or bled. The Pulse was absent. No tremor beneath his skin, no dragging weight in his chest. Only stillness. It felt…wrong.
He approached the table, brushed off the dust, and turned the frame over.
It showed him and the girl. Sitting at this very table. Smiling.
He blinked.
She was sitting across from him.
Alive. No scars, no blood, no pain in her eyes—just that strange gentle expression. Like she'd been waiting.
"Welcome back," she said softly.
Kael opened his mouth. No words.
"Tea?" she offered.
He nodded, numb.
As he raised the cup, he noticed something odd—no clocks in the room. No ticking. No indication of passing time.
"How long have we been here?" he asked.
She smiled wider. "We never left."
"What?"
Before he could press, the air shimmered. The candles flickered violently. Her smile didn't waver.
"You need to forget, Kael. Just for a while. Rest. Don't chase the truth right now."
"But—"
"You died, remember?"
His fingers dropped the cup.
"What do you mean died?"
But she was already gone.
The tea spilled across the table, soaking the photo. And the Pulse returned—slow, loud, mocking.
Kael turned. The walls now had no doors. No windows. No way out.
Only that one frame remained. The picture now showed something else.
Just him.
Screaming.
Alone.
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