The school library was a mausoleum of silence, its stillness pressing against Maya's ears like a physical weight. She stood alone among the towering shelves, her sneakers silent on the worn carpet, her breath fogging faintly in the inexplicably cold air. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows that danced across the books. The scent of aged paper hung heavy, but beneath it lurked something acrid—sulfur, sharp and biting, stinging her nostrils.
Maya's fingers brushed a leather-bound spine—The Rituals of the Damned—and a low hum vibrated through her skin, as if the book were alive. Then, a whisper: "Maya…" It slithered from the shelves, soft and insidious, curling around her like smoke. She yanked her hand back, her pulse thudding in her throat. The sound grew, a chorus of voices murmuring her name, rising and falling like a tide.
She glanced at the clocks mounted on the walls—three of them, each a different size, each showing a different time: 2:47, 9:13, 5:55. Their hands twitched erratically, out of sync, as if time had splintered. Maya's stomach twisted. This wasn't the library she knew. This was something else.
Her trembling hand reached for another book, its cover cracked and peeling. She opened it, and black ink bled from the pages, thick and glistening, pooling on the floor like oil. It writhed, slithering toward her, forming letters that shimmered in the dim light: S T I L L H E R E. The words pulsed once, then dissolved, leaving a faint whiff of roses and ash.
Maya stumbled back, her chest tight. The dagger's burn on her palm flared, a searing reminder of the Sanctum. Whatever they'd unleashed hadn't stayed behind—it had followed them, clawing its way into the waking world.
Eli sat hunched in the computer lab, the glow of his laptop screen casting harsh shadows across his gaunt face. His fingers, stained with ink and trembling from too much coffee, scrubbed through CCTV footage timestamped 6:00 AM—this morning. The video showed the gym, its doors unscarred, no trace of the fire or the gate they'd barely escaped. But there, in the corner of the frame, was Eli himself, standing outside, the dagger glowing faintly in his grip.
He froze the footage, zooming in. His own eyes stared back at him, wide and hollow, but he had no memory of that moment. He scrubbed forward—6:01, 6:02—watching himself walk away, the dagger's light pulsing like a heartbeat. The video looped seamlessly, as if it had always existed.
Eli checked his phone: 6:00 AM. The computer clock: 6:00 AM. But the sun outside blazed high, its light streaming through the blinds in sharp, afternoon angles. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his voice a rasp. "We're not reliving time… Time's reliving us."
A flicker caught his eye—a shadow in the room's corner, fleeting but unmistakable. Another Eli, holding the dagger, his eyes glowing an unnatural blue. Eli blinked, and it vanished, but the dagger in his backpack hummed, its vibrations crawling up his spine. He wasn't sure what was real anymore—or if they'd ever truly left the Sanctum.
Reece slammed the janitor's closet door shut, his breath hitching, his arm throbbing where the mark glowed beneath his sleeve. The whispers were relentless now, clawing at his skull: "Let go. He's already gone." A second voice, colder, sharper: "You never left." They overlapped, a cacophony that drowned out his own thoughts.
He sank to the floor, knees pulled to his chest, the concrete cold against his back. The mark pulsed, its light seeping through his shirt, illuminating the cramped space in sickly green. He tore off his sleeve, exposing the symbol—spirals and claws, now sprawling up his arm, black veins snaking beneath his skin like roots.
The closet felt smaller, the walls pressing in, the air thick with the stench of bleach and something metallic—blood, maybe his own. He clawed at the door, nails scraping wood, desperate for escape. His fingers caught on a rough patch—words carved into the door from the inside: REECE ISN'T HOME.
A scream tore from his throat, raw and guttural, echoing in the tight space. The mark flared, searing his flesh, and the whispers laughed, a chorus of voices that weren't his own. His vision swam, and for a split second, he saw himself—another Reece, standing outside the closet, his eyes glowing green, his mouth stretched in a grin that wasn't human.
The mark surged, spreading across his chest, and Reece's scream faded into a choked sob. He didn't fight it anymore. Whatever he'd been was slipping away, consumed by the thing inside him.
The sun hung motionless in the sky, its light dim and jaundiced, frozen at 4:44 PM according to the clock tower. Maya, Eli, and Reece stood in the courtyard, the air heavy with the scent of decay, the silence broken only by a low, resonant hum. The birds were gone, the wind still—everything felt wrong.
"We have to go back," Maya said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. "The Sanctum's the key."
Eli nodded, his grip tightening on his backpack strap, the dagger's hum vibrating through him. "It's still here. I can feel it."
Reece stayed silent, his sleeve pulled low, his eyes darting to the shadows that seemed to writhe at the courtyard's edges.
They descended into the basement, the stairs creaking beneath their weight, the air growing colder, thicker. The trapdoor to the Sanctum waited at the bottom, its edges pulsing with a faint purple glow. It hadn't vanished—it had nested itself into the school, waiting.
They stepped inside.
The Sanctum had transformed. The walls throbbed like living flesh, veins of black tar pulsing beneath the stone. The pool in the center shimmered with blood, its surface rippling without cause. The statue loomed larger, its cracked face weeping tears that floated upward, defying gravity, glowing faintly in the dimness. The air was suffocating, laced with the cloying scent of roses and the sharp tang of ash.
Clare sat by the altar, her knees drawn up, her hands clutching her necklace. She sobbed, but her tears didn't fall—they rose, shimmering like tiny stars, vanishing into the ceiling. She looked up as they entered, her eyes red-rimmed and desperate. "I tried waking up," she whispered, her voice cracking. "But we're not in a dream. We're in someone else's memory."
Maya's breath hitched. She stepped closer, her palm burning. "Clare, what do you mean?"
Clare's gaze drifted to the Book of Offerings on the altar. Its pages lay open, and there, where Asher's name had once been scratched in jagged script, was Maya's—written in black ink that writhed like living snakes.
Eli's voice was barely audible. "We didn't save Asher. We became him."
The Sanctum trembled, and the whispers returned, sharp and insistent: "You were chosen. End her."
The room quaked, and a figure emerged from the shadows—a man in a long coat, his pale eyes unblinking, his voice smooth and crackling like static. "You're all stitched into the same soul thread," he said, his lips curling into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The wrong one pulled… and this whole reality starts unraveling."
Maya's heart pounded. "Who are you?"
He tilted his head, his gaze piercing. "A guide. Or a warning. Depends on what you choose."
Eli stepped forward, the dagger's hum growing louder. "What do you want?"
The man's smile sharpened. "I can lead you to the true source of the corruption—something deeper than this Sanctum. But there's a price." His eyes locked on Maya. "You have to sacrifice your loop immunity. The one thing keeping you from forgetting."
Maya's stomach lurched. "My… what?"
"You're the anchor," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The one who remembers. Without that, you'll be lost like the others. But if you don't, they might not make it out."
Reece's mark flared, and he winced, his voice strained. "Don't trust him, Maya."
The man's gaze flicked to Reece, his smile widening. "You're already slipping, aren't you? How long before you're not you anymore?"
Maya's mind raced. The whispers screamed: End her. Spill her blood. But this was a choice—her choice—and it clawed at her resolve. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "I'll do it," she said, her voice shaking. "Take it."
The man nodded, and the Sanctum's light dimmed, the whispers falling silent.
Maya pressed the dagger to the statue's cracked face, and the world erupted. Light exploded outward, blinding and scorching, burning through her skin. When it faded, they stood in the school again—but it was a nightmare. The walls dripped black tar, the air reeked of burning roses, and the sun outside glowed an eerie green, casting twisted shadows through the windows.
Clare was gone. In her seat was a slip of paper, its edges curling: "You brought it back. Now it wants to stay."
Maya's chest tightened, and then she felt it—a clawed hand reaching from inside her, its talons scraping her ribs. She gasped, staggering back, the pain sharp and real. Eli lunged forward, the dagger raised, but as he struck, the blade melted, its metal liquefying in his hand.
The dagger wasn't a weapon anymore. It was a key, glowing faintly in the distorted light.
Reece collapsed, his mark spreading across his torso, his eyes flickering green. "It's inside us," he rasped, his voice fracturing. "The gate… it's us."
The school bell rang backward, a warped, dissonant toll that reverberated through the halls. Shadows crawled from the corners, their edges jagged, their whispers deafening: "You were chosen. End her."
Maya gripped the melted dagger-key, her vision blurring. Clare's absence was a void, her memory erased from their minds, leaving only a hollow ache. Reece was fading, his humanity unraveling, and Eli's hands shook with fear.
But Maya's resolve solidified, cold and unyielding. She whispered, "I'm ending this… even if I have to end myself."
The shadows surged, and the gate within them roared.
To be continued…