A boy stood alone beside the highest bell tower in the city, where the wind howled like distant cries of forgotten souls. From up there, he could see the world spread below him—rooftops shrinking into shadows, cobbled streets glowing faintly under the flicker of dying streetlamps. It was a view that should've been beautiful, breathtaking even... but tonight, it felt like the edge of a nightmare.
The sky was clear, yet the darkness felt unusually heavy, as if the stars themselves had drawn away in mourning. Only their dim light remained, scattered across the black canvas above—but the moon was missing. It was as if even the moon didn't dare witness what he was about to do.
"Aahhhh... what should I do?" he screamed. His voice trembled, carried by the wind. "What's the point of living like this?"
There was no spark in his eyes—only a hollow emptiness that had been growing for years. His green eyes, dull and distant, stared out into the abyss. His white hair, streaked with a faint green hue, fluttered with each gust of wind, brushing across his pale cheeks. He wore a thin, worn-out shirt and slightly long boots—clothes not meant for the chill this high up. But the cold didn't bother him anymore.
People called him the "demon." A "monster." Just because of how he looked—because he was different. His strange eyes and unnatural hair scared them. They whispered when he passed by. They crossed the street. Some even threw stones when no one was looking.
But through all of that, there had been one light in his life—his older brother. Not by blood, but by bond. A sheriff known for his kindness and strength. He had protected Ashra when no one else would. He had smiled when everyone else looked away.
Don't worry. I'm here. You'll be okay. A glimpse of his brother when he used to be together with him.
Now he was gone.
They had brought his body back in silence. Wrapped in cloth. Bloodied. Cold. That day, Ashra had cried until he had no voice left.
"There's no point in me living," he said, stepping closer to the edge. "I know they were behind it. Someone made it happen. And no one's saying anything."
He looked down.
Everything will be done as I jump down.
Just as he leaned forward, heart ready to surrender, something flickered in the corner of his vision—a faint, golden glow from a far-off house at the edge of the city. It pulsed once, then vanished like a dying ember.
Ashra froze.
His foot hovered in the air, unsure.
That light... it wasn't normal.
It hadn't come from a lamp or a fire. It had shimmered—alive, almost calling to him. A strange warmth touched his chest, faint but real.
He stepped back from the edge, breathing hard. The cold air burned his lungs, but the grip of despair loosened, just slightly.
"What was that...?" he muttered. "Why does it feel like... something wants me to see it?"
He hesitated only a moment longer before turning away from the ledge. His boots echoed as he descended the bell tower steps, faster with each floor. Something deep inside him—something instinctual—urged him forward.
He began running through the empty streets, chasing the memory of that glow.
"That light... it disappeared. I have to reach it before it's too late."
His breaths were heavy now, boots slapping against the stones. The city was quiet, too quiet. Even the dogs and owls had gone silent. Shadows leaned long and sharp across the path, but he didn't stop.
He reached the house—an old, crumbling place, half-swallowed by ivy and time. It stood at the edge of a forgotten district, where no one dared to live anymore.
The door was slightly broken.
He stepped up to the porch and paused. The air here was different—colder, heavier. Like walking into a memory that didn't belong to him.
"I've come this far. I have to know what's inside," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else.
With a trembling hand, he pushed the door open.
The inside was pitch black.
No creak of floorboards. No whisper of wind. Just silence.
A silence that watched.
"Hello...? Is anyone there?" he called. His voice sounded small, swallowed by the shadows.
He reached for a nearby oil lamp hanging by the door. With shaky fingers, he lit a match and brought it to the wick.
Shhh...
The warm glow pushed back the dark, but only barely. The hallway stretched ahead like a throat, narrow and suffocating.
He stepped in, lifting the lamp high.
"I thought... someone lived here. But this place—it feels dead."
Then—
Thump.
A sound. Faint, but definitely real. From deeper within.
He gripped the lamp tighter and moved toward it, drawn by something he couldn't explain.
He reached a corridor, then a closed door. His palm hesitated on the handle. The wood was cold. Almost... wet?
He pushed it open.
And then—he stopped breathing.
The door creaked open slowly, groaning like a voice that hadn't spoken in years.
Ashra stepped in, the lamp trembling in his hand.
The room was dim. Shadows stretched from every corner like claws, grasping for the flickering light. Dust floated in the air, disturbed by his presence. The only light came from his lamp and a sliver of light that slipped in through a broken windowpane.
At first, he thought he saw a figure hunched in the corner.
Then the smell hit him—metallic and raw.
Blood.
The lamp's glow shifted just enough for him to see.
A man's lifeless body lay sprawled across the floor. His throat torn open. His eyes wide, as if they'd seen something they shouldn't have. Blood painted the floor beneath him, and crouched over the corpse was a creature.
Humanoid… but wrong.
He looked almost human. Black veins pulsed just beneath the surface. And its eyes—glowing, bright red—stared directly at him.
Ashra's breath hitched. The lamp nearly slipped from his fingers.
The creature slowly wiped the blood from its mouth with the back of its hand, as casually as someone finishing a meal. Then it stood up—graceful, confident, inhuman.
"You are bit late," it said, voice smooth and unsettlingly calm.
Ashra stumbled backward a step.
The demon walked toward him slowly, as if savoring each step.
Ashra wanted to run. Scream. Fight.
But his body refused to move.
Fear held him tighter than chains.
The creature stopped just inches from him. Its presence was overwhelming. The air grew thick, pressing in on him from all sides.
The demon tilted its head slightly, studying him like a curious animal.
"You're different," it murmured, placing a hand lightly on its waist, and the other gently on Ashra's trembling shoulder. "I don't know what it is, but...something in your face. It doesn't scream..
Ashra's heart pounded like thunder.
The demon leaned closer, its cold breath brushing his ear.
"Poor boy. Lost. Hated. Alone. You weren't meant to see this... but now you have."
Its tone darkened, a sharp edge slipping into its voice.
"So I wanna say you... You haven't seen anything here. It's for your own good."
Ashra tried to speak—anything. But only a dry croak escaped his throat.
The demon smirked, stepping back toward the window.
"Live a little longer, little kid. Let's see where your story goes."
Then, with one fluid motion, it leapt out the window and vanished into the night, leaving only silence—and the echo of its words behind.
Ashra stood frozen. His body drenched in sweat. Every part of him screamed to wake up, to run, to do something.
His vision blurred. His knees buckled.
The lamp slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.
He collapsed, unconscious—his last thought a blurred vision of a girl in white approaching from the darkness...
Ashra lay unconscious on the cold wooden floor, his breath shallow. The silence in the room was eerie, but not empty.
A faint chime echoed—like wind brushing across wind bells far away. Then… the air shimmered. Light footsteps echoed softly, approaching the doorway.
From the shadows, a figure emerged.
A girl. Cloaked in flowing white robes that glowed faintly in the dark. The fabric rippled like silk in water, and her hood concealed her face in shadow, but something about her presence felt… soothing.
She knelt beside Ashra and gently touched his forehead.
"His aura is unstable… fear has nearly consumed his heart," she whispered, her voice calm, melodic, and strangely familiar—like a lullaby forgotten in a dream.
A soft glow spread from her hand, flowing into Ashra like warm sunlight. His trembling slowed. His breath steadied. The pain in his chest eased.
Still unconscious, Ashra's mind stirred.
"Who... are you?" he murmured weakly in his sleep.
The girl didn't answer.
Instead, she looked at him for a long moment, then whispered something ancient—words that didn't belong to any known tongue. The air around her shimmered, and her body began to fade slowly into glowing particles.
Just before disappearing completely, she leaned in and whispered close to his ear:
"You are not alone, Ashra. The darkness may follow you… but so will the light."
…She vanished, leaving only the scent of wildflowers behind and a glowing mark on Ashra's wrist—shaped like a cross.
Moments later, Ashra stirred awake.
His body was drenched in sweat. His head ached.
He sat up slowly, breathing heavily, eyes wide and confused.
"What... what kind of dream was that? I thought I was going to die."
He wiped his face, still shaking. "But… I've never had a dream like this before. What could it mean? Is this dream trying to connect me to something?"
He looked around.
The room was still dim, but the blood on the floor had vanished.
"No... this wasn't just a dream," he muttered, looking down at the mark now glowing faintly on his wrist.
"It felt too real."
Then a cold thought passed through his mind—one that chilled him more than anything else.
"No… it's not a dream."
"It's reality."