Fiction Snippet - Blog Posts

chen-nn

2 weeks ago

Chapter 10: When the Silence Breaks

TW ⚠️

Emotional and psychological trauma, Implied domestic abuse (Clara’s backstory. Not that detailed tho), Medical scenes and mild body horror (organ-like dream realm), Brief discussion of death, Mild violence and unsettling imagery, Mental disorientation / hallucination & Light profanity and dark humor

It had been days since everything happened. I’d been waiting—hoping—for an announcement that would finally let me take part in the journalism program.

But today… it was raining.

Raindrops tapped softly against the glass of my bedroom window, each one leaving a faint trail as it slid down. I stayed cocooned beneath my blankets, the quiet hum of the rain wrapping around me like a lullaby. For a moment, there was peace.

Then came the restlessness.

I wasn’t sure where the restlessness came from. Maybe it was the waiting. Maybe I just needed to move—to be somewhere else, even for a while. That had to be it.

So, I decided to go for a walk, rain or not.

The pavement shimmered under the drizzle as I stepped outside, the gentle patter of raindrops drumming softly on my umbrella. It was oddly soothing, like the world had quieted down just for me.

As I strolled through the streets, the rain gradually faded to a light mist. Eventually, the clouds began to part, and the sun peeked through, casting a golden warmth across the damp streets of Aloy.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the National Museum—Metallica. That’s one thing about living in the city: you can stumble upon places like this without even meaning to.

I looked up at the massive structure towering above me. A chill ran down my spine—not the kind that warns, but the kind that hums with something unspoken. Like clouds rolling in with no promise of rain. Oddly enough, it felt… inviting.

So, I took a step forward, and walked inside.

Inside, dim lights welcomed me, casting soft shadows along the museum’s quiet halls. Every artifact seemed to hum with its own presence—each one whispering a different kind of power. I could feel it in my chest, in my fingertips.

And it made me feel so…

Nice.

Until—

I stopped.

There, right in front of me, stood a statue.

“Oh…” The word slipped from my mouth as it fell open slightly.

My eyes locked onto it—unmoving, unblinking.

The Statue of the God of Time.

“Temureth,” I whispered, stepping closer to the statue.

There was a weight in the air—heavy, ancient. I was still caught in that silence when a familiar voice broke through.

“Hagarin! You’re here too?”

I turned. It was Clara, her eyes bright with surprise.

“Yeah,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I was just strolling, and somehow ended up here.”

She nodded, her voice softer now. “I always come here alone when I feel lonely. My mom used to bring me.”

I nodded, understanding her sentiment. “I don’t blame you,” I said gently. “If there’s any place—or anything—you hold close, of course you’d cherish it.”

She gave a soft smile, then sighed. “Wanna have a drink?”

I deadpanned. ———————————————————————

At first, I thought she meant alcohol.

But now we were sitting in a café. The sun had fully broken through the clouds, casting warm light across the windowpane.

“Y’know, Hagarin,” Clara said, eyes on the menu, “you remind me of my older sister.”

“Oh?” I asked, absentmindedly flipping through a spare menu. “How so?”

“She was… chill. A lot like you. But she’s not around anymore.” Clara’s voice dipped, but she kept talking. “I’ve got a brother too. He’s a doctor. Busy guy.”

She paused. Then, after a breath: “My mom… she died. My father abused her.”

The silence that followed was heavy. I looked at her, then exhaled.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too much,” I said quietly. “It’s okay. You’ll find a way to carry it—maybe even grow past the pain someday.”

Clara gave a quiet nod just as the waitress approached our table to take our orders.

“A salad, please,” Clara said as the waitress nodded, jotting it down.

“And a slice of apple pie,” I added with a small smile.

When the food arrived, we fell into easy conversation—talking about anything and everything.

“Speaking of school, I’ve finally caught up on everything,” I said.

Clara groaned lightly. “And here I am, still needing to go back just to pass some things.”

“Really? What is it?”

“Well… I was sick the other day, so I’ve got to hand in everything I missed.”

“I’ll come with you,” I said, without thinking twice.

The good atmosphere lingered even after we finished eating. There was something comforting about it—like we’d both needed that quiet hour more than we realized.

The sun had taken its rightful place in the sky, high and golden, casting long shadows across the street as we made our way toward school. The sidewalks were still damp, glistening faintly, and the air smelled like wet pavement and leaves.

We didn’t talk much on the way. We didn’t need to. There was something about shared silence that felt more intimate than words.

When we reached the school, Clara turned to me and gave a small smile. “I won’t be long.”

“I’ll wait here,” I replied.

She disappeared through the doors, her footsteps echoing faintly down the hall as she made her way to the faculty room. I lingered just outside, near the row of lockers lining the hallway. A few students wandered past, chatting among themselves, laughter echoing in snippets that came and went like passing winds.

I leaned against the cool wall, folding my arms. The stillness gave me too much room to think.

The image of Temureth’s statue flashed through my mind—how the stone felt alive, how his name tasted strange on my tongue, like something forgotten yet familiar. There had been a presence in that room, subtle but undeniable. Like something old was watching. Waiting.

I shook my head a little, trying to bring myself back to the present. Still, the feeling lingered.

The silence around me wasn’t as peaceful now. It felt suspended. As if time itself had slowed, stretching out the seconds into something just a little too long. Just a little too still.

And then—I felt it again.

The same chill I felt at the museum. Faint, like a whisper running along the edge of my spine. Not cold enough to shiver, but enough to notice.

I looked around. Nothing out of place. Just lockers, bulletin boards, classrooms with doors slightly ajar. The ordinary shape of a school afternoon.

But something felt…off. Like a ticking clock had skipped a beat.

That is, until I heard it.

A shriek—sharp, panicked, and startlingly loud. What made it worse was that it came from a man.

The sound cut through the hallway like a blade, jolting me upright before I even had time to think. My instincts kicked in. I didn’t call out. I didn’t hesitate. I just moved.

I followed the direction of the sound, my footsteps echoing softly against the tiles as I passed one hallway after another. The school, once familiar, now felt unfamiliar—twisted slightly by the weight of something I couldn’t name.

Eventually, I reached the stairwell.

The air felt heavier here, like the very space was holding its breath.

I climbed the steps slowly, cautiously, my hand brushing the rail. With each step, the atmosphere grew more tense, more… off. Like walking into a place that time had forgotten.

At the top of the stairs, the hallway was dim. Lights flickered above, struggling to stay alive. A faint hum buzzed from a nearby socket, but it was the only sound besides the soft thud of my heart.

Then I saw it.

A room—its door slightly ajar, pale yellow light leaking from the gap. The windows were completely covered by thick curtains, drawn from the outside. The whole space looked swallowed in shadow.

I approached slowly, heart beating a little faster.

And then I saw the sign on the door.

Faded lettering. Nearly rubbed away by time and cleaning.

But still readable.

“Time Studies - Research Archive Room 3”

“What are you two doing here?!” the teacher’s voice boomed, sharp and urgent—but it sounded far away, like I was hearing it through water.

Everything was fogged, muffled.

“I—I don’t know why she was here!” Clara’s voice cracked, panicked, as she held onto me.

Then—darkness.

I didn’t get to hear what came next. The pain in my chest spread like ink in water, and the world around me unraveled. My limbs gave out. My mind slipped.

And I passed out. ——————

Is this real life? Or is just fantasy?

I heard cackles.

Sharp. Echoing. Wrong. It was Ezra’s laugh. Twisted and distant, like it didn’t belong to him—or maybe like it did, and I’d just never heard it this way before.

“Ezra?” I jolted awake, gasping.

But it was just a dream… wasn’t it?

I blinked. My vision blurred, then settled.

“Ezra…?” I whispered again. His giggle still lingered, soft and persistent, like it had taken root in the walls.

The room around me pulsed faintly, cramped and alien. The walls weren’t made of stone or wood—they were… flesh-like. The color of organs, deep reds and purples, squirming gently as though alive. Veins, maybe. Or shadows.

I couldn’t tell where I was—but it was definitely not the school anymore.

It was disturbing. Claustrophobic.

And still, I could hear Ezra’s giggle.

Light, childlike.

Wrong.

“Hagarin… Hagarin!”

His voice echoed everywhere. Not just once. It multiplied—clashing against itself in distorted waves, rising and falling like laughter buried beneath madness.

It was Ezra’s voice. But it wasn’t Ezra.

Each syllable struck like a drumbeat inside my head, louder, faster—relentless.

I clutched my temples, stumbling back as the space around me pulsed like a living thing. The squirming walls grew tighter, the colors deeper—veins bulging, floors rippling beneath my feet.

My breath hitched. Confusion swelled. Panic followed.

And that’s when I felt it—my powers flaring uncontrollably.

Like a storm breaking inside my chest.

No direction, no form—just raw energy reacting to the fear, the disorientation, the voice.

It was overwhelming. It felt like being stripped back to zero. Like all the control I’d built up until now had been burned away in a second.

I fell to my knees.

“Hagarin…” Ezra’s voice whispered again, this time gentler, but no less twisted. “Why are you afraid of what you already are?”

“Get… get out of my head! Ezra!” I cried out, my voice cracking, heavy with panic. My hands trembled as I broke down into sobs, unable to hold it together any longer.

And then— Silence.

The giggling stopped. The echoes dissolved. Even the room… settled.

The walls no longer squirmed in chaos. They pulsed slowly now—steadily. Like a heart at rest.

And that’s when I felt it.

A sharp sting in my palm.

I looked down— A clean cut had appeared across my hand, fresh blood welling at the surface. It wasn’t from the dream. It was real.

Pain flared. The world snapped into place.

I gasped, sucking in air like I’d been underwater.

My eyes flew open.

Bright lights. A ceiling. The sterile scent of antiseptic.

I was back.

Breathing hard, my chest rising and falling rapidly, I scanned my surroundings—disoriented.

Hovering above me were three figures. Clara—her brows knit with worry. A nurse gently checking the IV line in my arm. And a teacher standing behind them, arms crossed tightly, eyes unreadable.

Sir… Evan?

I blinked. Focused.

His school ID swayed slightly from a lanyard around his neck. Evan M. Soriano, it read. Faculty, Temporal Studies Division.

I was shaking.

Not from fear—at least not just that. It was exhaustion. Discomfort. A heaviness that settled in my bones like I’d run a marathon inside a nightmare.

What the hell was that even? Was that… Ezra’s power?

I clenched the blanket over me, trying to stop the tremble in my fingers, but it didn’t help. My body still remembered the chaos—even if my mind couldn’t fully make sense of it.

And that place—ugh.

I swallowed hard as the memory returned, vivid and raw.

It was like I had been trapped inside a living organ—walls that pulsed, colors that moved and squirmed like tissue under a microscope. The floor wasn’t solid. The air felt alive.

It wasn’t a dream. Not completely.

Because the pain was real. The cut on my palm was real.

The bolt of darkness, Ezra’s eyes, that voice—

I wanted to throw up.

I closed my eyes, steadying my breath. But I could still hear that distant giggle—lingering like a splinter in my mind.

When I tried to sit up, everyone in the room panicked.

Clara practically jumped three feet in the air. “Hagarin, no—lie down!”

The nurse rushed to my side, gently but very firmly pushing my shoulder back against the bed. “You need rest—please don’t make me use tape.”

Even Sir Evan, who looked like he hadn’t blinked in ten minutes, took a step forward. “You shouldn’t be moving yet. You’re still stabilizing.”

“Stabilizing?” I muttered. “I’m not a nuclear reactor.”

But they didn’t laugh.

Probably because I looked like I’d been through a nuclear meltdown.

Still, I couldn’t stay put. I was too rattled. Too… itchy inside my own skin. My brain was spinning, my chest still tight, and every time I blinked, I saw squirming walls and heard Ezra’s creepy little laugh echoing in the back of my head.

“I can’t just lie here,” I said, struggling against the blanket like it was actively restraining me. “I’ve literally been inside a sentient meat room and black magic’d through the chest. I think I earned a walk.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “A what kind of room?!”

Sir Evan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already regretting ever getting a teaching license.

The nurse finished patching up my palm with a soft sigh, gently placing my hand back down on the bed. She didn’t say anything at first—just turned her gaze to the hospital bed next to mine.

I followed her eyes.

Then Clara looked.

Then Sir Evan.

We all deadpanned.

Ezra was lying there.

Sleeping.

With his eyes open.

Another nurse was tending to him, adjusting his IV like this was completely normal behavior, as if sleeping with your eyes open was just some cute little personality quirk.

“Is… is he dead?” Clara whispered.

“No,” the other nurse replied, unfazed. “He’s sleeping.”

“With his eyes open?” I asked, tilting my head slightly like it would help the situation make sense.

“It’s… been happening since the incident,” she added, as if that explained anything at all.

Clara leaned closer to me. “I feel like I’m in a horror film.”

“You are,” I muttered. “Except there’s no popcorn and I’m the one getting possessed.”

Sir Evan let out another sigh. “Enough. He’s stable—for now.”

“Ezra… his power is highly contagious. Everyone knows that. Everyone should know that.” Sir Evan started, dismissing the nurse with a wave before turning back to us.

“We all grew up thinking that the five elemental categories—nature, air, water, fire, and time—were the main sources of power. But the truth is…” He paused, folding his arms. “Those five aren’t the ‘main.’ They’re just the most recorded. The most understood. That’s why they dominate the books, the schools, the statistics.”

He stepped closer, his tone growing firmer. “There’s no such thing as a true ‘main’ element. Every power is different. Some valuable. Some… completely useless. But even the rarest ones have gods tied to them.”

I furrowed my brows, listening.

“That’s why gods and goddesses exist in so many forms—each representing something deeply specific. Take this nation, Aloy. Ruled by a god who commands metal. Yet ironically, the highest recorded ability among our people? Air.”

He glanced toward the window, briefly, before continuing.

“And then there’s Ezra. We don’t know where he came from. No nation claims him. No lineage traces back to him. But one thing we do know…” Sir Evan’s voice lowered.

“…is that the power he carries is called Pulsebind.”

My stomach turned at the name. That was the thing that put me in the fleshy, breathing nightmare?

“It’s a contagious ability,” he said. “When Ezra experiences intense emotion or trauma, even brief eye contact can infect someone. That’s all it takes. In some cases, he can even cast Pulsebind into an object.”

He looked at me, pointedly.

“It craves flesh and bone, and once it gets ahold of your mind, you’re trapped. Inside a world that’s him. A place built from his instincts, fears, and whatever twisted shape his subconscious decides to take.”

Through an object… My fists clenched.

That’s what he did to me. That’s how it started. And if Clara hadn’t stopped me—damn it.

I sighed heavily, glaring at the unconscious boy nearby.

If it weren’t for his face, I’d have decked him by now.

“Though it’s still taught in basic education that those five—time, air, fire, nature, and ice—are the main elements, truthfully, that should’ve been changed a long time ago.”

Sir Evan’s voice carried a hint of frustration, as if he’d said this before, many times, to ears that refused to listen.

“They’re not the ‘main’ because they’re fundamental. They’re just… common. Well-documented. Easy to explain to children. But the truth is, there are countless types of abilities out there. Some born from emotion, others from ancestry, or even divine influence.”

He took a breath.

“And then… there’s time.”

At the mention of it, something in the air shifted.

“It’s still one of the rarest powers ever recorded. And yet, despite its rarity, it’s counted among the top five strongest abilities known in history—not because of how many people have it, but because of what it can do.”

He paused for a beat, letting the weight of that settle.

“Time itself doesn’t just manipulate moments—it bends memory, rewrites decisions, reshapes futures. That’s why gods like Temureth are feared, even by other deities.”

“But… our rules clearly say never to tamper with the timeline,” I said, brows furrowed. “How can you say it’s possible to change the past?”

Sir Evan didn’t flinch. He simply looked at me, calm but heavy with meaning.

“Rules exist to keep something in place,” he began. “To protect what’s fragile—like cause and effect. And yes… if you do interfere with the past, you’ll likely be stuck in that altered timeline forever. That’s the consequence. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

He leaned forward, voice low and firm.

“You can change the past. You just might not survive it.”

I swallowed. “But why would anyone even want that? To live in the past… until their soul cracks from the weight of what they’ve done?”

A shadow passed over his face.

“If you don’t belong in a timeline,” he said quietly, “the world will notice. And once it does… you die the moment you’re seen.”

Sir Evan checked his wristwatch and let out a quiet sigh. “That’s my cue,” he murmured. “I have to leave. In the meantime, get some rest. Another proctor will take over from here.”

He stood from his seat, giving one last glance toward Ezra, then at me—like he wanted to say more, but chose not to. With a nod, he turned and left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

“That was… a lot to digest,” Clara finally said, breaking the thick silence that had settled between us.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, eyes drifting to my bandaged palm. “Yeah. I’ve got a million questions, and zero brain cells left to process them.”

“I think I’ll just ask Ms. Renée later.”

There was a pause.

“Sometimes,” I muttered, “I really want to strangle Ezra.”

Clara let out a small snort. “Same. But he’d probably trap us in another meat realm the moment we touch him.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me,” I groaned, pressing my palm to my forehead.

“Maybe let’s change the topic then?” Clara offered with a soft smile, trying to lighten the mood.

I nodded, rubbing my temple. “Yeah… good call.”

She glanced out the window for a moment before saying, “Back at the café… I didn’t really finish what I was saying. About my mom.”

The air shifted—just slightly. I sat up straighter, the exhaustion still there, but I gave her my full attention.

“She used to take me to the Metallica museum,” Clara began, her voice gentler now. “Not because we loved art or history or anything. She just… wanted me to be somewhere quiet. Somewhere she could pretend we were safe.”

She paused.

“My dad was the kind of man you never knew what version you’d come home to. Angry. Drunk. Silent. And my mom… she was always trying to shield us. Me, my sister, my brother. But eventually, she couldn’t anymore.”

Clara looked down, fidgeting with the edge of the bedsheet.

“She died. Not all at once. Piece by piece. Until there was nothing left to protect us from him.”

I swallowed hard, unsure what to say, so I just listened.

“My sister left first. She ran. And I don’t blame her. My brother buried himself in school, became a doctor. I… just learned how to disappear when I had to.”

She glanced at me, her eyes glassy but steady. “That’s why I go to the museum when I feel lonely. It’s the last place I felt like she was still trying.”

“I… honestly just wanted a loving father,” Clara murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who would provide love and care for me. The man who created us three—me, my sister, my brother—he used to love Mom so much.”

She exhaled, long and tired.

“I just…” her voice faltered, “maybe the idea of loving someone or settling down—it’s hard to imagine now. The world feels too dangerous for that kind of dream.”

She paused again, her eyes unfocused.

“Life is such a beautiful thing… but sometimes I wonder why we were brought into it, only to live through so much pain.”

“I used to be so fixated on the idea,” Clara said softly, “that somewhere out there, there’s a man who’ll love me forever. I… I hope I’ve already met him.”

She sighed, eyes lingering on the floor.

I couldn’t help the quiet smile that tugged at my lips. “That’s why there’s Clarence.”

Her head snapped toward me. “Where the hell did that even come from?” she huffed, giving my arm a playful slap.

I laughed, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at my bandaged palm. “I dunno. Just saying. He looks like the type to write poetry in secret.”

We both laughed quietly, letting the tension melt into something lighter. But just when I thought we were done, Clara tilted her head with a sly grin.

“Oh yeah? What if Ezra likes you?”

I didn’t even blink. “I’ll shove this dextrose tube down your throat if you keep talking.”

She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “You’re so dramatic—he’s not even conscious!”

“That’s the only reason you’re still alive.”

In the end, it all dissolved into quiet giggles and soft chuckles—like nothing had happened. Like we weren’t just talking about trauma, or powers that trap people in organ nightmares, or the terrifying mystery that was Ezra.

For a fleeting moment, it felt normal. Almost safe.

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3,857 words

Tags

original story dark fantasy dead dove do not eat dead dove fic fragments of the future: dead dove prophecy magic and violence cw dark themes fiction snippet

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chen-nn

1 month ago

Chapter 9: Totally a Normal Day

warnings: None, just humor and a normal day.

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Three days have passed since that day, yet I don’t feel any better. In those three days, Liviya never missed a chance to shoot me dirty looks, her face barely concealing the rage simmering beneath the surface. But to her credit, she kept it at bay—perhaps the only thing about her I could actually appreciate.

Today, Prince returned to collect our consent forms for the offer he made. I watched as he moved through the room, gathering the papers one by one. When he reached me, I handed mine over without hesitation.

Leaving this place has been on my mind for a long time—an idea I’ve weighed, dissected, and planned for. I may not be in the best shape to explore the world beyond, but something deep inside tells me that if I take this chance, something will shift. A moment of risk, a chance at change. It’s not that I hate this place—not entirely. Maybe it’s just preference. I don’t want to be caged here while everyone else gets to be free.

But this is the reality of my power. Isolation is the safest choice until I can truly stand on my own. So I endure. I find ways to appreciate this place—though appreciate is hardly the right word for a place that feels more like a prison than a home.

The clock ticked away until it was finally break time. Clara approached me, inviting me to eat lunch with her. As we sat down, our conversation drifted to my plans for joining the journalism team.

“I want to use this as a way to get involved in activities outside the campus,” I said, opening my lunch box. “I suppose it’s a good way to clear my mind, too.”

Clara nodded, chewing thoughtfully before speaking. “I guess that makes sense for you. But… I think you might end up like one of those exhausted, overworked students.” Her words came out slightly muffled by the food in her mouth.

“Why?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Well, journalism can be both fun and tiring. Instead of resting, you’ll have a ton of things to balance,” she replied.

“I expected as much—maybe even worse.” I shrugged.

Clara let out a sigh. “Just don’t do too well, or they might send you off on some big assignment. Who knows? You might never come back.” She tried to sound playful, but there was a hint of something else beneath her words. “I suppose it fits your goals, but… I’d miss you, Hagarin.”

I chuckled. “I get it. But won’t we all go our separate ways eventually? Everyone has their own dreams to chase.”

“You don’t have to rush yours, though,” Clara murmured. “Enjoy things with us while you still can.”

I scoffed. “You make it sound like I’m good enough to just leave everything behind without a second thought.”

“Because you are,” Clara said simply.

I shook my head. “No. I’m not perfect. I have my fair share of mistakes.” I set my lunch box on my lap, my gaze drifting toward the track and field. From here, I could see the open space stretching beyond the school buildings, a distant world that felt both inviting and unreachable.

“Still,” Clara insisted, “you’re more than qualified for it.”

I let out a sigh, irritation creeping in. “You put me on too much of a pedestal.” Such a glazer.

Clara didn’t respond, and I quietly finished my food, the weight of her words lingering in the air between us.

“Sup, guys? Why so quiet?” Ezra strolled over, eyeing my food like a starving stray. I sighed and handed it to him without a word.

“Just fussing over the fact that Hagarin is gonna leave us,” Clara exaggerated with a dramatic sigh.

“Leave? You mean the journalism thing? I signed up too,” Ezra said between bites.

Clara’s eyes widened. “No way you’re gonna be a reporter! You look more like a criminal!”

Ezra gasped, clutching his chest as if she had just stabbed him. “That’s so mean, Clara!” The laughter slowly faded as we settled into a comfortable silence, eating in peace—until Ezra, as usual, broke it.

“I heard we’ve got a returning student,” he said, casually between bites.

That caught my attention. I glanced up, listening closely.

“Oh? Sebastian? Yeah, he actually went on an adventure,” Clara said with a chuckle. “For real this time.”

“What did he do?” I asked, curious.

“He was chosen for the Rite of Astralis,” Clara explained. “It’s kind of a tradition here. You get to go through these... I don’t know, adventurous arcs? Trials? Either way, it’s a big deal. A dream, honestly. You could be chosen next year!”

I nodded slowly. “How was he chosen?”

Clara tilted her head, thinking. “Mmm… maybe it’s ‘cause he’s always so composed? Honestly, no clue. But he’s good. Performs really well. Probably a little like Ezra—just, you know, less chaotic.”

Ezra tugged her hair in retaliation, and the two immediately broke into their usual squabble, bickering like cats and dogs. I just watched them, quietly amused. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

During the grace period our professor gave us, some students were cramming last-minute tasks, while others just chatted idly. Nothing unusual—there weren’t many of us to begin with, so the room always felt quiet, almost predictable.

That is, until someone new walked in.

He had fair skin that seemed to catch the light in just the right way—almost glowing, though that sounds dramatic. Still, there was something undeniably striking about him. Maybe it was how healthy he looked, or how all his features came together so effortlessly, giving him this… natural charm.

That must be Sebastian.

His chestnut hair fell just right, giving him a charismatic air that somehow lit up the room. Almost instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Students cheered and greeted him like an old friend.

It was...nice.

When the professor finally returned, he paused at the door, his expression softening the moment he saw Sebastian.

“Ah, welcome back,” he said with a nod, then gestured toward the back of the room. “You’ll be seated with Clarence.”

So that’s why that seat was always empty.

As Sebastian made his way to the back, Clarence looked up—and for the first time in a while, his usually unreadable face broke into a genuine smile.

The two exchanged a brief look, one that spoke volumes. No words were needed. It was the kind of silent understanding only close friends shared—like they hadn’t seen each other in months but had picked up right where they left off.

Sebastian slid into the seat beside him, and just like that, the energy in the room shifted again—familiar, but different.

During our free time—while the professor was still present—we were allowed to work on tasks from other subjects. The only condition? No noise, no distractions, no chaos.

But... yeah.

I watched as Ezra strutted around like he owned the place, talking loudly with Clarence and Sebastian at the back of the room. Honestly, Sebastian wasn’t much quieter either.

“Boys at the back! Silence!” the professor snapped.

Clarence immediately facepalmed, clearly regretting his life choices.

“And you,” the professor turned his glare toward Ezra, who froze mid-sentence.

Ezra gulped and quickly dropped into his seat.

“Three days ago was your fifth visit to the counselor. Are you planning to make it a sixth?”

All three of them winced at the same time as the professor launched into a scolding loud enough for the whole class to hear. Wow, what a normal day today.

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In the final hour before dismissal, I found myself zoning out. The discussion had become unbearably dull—like a lullaby disguised as a lecture. It was as if whispers of mischief snuck into my head, gently urging me to just give in and sleep.

I closed my eyes for a second… and that second stretched into what felt like eternity.

And just like that—I was out.

Faint whispers stirred around me, then slowly faded into an eerie silence. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the room, its cold breath brushing against my skin. For a moment, the stillness was oddly peaceful.

Until—

“Okay! Class dismissed!”

The professor’s voice exploded through the quiet like a bomb. I jolted awake with a flinch—only to be met with the blinding flash of a phone camera aimed right at me.

Ezra.

“Hey!” I shouted, glaring as he grinned behind his phone.

Laughter erupted around the room, and I could only groan, hiding my face in my hands.

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lol haha humor original story dark fantasy dead dove do not eat dead dove fic random post fragments of the future: dead dove prophecy fiction snippet high school moments

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chen-nn

1 month ago

Chapter 8: Blades and Rivalries

Tw: Mild language

Days had begun to settle into a quiet rhythm once I got the hang of everything—by trying everything. But that didn’t make it any less exhausting.

Now, I find myself walking through the library, where the soft patter of rain against the windows casts a monochrome hue over the space. The dull light filtering in makes everything feel muted, as if the world outside had drained all its color and left only shades of gray behind.

The library is vast, its towering shelves stretching endlessly, yet it holds only a handful of students scattered between aisles. Their presence is barely noticeable beneath the heavy silence.

I wander deeper, trailing my fingers along the spines of old books, savoring the rare tranquility—until it's broken.

A voice rises from the other side of the shelf.

"I still can't believe Hagarin has returned," Liviya mutters, her words laced with something sharp, something bitter.

"Why? Does she bother you?" Another voice responds. Sashenka.

I freeze in place, my ears tuning in despite myself.

"Yeah, she does. I suppose you could say she’s stealing my spotlight." Liviya scoffs, the sound grating against the hush of the library.

My brow arches as I process her words. Stealing her spotlight? I comb through my memories, trying to recall a moment where I had even tried to get involved with her. But I had barely interacted with Liviya—let alone threatened her place in anything.

"What do you even mean by spotlight?" Sashenka asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

"She’s taking the valedictorian spot," Liviya replied, and I nearly choked on my own saliva. Woah. Valedictorian? That was the last thing I expected of myself.

"How are you even so sure?" Sashenka asked, skepticism thick in her voice.

"Because I’ve seen her perform in all aspects, and I must admit—she’s no ordinary student," Liviya said, irritation creeping into her words.

Sashenka sighed. "She’s ordinary. What are you even talking about?"

I heard the faint rustle of pages as she reached for a book, and my stomach twisted in panic. If she pulled that book from the shelf, she’d see me standing right here. Too close. Too risky.

Instinct kicked in—I grabbed the book before she could.

For a second, Sashenka tugged at it, confused, as if sensing an unseen resistance. Then, after a brief pause, she let go with a quiet, puzzled huh.

"You don't get me, Sashenka," Liviya said, irritation creeping into her tone. She was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice Sashenka’s growing confusion as she stared at the book.

"I really don’t," Sashenka scoffed. "You make it sound like she’s some all-powerful, high-and-mighty Hagarin, when really, she’s just doing what any student would do."

"You don’t get me," Liviya repeated, her voice firm.

"Oh, I get you," Sashenka shot back, a grin breaking through. "You’re just as crazy as the rest of them." She let out a hearty laugh, and I stood there, utterly lost.

Crazy? Competing? Me?

I hadn't done anything to rival anyone—I could barely keep up with my own inner turmoil. And yet, somehow, I had ended up in the middle of something I never even signed up for.

Without thinking, I turned and walked away.

I didn’t stop until I was back in the main building. Unlike the quiet halls I had left behind, this place buzzed with life—students moving in all directions, their voices blending into an endless hum.

"You’re here?"

I turned at the sound of Hanari’s voice as she appeared behind me, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"I was bored," I admitted.

Hanari beamed before looping her arm through mine. "Perfect. Come on!"

Before I could protest, she was already dragging me toward the cafeteria.

She pulled me toward the cafeteria, where the hum of conversation and clatter of trays filled the air. The place was alive—brimming with energy in a way that felt almost foreign after spending so much time in the other department.

I glanced around, taking in the familiar scene. It was nice. Comfortable, even. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this until now. Maybe that other place had drained more life out of me than I thought.

Hanari and I grabbed our food before settling at an empty table just outside the cafeteria.

"I kinda doubt that the only reason you're here is because you’re bored," Hanari said, poking at her food before taking a bite.

I sighed. "It’s the truth. Don’t overthink it." I focused on my own meal, hoping she'd drop it.

"Ironic, coming from someone who overthinks everything," she shot back, giving me a knowing look. "Just tell me. I feel like ‘boredom’ is just the tip of the iceberg."

I hesitated but eventually let out another sigh. Fine.

"Someone doesn’t like me," I admitted.

Hanari paused—then burst into laughter. Loudly.

"I can't believe people over there have the time and energy to hate someone when there aren’t even that many of you!" she cackled. "Like, seriously? They had to go out of their way to despise you?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

"So? Are you not gonna share the context?" She eagerly waited for me as I sighed. "She said that I have the potential to take the

"The valedictorian spot? I’m clearly just an average student," I said, rubbing my chin before letting out a sigh. "If I were going to compete, it’d only be if I actually had confidence. And honestly? I just hope she won’t be mean to me."

Hanari scoffed. "You can handle yourself in any situation. I doubt you wouldn’t find a way to shut her up the moment she starts spouting nonsense." She nodded, as if already picturing the scene.

"Yeah, but making a big deal out of everything is just a waste of time. For what?" I muttered, shaking my head.

"That’s their problem, not yours," Hanari said simply. "Unless you actually want to take responsibility for something you never even signed up for."

She had a point. I leaned back, mulling over her words before nodding. "I’d only fight back if I have to."

Lunch passed, and I made my way back to the building where I studied, Hanari heading off in her own direction.

While waiting in the elevator, the doors slid open, and as I stepped out, my gaze landed on someone in the hall. He was refilling his water bottle, dressed in an outfit that could only be described as… adventurer-like.

A sun hat—the kind classic explorers wore—sat atop his head, and a camera hung around his neck. His entire attire practically screamed "traveler," though a subtle detail caught my eye. Somewhere on his clothing, a logo of the school was embroidered, almost like a mark of recognition. My eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before walking back to my classroom.

I settled into my seat just as our professor entered the room, their presence immediately commanding attention.

"We have a visitor today," they announced. "Someone will be offering an opportunity to join the media analyst team."

The door opened, and in walked the same guy I had passed by earlier—the one dressed like an adventurer.

"Good afternoon, everyone." His voice was steady, confident.

"I’m Prince, a member of the media analyst team. I’m both a journalist and an adventurer," he introduced himself, adjusting the camera slung around his neck. "Today, I’m here to recruit students to join our team. In this field, we take on activities ranging from real-world adventures—documenting stories from the outside world—to tackling controversies within the city itself. Everything we uncover, we write and publish in the media."

With a flick of his wrist, a stack of brochures scattered through the air, gliding toward us like leaves caught in the wind. One landed on my desk, and I picked it up, scanning the details.

Almost without thinking, I muttered, "What are the pros and cons of this?"

Silence followed. Did I just say that out loud?

I cleared my throat. "Sorry," I mumbled before quickly lowering my head to read the brochure properly.

A scoff echoed from behind me, sharp and unmistakable. Liviya.

Of course. As if my mere existence offended her. I’ll have to find a way to keep her on her toes.

Prince, however, remained unfazed. "To answer your question," he began, adjusting his glasses with a practiced motion, "the biggest pro is experience—real-world exposure in every aspect. You’ll develop literacy in global issues, gain firsthand knowledge, and sharpen your analytical skills."

He paused before continuing, "However, the cons depending on your personal weaknesses. Some might struggle with the risks, the unpredictability. Others might find the weight of knowledge overwhelming."

I let his words settle in my mind. Exploring the world… that does sound nice.

But leaving home? Maybe that’s where the real downside comes in.

"I’ll return in three days to collect the list of those interested in joining. Please stay tuned for further announcements," Prince said before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Almost immediately, Sashenka turned to Liviya, who sat behind us. "Are you gonna join?"

Liviya scoffed. "I wouldn’t join if she was in the same room as me. Oh, but let’s be real—I’m too smart to even be there to begin with." She flipped her hair, her tone dripping with self-importance. "Joining a team of journalists to refine political stances and views does sound like a decent choice, but I’m going to be a lawyer. Studying law will sharpen my thinking just fine."

I mentally rolled my eyes so hard I might as well have yanked her hair while I was at it.

"I see…" Sashenka simply nodded, though she stole a glance in my direction. "What about you, Hagarin?"

"I’m considering it," I said casually.

"Ain’t no way!" Clara’s voice shot across the room from the other side. "You’re leaving again?"

I blinked, tilting my head. "I get to leave?"

As if I’d just found a loophole—a perfect escape from this place.

"Oh, but of course," Liviya said, her voice dripping with amusement. "I actually suggest you leave, Hagarin. Maybe people there would find you interesting." She chuckled, her words laced with something just short of mockery.

Sashenka glanced at her but said nothing. No backup this time, huh?

I exhaled slowly, finally turning to face Liviya. "Oh? Was that necessary to say?"

For a split second, her composure faltered—just the slightest crack.

The classroom fell silent. Even Clara, who had been outspoken moments ago, had gone quiet, reduced to a spectator along with the rest. The tension in the room thickened, all eyes flickering between us.

Liviya recovered quickly, offering a play-it-safe response. "Of course, I’m just saying you’d meet more people there."

"As if I’m looking for people to surround me," I shot back, my voice daring her to say what she really meant. "What’s your point, Liviya?"

Before she could answer, the professor’s voice cut through the air.

"That’s enough."

Liviya clicked her tongue. "Tch. Sensitive."

I smirked. "Egotistical.

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The next day, we were gathered in the gym for yet another exhausting activity. Physical combat. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Liviya had somehow decided to turn this into a rivalry—one I couldn’t care less about, yet she still managed to irritate me to no end.

"For the next activity," the instructor announced, "we will be exploring weapons. This exercise is meant to sharpen your skills and help you find a weapon you may prefer. Please take your time testing them before we begin sparring."

I glanced at the collection laid out before us. They were all crafted from wood and other harmless materials—blunt enough to prevent injury but still effective for training.

Reaching into a bag, my fingers brushed against the hilt of a katana. I pulled it out, weighing it in my hands. Not bad. Feels comfortable.

A hushed whisper reached my ears.

"Look at her, using a katana. Isn’t that weird?" Liviya murmured to Sashenka.

Sashenka barely reacted, giving me a quick glance before shrugging it off.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my eyes before casually picking up a small rock and tossing it in Liviya’s direction. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, just enough to startle her.

Without waiting for her reaction, I swiftly left my spot, making my way over to Clara and Clarence, who were deep in discussion about their weapon choices.

"I saw what you did, Hagarin," Clara chuckled, shaking her head.

Clarence adjusted his glasses. "Liviya’s just looking for any excuse to talk bad about you. A katana is just as useful as any other weapon."

I sighed. "Is she really like that? I almost feel bad for her—arguing with a wall must be exhausting."

Clara raised a brow. "Well, this is a first. I honestly don’t know why she has it out for you either." She picked up a magic book, flipping through the pages. It was the kind designed for combat, filled with spells that could be cast in an instant.

"I overheard her in the library the other day," I admitted. Both of them turned their full attention to me.

"She said I was stealing her spotlight. That I might take her throne as valedictorian." I rubbed my chin, still baffled. "Which is ridiculous. I took months off just to pull myself together. I’m not even caught up yet."

"She’s just afraid of being outsmarted. That’s it."

Ezra strolled toward us, seamlessly joining the conversation.

"Really?" I asked, eyeing him.

Clarence sighed. "You’re back from detention. What did you do this time?"

Ezra let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Well… I was supposed to prank that egotistical guy in our class by scaring him—but I scared our professor instead. Dang, almost got him. So… yeah." He sighed dramatically.

Clara stifled a laugh. "You’re impossible.""And yeah, about Liviya—she hates being outsmarted," Ezra continued, shaking his head. "She’s been getting on my nerves, too. As if that pretty face of hers makes up for her problematic ass."

"What’d she do to you?" I asked, curious.

Ezra scoffed. "Laughed at me for being mentally unwell. Man, I should’ve kicked her in the face." He groaned, clearly still bitter about it.

Before I could respond, a sharp whistle cut through the air. The professor called us to gather.

"Now that your five minutes of weapon selection is over, we will proceed to picking opponents."

I straightened, gripping the hilt of my katana. Let it be Liviya. I wanted to see her squirm—just a little, just enough to get under her skin.

"Hagarin and Sashenka."

Oh.

Everyone stepped aside, clearing space for the spar.

"The rules remain the same as last time," the professor announced. "If you stay down for five seconds, it will count as a defeat. However, today, supernatural abilities are strictly forbidden. This will be purely physical combat."

I adjusted my grip on the katana, rolling my shoulders as I settled into my stance. Across from me, Sashenka did the same, raising her sword and small shield. A shield? Nice choice.

"Be ready," the professor warned.

The moment the signal rang out, we lunged at each other.

Steel met steel in a sharp clash. Sparks of friction. A test of strength. I dodged a strike, twisting my body to avoid the blade, only for Sashenka to counter just as quickly. We moved like pieces on a chessboard—attack, dodge, counter, repeat.

Each step, each motion, was calculated.

And neither of us was willing to be the first to fall.

Our blades clashed in a sharp burst of motion. Sashenka struck first, aiming for my side, but I parried with the katana’s blunt edge before twisting away from her shield bash. She was fast. I had to admit that. Each swing came with precision, her balance unwavering.

She wasn't just swinging wildly—she was testing me.

I stepped back, dodging another strike before retaliating, slashing toward her shoulder. She blocked it with her shield, the impact vibrating through the air, and shoved me back with a quick push. I skidded a step before regaining my footing.

Sashenka smirked. She's good.

I exhaled. Fine. Let’s speed this up.

I darted in again, feinting to the right before pivoting left, slashing low. She barely raised her shield in time, but the movement left her sword arm vulnerable. Taking my chance, I twisted my grip and struck toward her wrist.

A clean hit.

She hissed, losing her grip for a split second—long enough. I swung again, forcing her to step back, her defense breaking apart. I pressed forward, relentless, pushing her into a corner.

She raised her sword for one final attempt at striking me down.

But I was already a step ahead.

Ducking under her blade, I swept my leg out, hooking behind her ankle. Her balance wavered. A moment of hesitation—just a moment.

Then she fell.

Her back hit the ground hard, sword slipping from her grasp as I stepped forward, pressing the dull side of my katana against her chest.

"One… two… three…" The professor began counting.

Sashenka groaned, glaring up at me before letting out a small, breathless laugh.

"Four… five! Match over!"

Silence filled the gym for a beat before a few murmurs broke out. I exhaled, stepping back and offering Sashenka my hand. She took it, shaking her head as she got up.

"Damn," she muttered. "Guess you aren't as rusty as people think."

I smirked. Damn right.

I glanced at my friends who were silently cheering then to Liviya with a prose of envy.

That's her problem now.

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original story dark fantasy dead dove do not eat dead dove fic fragments of the future: dead dove prophecy magic and violence fiction snippet

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chen-nn

1 month ago

Chapter 7: Defending the Future

Days passed like trains speeding down endless tracks—too fast to process, too loud to ignore. I could still feel the grip of my past struggles clawing at my throat, as if it all happened just yesterday. But it's not yesterday anymore. It's been five months.

And now, here I am, standing at the edge of a train platform, watching the rails stretch into the unknown. The air smells like rust and rain. My hands clutch the strap of my bag a little tighter, my nerves refusing to settle down.

I'm heading to Ms. Renée's house, a visit I asked for myself. I need her guidance, not just as a teacher, but as someone who's seen what this power can do—to me, to my mind, to my reality. I need to know how to stand my ground without collapsing into it.

I miss Clara. I miss Clarence, and, surprisingly, even Ezra. I've been left behind in ways that aren't just academic. Time doesn't wait for people like me. Time drags us along, whether we're ready or not. I know they're worried about me, and honestly, I'm worried about me too.

The train arrives, and with it, the next step I'm both terrified and desperate to take.

As I stepped inside the train, a quiet sense of surprise flickered through me. The train car was nearly empty, a rare sight in a world that never seems to stop moving. Then it hit me—the holidays. Most people were off work, gathered with their families, or finding comfort in the warmth of their homes.

I found an empty seat by the window and settled in, resting my forehead against the cool glass. The world outside blurred as the train moved forward, passing familiar buildings, slumbering houses, and empty roads. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the whole city was asleep—like I was the only one awake, drifting alone in a sea of quiet.

My gaze flickered upward, landing on a massive billboard that stood out between concrete and sky. It was a hair product ad, featuring a model with flowing, silky hair that danced in the nonexistent wind.

Without thinking, I reached up and ran my fingers through my own hair. My scalp stung faintly at the tug, and when my hand came down, a few loose strands were tangled between my fingers. Stress already leaving its mark.

I sighed softly, brushing the strands onto the floor, watching them fall like broken threads of myself. The train kept moving, but my mind stayed behind—somewhere in those last five months, somewhere in the place where my control slipped, and time itself almost swallowed me whole.

The speaker crackled to life, its metallic voice slicing through the quiet hum of the train. It announced the next station—my stop.

I exhaled, shoulders heavy with a weight I couldn't quite name. Gripping the cold metal pole beside my seat, I pulled myself up, my legs moving before my mind fully caught up. This is it.

The doors slid open with a soft hiss, and the world outside awaited—a familiar station, an unfamiliar version of me stepping out. It's my stop.

It didn't take long before I slipped through the sea of strangers, each step pulling me closer to something familiar. And finally, standing before me—Ms. Renée's house.

I raised my hand, ready to knock, but before my knuckles could meet the wood, the door swung open. Ms. Renée stood there, a trash bag in hand, her expression flickering between surprise and quiet amusement.

"Oh! You're here," she said, brushing stray hair from her face with the back of her wrist.

"Yeah, uh..." I shifted on my feet. "I just wanted to go somewhere—anywhere, honestly. I've been stuck at home and bored out of my mind, but...I'm not ready to go back to school either."

"Feel free to sit in the living room. We have a lot to talk about." Ms. Renée walked past me, the trash bag dragging softly against the ground as she disappeared outside.

When I stepped inside, a soft meow greeted me. A small furball of a cat was sitting by the doorway, its curious eyes staring up at me.

"That's Mimi—my companion through everything," Ms. Renée said as she returned, brushing her hands clean and gesturing toward the couch. I followed her lead and sank into the cushions beside her.

A sigh slipped out of me before I could stop it. "Life's... tough. If I had to sum up how I'm doing right now, that's the word I'd use."

Ms. Renée leaned back into the couch, wearing a relaxed expression that felt too practiced to be real. "You'll be fine. I know it's hard to find the motivation to fight back against everything that's weighing on you—but you're still here, and you have every logical reason to stay."

My gaze wandered to the clock on the wall, the ticking sound strangely louder than before. "But am I really still alive? Or just... mentally dead? I've been wondering if I'm actually going insane."

Ms. Renée didn't flinch at the question. Instead, she simply shrugged. "Maybe you are," she said. "But the real question is—what's bothering you right now?"

"To start with... what I saw in that psychological test—it's still there, lodged into my mind like barbed wire tangled in my veins. No amount of sleep can shake it off. It feels like I'd need to be high just to silence it." I sighed, my fingers tracing patterns into my palm. "But I can't exactly start doing weeds now, can I?"

Ms. Renée didn't laugh, but I could tell she wanted to. Instead, she stayed quiet, letting me spill what was stuck inside.

"And that's why I can't move forward," I continued. "It's the root of all this procrastination—the reason why the thought of going back to that school makes my stomach twist. The trauma clings to me like a second skin."

"You're strong, Hagarin," Ms. Renée said, her voice steady but soft. "I know once you've walked through this, you won't even recognize yourself."

"How can you be so sure?" I asked, my tone sharp with doubt.

"Time will tell."

I frowned. "Or did time already tell you?"

"No," she replied, exhaling like someone who'd had this conversation more times than she could count. "The future shifts with every breath you take. What happens next depends on what you do now. That's why I'm telling you—get a grip, Hagarin. Not because I'm scolding you, but because I know you can. And someday, you'll thank yourself for trying."

"I suppose that makes sense... if I really think about it," I muttered, my fingers curling into the fabric of my sleeve. "Maybe rationality is the only thing keeping me from snapping completely. But still... what else can I do? How do I stop my own powers from eating me alive?"

Ms. Renée's expression softened, but her words carried weight. "Stay calm—no matter what. When the storm rises, you don't fight it head-on. You learn to sail through it. You listen to what it's trying to tell you, and you pull apart every tangled thread at your own pace. One by one."

She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Only then will you understand the blessing hidden within your power. It's not a curse, Hagarin. It's a privilege—a rare one. To see time itself, to glimpse futures others can't, even if it breaks you a little along the way. One day, you'll realize that seeing everything isn't meant to destroy you. It's meant to teach you how to live."

"To help you feel a little better, let's shift gears and think about the future for a moment," Ms. Renée suggested, her voice softer now. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I blinked at her, caught off guard by the question. "I... I never really thought about that," I admitted, scratching my hair absentmindedly. A few more strands came loose, and I flicked them away. "Honestly, I should probably stop just drifting wherever life pushes me and actually think of something big — something that gives me purpose."

I glanced at her, half-expecting her to have some magical career roadmap just waiting for me. "Any suggestions? Something that might actually fit me?"

Ms. Renée smiled, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Alright. On a scale of one to ten, how curious are you about how this world works — not just the ordinary world, but the parts hidden beneath it? The gears and wires and ancient laws holding up this cruel, magical mess we live in."

I tilted my head, considering it. That itch in my brain, the one that always wanted to know — to pull back curtains and poke at things until they made sense — it flared up again. "Ten," I answered without hesitation. "Or maybe eleven."

"Then maybe, just maybe," she said, "you should consider becoming the kind of person who studies both history and future at once. A timekeeper, a chronicler, or even a seer who isn't just at the mercy of their powers — but someone who understands the story behind them."

I stared at her, heart pounding slightly at the thought. For the first time in months, the future didn't feel like a monster hiding under my bed.

It felt like a question I actually wanted to answer.

"I want my name to be etched into history," I said, my voice steady despite the slight hesitation curling at the edges. "I want to fight for change, to ride the thrill of chaos without letting it consume me. And one day—when it's all over—I want to come home, sit in my own house, and have a story worth telling my little sister."

The words settled in the air between us, heavier than I expected. A part of me wondered if I was just saying what sounded right. But deep in my gut, I knew—this was real. This was what I needed to do.

Ms. Renée studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiled—small, knowing, as if she had been waiting for me to realize this myself. "That," she said, "is a future worth chasing."

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After that day, I became history.

And I had never felt better.

Every day, I trained—refining my control, steadying the power that once threatened to consume me. Until, finally, I was stable enough to return. The halls of my school no longer felt like a battlefield but a place where I could reclaim what I had lost.

The day eventually came when I no longer needed my mask. But even then, I kept it—an emblem of who I once was, a symbol of the anonymity that once shielded me.

Months passed, and stress hit me like an unforgiving tide. Catching up was brutal, but it was a price I had to pay for being left behind. My nights were a constant battle—sleepiness on one side, and me drowning in school paperwork on the other. Then came the days, where I was left physically drained from relentless training sessions with Ms. Renee.

At night, I’d stumble through the door with bruises blooming across my skin like twisted flowers, every step heavy, every breath shallow. My body ached in places I didn’t even know could hurt, and my throat felt like it had forgotten how to form words. There were nights when I just stood there in the dark, hands trembling, unable to cry, unable to scream—just... silent.

Within every training session, my mind would spiral into chaos. Thoughts clashed and screamed over each other, like a storm trapped in my skull. The pressure built until it became unbearable, and by the time it ended, I was often left with migraines so severe that only a healer’s touch could ease the pain. Would that even be excluded from the toll I was paying? Sigh. I wasn’t just being worn down physically—it was like my soul itself was fraying at the edges.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Sometimes, it didn’t come at all. I’d lie awake staring at the ceiling, muscles twitching from the day’s strain, mind still echoing with the noise it couldn’t shut off. Every second felt like a war between rest and responsibility, and I was always losing to both.

Then the sun would rise. Too early. Too bright. And with it came the cruel reminder that it was time to do it all over again. Wake up. Push through. Train until my body couldn’t take it anymore. Study until my brain went numb. Smile when I had nothing left to give.

And still, I endured. I don’t know if it was strength or just stubbornness. But each day bled into the next, and the cycle kept turning—cold, relentless, unforgiving.

And today, standing before my classmates, I faced another challenge—an academic report.

I wasn’t sure why it was necessary, why it mattered in the grand scheme of things, but I supposed it was all part of the process. Just another task in this department.

The room was silent. All eyes were on me.

I took a deep breath.

Time to begin.

I exhaled slowly, standing before the class, gripping the edge of the podium. The projector behind me flashed the title of my research:

"The Ripple Effect of Inflation: A Meta-Analysis on Economic Strains and Societal Adaptations."

I cleared my throat. “Good day, everyone. Today, I will be presenting a meta-analysis that examines various research studies on inflation and its cascading effects on different socioeconomic groups.”

A few students shifted in their seats, already looking half-bored. I continued anyway.

“Inflation is not just about rising prices—it’s a systemic issue that affects wages, cost of living, and economic stability. By analyzing multiple studies from economists and financial institutions, this research aims to uncover recurring patterns, disparities in impact, and potential mitigation strategies.”

I clicked the remote, shifting to the next slide. A graph appeared, showing inflation trends over the last decade.

"First, let’s discuss its causes." I pointed to the data. “Several factors contribute to inflation: supply chain disruptions, excessive money supply, and demand-pull effects. In recent years, the COVID-19 pandemic and geopolitical tensions have significantly worsened global inflation rates.”

I glanced at my classmates, noting some furrowed brows. Good. They were listening.

“Now, let’s talk about who suffers the most.”

A new slide showed a comparison of income groups. “Low-income households bear the brunt of inflation. Unlike wealthier groups, who can adjust their investments or savings, working-class families struggle with rising costs of essentials. Studies indicate a direct correlation between inflation spikes and increased poverty rates.”

Ezra, sitting at the back, raised a hand. “So, are you saying we’re all doomed?”

I sighed. “Not necessarily. Let’s move on to solutions.”

The final slide appeared: a set of policy recommendations drawn from economic literature.

“To combat inflation, governments and financial institutions implement various strategies—interest rate adjustments, fiscal policies, and market interventions. However, historical data suggests that while these measures provide short-term relief, they do not always prevent future inflations. Instead, a sustainable solution must involve a balance of monetary control, wage adjustments, and investment in local production to reduce dependency on volatile global markets.”

I paused. “In other words, while inflation is inevitable, its impact can be controlled with the right policies.”

The professor nodded in approval. “An insightful analysis, Hagarin. Any questions?”

A hand shot up. I braced myself. Time to defend my research.