Man fears death because he cannot see it or live it without leaving this world.He lives as though death will never knock on his door.He plans, accumulates, builds—yet rarely reflects on the moment when it all will vanish.
This ignorance isn't intellectual.It is emotional—existential. A denial. A form of escape.For to truly face death… requires extraordinary courage.And funerals—funerals are the rare moments when man pauses… and remembers.
The sky was overcast—no rain, just a thick grayness, as if even the heavens refused to give sorrow its usual form.The wind moved slowly, cold and deliberate, as though dragging time itself with it.
In the old Blackfield Cemetery, rows of headstones stood like mute soldiers—eternal in their grief.Bare trees surrounded the grounds, like ancient priests guarding the dead's forgotten secrets.There was the scent of damp soil, the faint sweetness of wilted flowers—but above all, there was silence.
The kind of silence that doesn't merely reach your ears—it sinks into your chest and fills it with invisible weight.
Isaac Crown stood alone before two closed caskets.His gaze was fixed, motionless. His black hair was wet with dew, and his eyes locked on the dark wood adorned with flowers.
"It is time to say goodbye,"the old priest said, his voice hollow—as if the words weren't spoken, but read from some dusty tome centuries old.
Isaac didn't listen.He couldn't. Words had lost meaning since that night.
"Goodbye? How do you say farewell to something you haven't yet accepted is gone?"He thought it—but never spoke.
Behind him stood a small number of distant acquaintances, some neighbors, others he didn't even recognize.Their presence was cold, formal. Their condolences felt rehearsed, flavorless—recycled.None of them had known his parents as he had. None could truly share the weight of loss.
"Do you feel anything?"The voice came, a whisper from within.
"No... nothing at all."
"Strange… most humans collapse at this point."
"I guess I'm not like most humans."
Eric had remained silent through most of the ceremony—but chose the moment the first casket was lowered to speak.
"Now they've buried the truth six feet under."
Isaac blinked slowly.This wasn't just a funeral. It was closure… and concealment.
He had never been allowed to see the bodies.The police claimed "the condition made it inadvisable," that they'd "followed all protocols," that everything had been handled "respectfully by the state."But something wasn't right.
How could it be "an ordinary case," yet the bodies held for a full week?Why were the investigators—except that strange detective—so eager to close the file?And why did Eric keep warning him not to speak… not to question?
A man in his forties, short beard, piercing eyes, stood a few meters away.He didn't join the mourners—just watched from afar.His gaze moved between Isaac, the coffins, and the cloudy sky above.
"Don't look at him," Eric whispered."He's not here to mourn. He's one of the ones who asks the questions no one wants answered."
"A detective?"
"Perhaps more than that."
A gust of wind tore through the cemetery, scattering a few flowers from the caskets.Some guests shivered, turned away.But Isaac stood still.And within him… something stirred—uncertain if it was an internal echo or an external voice:
"Funerals in Collaber… don't just bury the dead. They bury other things—far more dangerous."
As people began to leave, Isaac remained a few minutes longer.He didn't place a flower.Didn't kneel.Didn't cry.
He simply said, in a voice barely above a breath:
"I won't forget."
Then he turned—and walked away.Not home…Somewhere else.He had a long conversation waiting—with Eric.
Later that evening, Isaac did not go home.He wandered, silently, through the narrow alleys of Bromgard District—ignoring the cold and the shadows.
Eventually, he reached an old stone bridge overlooking the Black River.Its murky waters shimmered under the gaslights—like watchful eyes beneath the surface.
His mind was fogged… yet alert.
Can you hear me now?The thought rose in his mind, though he didn't speak it aloud.
Do you always read my thoughts? Or only when I 'let' you? Do I even have a choice?
He paused, gazing at his own reflection—distorted on the river's surface.
If I imagined you, how do you hide from me? And if I didn't… how did you get in?
His thoughts quickened—testing the boundaries of this strange entity.
Do you control my mind? Do you know what I'm thinking right now—or just intrude?
Are you something that lives inside me… or passing through? Am I your mirror… or merely a doorway?
Then, for the first time, he said it aloud:
"How do you work, for god's sake?"
His voice echoed against the stone walls of the bridge—but he didn't wait for an answer.He continued, as if interrogating himself:
"Can you hear me when I think? Do you feel what I feel? Or are you just a clever illusion… a convincing lie?"
"Clever? Is that a compliment?"
The voice came—soft, aware—this time unmistakably not a thought. A response.
"Answer me. Were you listening to all of it?"
"Not everything. Some thoughts whisper… others scream. I listen to what matters."
"And what matters to you?"
"The things that reveal who you really are."
"Can you see what I see?"
"Sometimes. But not through eyes. Through shared perception. I don't see—I know."
"Do you own me?"
"If I did… you wouldn't be asking."
Isaac was silent for a moment. Then:
"If you're not me… and not my voice… then who are you?"
"Excellent question. Let's explore it."
"Come out."
"What?"
"Stop hiding in my thoughts. Speak like something with a voice."
A pause.
Then—
"Is this better?"
Eric's voice, now external. Clear.As if he stood beside Isaac—not within him.
"Better than what you were doing. But still not enough."
"You're improving, Isaac. Your mind is beginning to accept that I'm not a hallucination."
"I never said that."
"But deep down… you know. Something changed that night."
Isaac turned slowly, staring into the empty air.
"They died… and I couldn't do anything. No screams. No waking. No signs."
"You're not just blaming yourself, are you?"
"I blame the world. This fake calm… the city… the people."
"Isaac, I'll be honest with you now. What happened wasn't a burglary. It wasn't random. Your parents weren't killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Isaac stared at the river.
"You know more than you say."
"I know… things. Not everything."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because you weren't ready. Until now."
"And now?"
"Now it's time you start asking: Who were your parents, really? And why were they killed?"
"You mean they had secrets?"
"Everyone in Collaber carries a secret. Some hide it. Others die for it."
A long silence. Then Isaac asked:
"Tell me the whole truth. Who are you… really?"
"I'll answer. But prepare yourself. I'm not an imaginary friend. I'm not a symptom of trauma—as the doctors might say."
"I know."
"I am… awareness. A presence. Not a body. I'm linked to you—not bound by you. I don't fully know how I came to be… but I was there, the night your eyes opened to blood. Since then—I've been a part of you."
"Are you part of me? Or something using me?"
Eric chuckled quietly.
"Another excellent question. And the answer? Depends on who you choose to become, Isaac."
"Enough riddles… was it one person who killed them?"
"No. One carried it out. Another gave the order. A third hoped it would happen."
"And do you know why?"
"I know enough to warn you: This world isn't governed only by police and courts. There are hidden layers—secret orders, cults that pull strings from the shadows. Get too close, and you either join… or disappear."
"And you? Which side are you on?"
"I don't belong. I watch… and guide."
"Why help me?"
"Because I see something different in you. And now—you're starting to see it too."
Isaac blinked slowly, then asked:
"Eric… were you there before my parents died?"
A long silence.
Then—
"I was near… but their deaths awakened me.Or perhaps… they awakened you."
The river roared louder—like it whispered a forgotten secret.
Then, in a quieter tone, Eric said:
"You stand at the edge of another world, Isaac.A world few ever see.But once seen… there is no turning back."
"What now?"
"The next step? Start searching. For who you are… who they were…And the paths never written in books."
Isaac turned away from the bridge.His steps were slower… but heavier.As if each one led not toward home…But toward something far greater—…and perhaps far darker.