The clock in the living room struck midnight.
Aarav felt it.
It wasn't just the sound. It was a wave. A pulse that resonated through the walls, the air, and then—through him.
His eyes snapped open.
An intense heat bloomed in his chest, sudden and fierce, as if someone had lit a fire inside his ribs. The pressure that had been simmering all evening now exploded outward, flooding his limbs with a warmth that bordered on burning.
He gasped.
His breath felt shallow, constricted. His lungs expanded, but the air felt thin, inadequate.
His palms throbbed, each heartbeat sending a pulse of energy radiating through his fingers. He clenched them instinctively, but the tension only built.
His muscles tensed involuntarily, coiling like springs under his skin. Every fiber of his being was taut, as if his body had been wound too tight and was moments from snapping.
But it didn't snap.
Instead, it hardened.
A sensation, alien and yet intimate, washed over him. His skin began to change, not visibly, but at a level he could feel. A subtle, granular tightening, as though every cell was locking into place, forging itself into something denser, tougher.
The air against his skin felt different. Softer. As if the very texture of reality was changing around him.
He sat up, gasping for air, his hands gripping the edge of his bed.
That's when he heard it.
A sharp crack.
It was soft, almost delicate, but in the suffocating silence of his room, it sounded deafening.
He looked down.
A thin fracture had appeared on the wooden frame of his bed, right where his hands had gripped.
He hadn't pulled, hadn't twisted. He had merely held it.
Yet the wood had cracked.
His eyes widened.
The heat in his chest began to spread further, tracing paths through his arms, legs, up his neck. His body felt heavier now, not sluggish, but substantial. Like he was no longer a passive observer in his own skin, but an anchor tethered to something deeper.
He stood up, or rather, tried to.
His legs responded, but the floor beneath him felt unnervingly soft, like it had given way to his weight. He shifted his stance, adjusting his balance, and the sensation eased slightly.
His breathing was still shallow, but the panic receded, replaced by something else.
Awareness.
He could feel his heartbeat, not just in his chest, but in his fingertips, his spine, his skull. Every pulse was a drumbeat, syncing him to an invisible rhythm.
The air in his room felt denser, as if space itself was compressing around him.
He flexed his fingers, watching the way his skin barely creased, as though resisting movement. Yet, it didn't feel restrictive. It felt protective. Like a second skin forged from within.
The bed creaked again as his shifting weight tested its limits. Another hairline crack spiderwebbed along the frame.
He took a step back, careful this time. The floor groaned beneath his feet, subtle but undeniable.
His body had changed.
But his mind hadn't caught up.
He staggered towards the mirror on his wardrobe, flicking on the dim bedside lamp.
At first glance, he looked the same. Same messy hair, same half-lidded eyes.
But there was a difference.
His skin had a faint sheen, as if reflecting light in a way it never had before. His collarbones appeared sharper, his shoulders broader, though subtly.
He touched his cheek. It felt... resilient. Not like skin. Not like stone. Something in between.
His palms, still tingling with residual heat, left no marks as he pressed them against his arms. No red patches, no impressions.
His body was rejecting harm.
He didn't understand it.
He didn't want to.
"It's just... adrenaline," he whispered, though the lie tasted bitter.
His gaze shifted back to the bed.
The cracks remained.
He sat down cautiously, testing his weight, and the bed held, though with a reluctant groan.
His breathing evened out, but his senses remained heightened. Every tick of the clock, every distant rustle outside, every creak in the house—they painted a vivid map in his mind.
He was aware of everything.
And it terrified him.
Yet, amidst the fear, there was a pulse.
Not threatening.
Welcoming.
Like a heartbeat he had ignored all his life was now making itself known.
He lay back down, the mattress protesting softly beneath him, and stared at the ceiling.
Sleep was still distant.
But fatigue was inevitable.
His body had begun its transformation.
And Aarav Sen, ever the slacker, ever the non-believer, whispered to himself,
"Just let me sleep this off."
But the shift had been made.
The Awakening had begun.