Arin's eyes flickered open. The ceiling stretched above him like a stranger's face—too clean, too white, too precise. Every line, every fluorescent seam seemed calculated, alien.
His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, each breath too loud, too shallow. The blanket draped over him weighed like lead and feather at once—real and unreal—pressing against him with the insistence of a memory he wasn't supposed to recall.
For a long minute, he didn't move. He just listened. The hum of lights. The steady pulse of his heartbeat.
A distant echo of whispers beyond the walls, faint and unintelligible, like the world was breathing around him without permission.
Then came a voice, fragile and trembling, breaking the fragile thread of silence.
"Arin?"
It was cautious. Soft. Almost unsure it would be heard.
He turned his head, every muscle protesting. Mira sat in the corner, arms wrapped around herself as if shielding against the weight of the world.
Her eyes were rimmed red, sleepless. The uniform she wore hung crumpled, a small chaos in the pristine room.
Relief flickered in her gaze as he moved, brief and fragile, before her face fell again—the kind of relief that precedes the return of memory.
"You're awake," she whispered.
Words stuck in his throat, brittle and hesitant. "What… happened?"
"You fainted," she said, too quickly. Her voice trembled. "During class. Mr. Colin… had some kind of—episode. The lights exploded. People freaked. Then you just—collapsed."
Her words hung like shards in the air. Arin's mind sputtered, refusing coherence. He saw the shadow. Heard Colin's distorted voice. Felt the twisting panic that devoured everything else. He remembered fear—the thick, choking kind that buried him alive.
He remembered the light bursting from his chest, Mira screaming, and then the void.
"Is he—?"
"Alive," she said softly. "They put him in the hospital. Nobody knows why. Gas leak… prank… something else." Her voice wavered, betraying uncertainty she couldn't hide.
Arin nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere, caught between the lingering memory of light and the raw tremor in his hands. Everyone's whispering about me… do they know what I am? Can they see what I'm capable of? Or am I just… broken?
He pushed himself upright; the room swayed, tilted unnervingly. White washed his vision, the world threatening to dissolve into brightness.
He forced himself to flex his fingers, feeling the unshakable solidity of the floor beneath him. Reality was thin, fragile, but it existed.
"Careful!" Mira's voice pulled him back. Her hand brushed his arm, and a warmth flared under his skin, subtle but undeniable, as if the world itself had responded to the touch.
For a heartbeat, the faint blue shimmer returned, ghostly and ephemeral.
He drew a shaky breath, hiding the sensation.
The System stirred faintly, humming through his bones.
[Fear Index Stabilized: 9%]
[System Note: Emotional suppression detected. Recommend exposure to controlled fear for growth.]
Arin blinked, jaw tight. Controlled fear? I can barely handle this…
The bell eventually rang, faint and distant, dragging the afternoon forward.
Mira stood, stretching. "Nurse said you can leave after lunch. I'll tell the teacher you're okay."
"Thanks," he murmured.
She hesitated at the door, lips pressed in a line, expression unreadable. "Arin… I know something happened. I don't know what. You don't have to tell me. Just… don't shut me out, okay?"
He nodded. Small. Quiet. A pledge without sound.
Her smile was brief, tinged with sadness. Then she was gone, and the door closed with a final click. The silence returned—dense, suffocating.
Exhaustion claimed him, dragging him beneath the surface of his thoughts.
Murmurs floated up from the courtyard, teasing edges of conversation, voices fragmented and sharp, like shards of glass in air.
"…the lights exploded—boom, right above his head!"
"No, Colin was screaming. Said something about fear… truth… freaky as hell."
"Arin was glowing, has he awakened? If he did then, his grandfather… the Pope…" someone whispered.
"Shut up!...it's forbidden..."
Arin's chest tightened. Everyone's whispering about me… do they know what I am? Can they see what I'm capable of? Or am I just… broken?
As he rubbed his temples, the reflection in the hallway mirror flickered oddly—a shadow crossing behind him, though no one was there. He blinked. Nothing. The world seemed still again, but a faint unease coiled in his stomach. Not normal. Not normal at all…
"You look like hell," he muttered under his breath.
The hallway stretched before him, empty yet full of whispers. Each step echoed unnaturally, each glance from passing students cutting like blades. Eyes followed him, curious, wary. A living anomaly moving through the mundane.
Mr. Colin's classroom bore the mark of recent chaos: tape crisscrossed the doorway, a hand-written note scrawled across the center: "Class Suspended – Teacher on Medical Leave." The smell of burnt plastic lingered, stubborn and acrid, like the ghosts of fear refusing to dissipate.
Arin moved into the courtyard, half-steps deliberate. His legs shivered beneath him.
"Arin!"
Mira ran toward him, sunlight catching strands of her hair. Energy in her motion, but beneath it, tension braided tightly. She stopped in front of him, hands slightly extended, searching his face.
"Don't say you're fine again," she said quietly.
He hesitated. "What do you want me to say?"
"The truth," she said. Her voice trembled slightly. "I saw light coming from you. It wasn't just panic. Something happened. I'm not crazy… you need to tell me."
He looked away. The System shimmered at the corner of his vision. His pulse jumped.
[Warning: Emotional Surge Detected]
[Fear Index: +4%]
"I don't remember," he said, voice tight. "Everything's blank after Colin started shouting."
"Blank?"
He nodded.
She studied him, eyes narrowing slightly, suspicion and concern mingling in her gaze. "Hmmmm… Fine. But don't scare me like that again, okay?"
"Yeah," he said softly.
She turned, paused halfway, the wind brushing her hair back. "You know… the way he looked at you—it was like he recognized you."
Arin froze. I can't tell her everything… not yet. She doesn't need to know what I saw, what I felt…
"What?" he asked lightly, keeping his tone neutral.
"Never mind… just rest."
As she left, Arin felt the familiar warmth in his chest pulse gently—Holy Touch. It's like it knows… it steadies me when I need it most.
The hallway was empty now, but a flicker at the edge of his vision caught him—something small, fast, almost like a shadow sliding across the wall.
Arin froze. It's here again…
The System hummed softly, as if acknowledging his fear without comment.
[Fear Index: 18%]