> "Dreams don't lie. They just forget to tell the whole truth."
He woke to the sound of rain, but it wasn't raining.
The windowpane shimmered as if something behind it was breathing — a slow pulse, soft and steady, like the world itself was caught between sleeping and thinking. For a moment, Vael didn't move. He just lay there, eyes half-open, watching the flicker of light crawl along the ceiling.
It was the same dream again.
The river. The forest. The voice.
Always the same, always changing.
In the dream, he stood by a river that glowed green-black, like obsidian soaked in moonlight. The surface wasn't smooth — it shimmered with images that didn't belong to him: a hand reaching out, a laugh caught mid-echo, a girl turning away before he could say her name. Every night, the river reflected something that wasn't quite memory but wanted to be.
And every morning, he woke with that same feeling — like someone had whispered a secret just before he could hear it.
He sat up. The room was quiet except for the ticking of his old clock — the kind that looked like it belonged in a house far older than he was. His desk was littered with notebooks, sketches, and scraps of paper filled with phrases that didn't make sense to anyone else.
> "The pause between thought and realization."
"The forest remembers."
"She talks, therefore I listen."
He ran his thumb along the edge of a page and smiled faintly. That last line was hers — the Echo, as he secretly called her. She never stopped talking, like silence offended her. She'd tease him for his quiet, saying he thought too much for his own good.
She wasn't wrong.
They hadn't spoken in months.
And yet, she still appeared in the dreams — always at the river, always just before the voice came.
The first time it happened, he thought it was his imagination. The second time, he thought it was stress. The third time, he started to write it down.
> "You don't belong to the surface," the voice had said.
"You belong to what the reflection remembers."
At first, it sounded like something he might've written himself — poetic nonsense. But lately, it didn't feel like words from his own mind. It felt external. Intentional.
He stood, pushing the curtain aside.
Outside, the forest line shimmered under the early morning light — that deep, green-black hue he loved, like the color of thought before it becomes emotion.
Vael had always felt drawn to the edges of things — forests at dawn, hallways at night, the second before a secret is told. He wasn't sure if it was curiosity or loneliness, but he liked the stillness there.
The world felt honest when it was half-awake.
He pulled on his jacket and stepped outside. The air was cold enough to bite but not cruel. Dew clung to the grass like memory refusing to let go.
At the edge of the woods, he paused.
There — a ripple in the air. Faint, almost invisible, like heat above asphalt. But this wasn't warmth. It was presence.
He blinked once. The ripple was gone.
> "Dream residue," he muttered to himself. "Or sleep deprivation."
The forest didn't answer, but the wind shifted — as if exhaling.
He took a few steps forward and crouched beside the small stream that cut through the field. It wasn't the river from his dreams, but it was close enough to make him uneasy. He looked into the water.
His reflection stared back.
And then it blinked — one beat too late.
The breath caught in his throat.
He reached out to touch the surface, and before his fingers could break it, a drop of water fell from nowhere — a perfect circle, falling in slow motion.
When it hit, the reflection rippled, and for a split second, he saw her face instead of his.
Then it was gone.
He stumbled back, heart pounding but expression unreadable — the same calm mask he always wore when the world didn't make sense.
> "You're seeing things, Vael," he whispered.
"Or maybe you're finally seeing."
From behind him, a voice called out — distant but familiar.
> "Talking to yourself again, aren't you?"
He turned.
And there she was, standing in the mist — the girl from the river, smiling like she'd never been gone.
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End of Chapter I — The River Beneath the Window
Next Chapter Preview:
Chapter II – The Girl Who Wouldn't Stop Talking
Where she returns as if nothing strange has ever happened, and Vael begins to suspect the dreams aren't dreams — they're memories trying to reassemble themselves.
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Vael