Something wet was breathing.
Not dripping.
Not wind.
A slow, thick exhale that did not belong in any room he knew.
It pressed at the edges of hearing—steady as a pulse, heavy as something alive waiting just beyond sight.
Adrian opened his eyes.
White.
Not empty. Not sterile.
A living white that stretched forever, soft and luminous, as though the light itself had muscle and weight. There were no walls, no ceiling, no horizon—only a faint shimmer in the air that drifted without moving.
He inhaled.
The floor responded.
A ripple slid outward beneath his feet—smooth, warm, unsettling. It felt like walking on stretched skin laid over shallow water. The echo of it reached his spine a heartbeat late.
His thoughts came back to him strangely. Doubled.
Where am I?
A second voice repeated it a moment after—rougher, unfamiliar, trailing behind his own like a shadow with a mouth.
Adrian swallowed hard.
He took a step forward. Another ripple. The hum beneath the space deepened in tone, slipping into rhythm with his pulse until he couldn't tell where his heartbeat ended and the room began.
Then something appeared in the distance.
A thin black line.
A doorway.
Then a frame.
Then—closer—glass.
A mirror.
It stood alone, anchored in nothing.
When Adrian stopped in front of it, the ripples at his feet halted instantly, as though the whole space had inhaled sharply and refused to release it.
His reflection stared back.
Same face.
Same tired eyes.
Same disheveled hair.
The same faint hollowness he pretended wasn't there every morning.
He leaned closer. His breath fogged the surface, though no cold existed in this place.
"Great," he muttered. "Even in dreams you look exhausted."
His reflection smiled first.
A half-second too early.
Adrian froze.
He blinked.
The mirror blinked after—late.
His reflection's hair darkened—blond fading to ash-brown, then black. The cheeks thinned. The jaw sharpened. Skin turned rougher. Eyes dimmed from his muted green into a deeper, older hazel.
Not him.
Someone else.
"Wait—"
The mirror flexed.
The glass rippled like disturbed water.
The figure behind it raised its hand—not mirroring him, but reaching for him, faster than instinct could follow.
The surface cracked.
Spiderweb fractures burst outward.
A hand punched through.
Warm fingers clamped around his throat.
The grip sank deeper than skin—claiming him, as if the hand had always belonged there. Breath crushed. Muscles locked.
GIVE IT BACK!!
The voice bypassed his ears entirely. It vibrated through bone and teeth, rattling every thought loose.
Adrian clawed at the arm. His fingers slid through something not quite solid and not quite air.
"You—stop—"
The mirror convulsed.
Every shattered piece showed him gasping—hundreds of distorted Adrians struggling in jagged, overlapping echoes.
You don't belong here!
The hand yanked.
Pain ripped along his spine. Light bent at the edges of his vision, colors bleeding into wrong shapes.
The world shattered.
He fell.
No ground. No gravity that obeyed anything sane.
Pressure crushed his ribs from all directions while another force pulled them apart. His nerves screamed with white fire. Torn and rewoven like the strings of an old marionette.
Heat surged. Then cold. Then heat again.
His skin rippled—like molten metal dragged in opposite directions. Limbs warped, bones shifting and clicking in ways that had no right to work. His blood flowed out from his pores, swirling circles around his deformed body as it took on a new shape, strange to him.
What is happening to me?!
A heartbeat.
Then another, deeper and slower, beating beneath his own.
Two pulses fighting for dominion.
Get out—
A breath filled his lungs that wasn't his.
Someone else was breathing through him.
The white tore open.
Light flooded through—violet at the center, gold veining through it like lightning trapped mid-strike. The air bled color. Space warped and folded around him.
He looked up—
Something looked back.
A presence.
Vast. Ancient. Aware.
It stretched across the void like a thought too enormous to survive in a human mind. Shapes rose within it—winged silhouettes that weren't feathered, only the aspect of form.
Threads of gold lashed toward him.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't blink. Couldn't look away.
You Looked…
The words smashed into him like falling weight.
You remembered…
He dropped to his knees. The light pressed closer.
Now we remember….
The silhouettes leaned in.
Light curled around his arms, sliding and penetrating beneath his skin, threading into the places thoughts weren't supposed to reach. His mind strained under the pressure of understanding forced beyond his comprehension.
He was being rewritten.
He tried to scream. But he had no mouth.
The light lunged—
And then a voice—familiar, sharp—cut through the void like a blade.
Close your eyes...
Madam Saelen's voice.
Not imagined.
Not memory.
Something remembered for him.
He forced his eyes shut.
Light surged and thoughts plummeted—
Then the void shattered.
——
Adrian inhaled sharply.
Air rushed into his lungs like a first breath. Too fast. Too cold. His pulse thudded wrong—heavier, slower, like it belonged to someone else.
A ceiling of soft white light hovered above him.
Clean sheets.
The faint scent of metal and rain.
He pushed himself upright. His limbs obeyed, but they didn't feel like his—different balance, different center of gravity.
He swung his legs over the bed.
His breath sounded wrong. Lower. Rougher.
"What the hell…"
He froze.
That wasn't his voice.
His hands—leaner, stronger, calloused. Scars webbed across the knuckles, the hands of someone who lived their life hauling weight, not grading papers.
He crossed to the mirror above the basin.
The face staring back was a stranger.
Lean.
Sharper jawline.
Brown hair threaded faintly with gold.
Skin warmed by sun, not fluorescent lights.
Eyes mismatched—one gray, one green.
Adrian touched his cheek.
The reflection copied him.
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"You've got to be kidding me."
His pulse double-tapped beneath his skin—his heartbeat colliding with another, heavier one.
Garth…
Whoever he had been.
Whoever he still was.
Adrian stepped back.
Clothes sat folded neatly on the chair—dark trousers, cream shirt, a vest. New. Clean. Exactly his size—or Garth's.
"Great," he muttered. "Measured while unconscious. Love that."
He dressed, rolling his sleeves to hide the faint tremor in his hands.
A faint hum leaked through the hallway—steady, mechanical, alive.
Adrian braced himself, hand on the door handle.
"…Okay, Garth," he murmured. "Let's hope you didn't leave behind enemies."
He opened the door.
A tall figure stood waiting in the corridor.
White hair.
Dark uniform.
Perfect stillness.
Godfrey.
They stared at each other until the Sanctum's hum filled the silence.
"…You're… awake…" Godfrey said at last, voice slow, deliberate. "…Do… not… run."
Adrian exhaled. "Wouldn't know where to go."
Godfrey nodded once.
"…Good…"
He turned, moving with measured precision. Adrian followed.
Silver currents pulsed faintly through the corridor walls—veins of Ether glowing beneath polished stone. Light moved with them, soft and rhythmic.
They passed glass panels overlooking the outside world—fog drifting over rooftops, steam rising from copper towers.
Adrian paused near a balcony rail.
Below, the city sprawled through mist—brass chimneys, dark stone blocks, cable-lines stretched between towers, trams gliding along them with glowing runes.
A world out of time.
A world breathing.
Godfrey waited beside him, silent.
Adrian steadied himself with a breath.
His vision blurred at the edges—two heartbeats still struggling to align.
He pressed a hand to the cold rail.
"…Okay," he whispered softly. "Okay."
He turned.
Madam Saelen stood at the end of the corridor, coat drawn close, silver eyes sharp.
"Welcome to the Sanctum, Mr. Whitlock," she said. "Your path forward begins now."
The lights along the floor brightened—
And Adrian followed.
He did not look back.
Not yet.
Not until he understood which heartbeat truly belonged to him.