He stood in a long narrow hallway stretching endlessly before him. The walls, floors ceiling are all cloaked in thick fog. A dense white mist that has blurred every edge and swallowed all sound. The light..there is no thing as light. The place felt abandoned but it also felt Alive at the same time.
The polished floor beneath his feet gleams faintly through the mist. Ahead, The hallway ends at an exit. A white door framed in grey. It's standing out.
He steps closer. Beyond the door is not another room but an empty void of white streches out, infinite and hollow. There is no ground to stand on, no walls to hold him — only endless nothingness. His breath catches. Suddenly, the hallway fades away. He finds himself in a garden. Every leaf, every flower, every blade of grass is pure white. The petals flutter softly in a breeze he cannot feel. Delicate and Fragile. No color exists here. Only endless shades of white.
He walks forward. The cool earth presses beneath his feet, mist curling around him. Full of mysteries whispering secrets.
From the fog, a figure appears.
A man, about five foot ten, stands before him. His hair flickers between grey and reddish hues, like ash glowing faintly in embers. His eyes are sharp, serious — meaningful.
He is Calm but carries weight.
"You're one of the many cycles."
He pauses, hist gaze locking onto him.
"You, Erian."
The name hangs is white air.
Before he can respond, the garden, the ent—figure——————————-dissolved.
Silence.
Its all black. Empty. It's feels like the whole thing escaped somehow.
He blinks. The white fades. Cold air hits his skin. His eyes snap open.
Darkness presses in his small, cluttered room comes into focus, dimly lit by the pale glow of a street lamp outside the windows. Heart pounding. The dream lingers like smoke curling in his mind.
He sits up, sheets tangled around him. Silence, it feels heavy too heavy. A soft rustle beside him. His black kitten stares up at him, tiny pale purple eyes calm and steady. Erian runs a hand through his hair, trying to shake the weight of white void, the garden, and the….
He shakes his head and stands. Outside, the night waits cold, quiet, but never safe.
The room is too quiet. Outside the window, the world, hoodie pulled tight around him, watching the stillness. A distant mechanical thing rolls through the air. He doesn't have to see it to know. A MK-A unit is patrolling nearby. You feel those things before you hear them. Like the ground itself is flinching.
The kitten curls at his feet. He kneels, fingers brushing over its head. The kitten slowly blinks, purring, unaware of the cold machines outside.
Erian straightens and looks out again. The city is asleep, or is it. He thinks about the dream. But he doesn't remember anything. Its almost like his thoughts were manipulated. The clock ticks. Its too late to sleep again, too early to start the day.
So he waits.
The sky outside starts to pale, a soft blue creeping over the city rooftops. Its too early for most. Too late for sleep.
Erian stands by the stove top in his cramped flat, waiting for the water to boil. His eyelids drag every time he blinks. He didn't sleep. Just sat, staring at the window all night while the word outside held its breath. The room smells faintly of paper, dust and old stuff. He'd been meaning to open a window for weeks. Maybe longer.
The kitten is curled up on his chair, legs tucked under its tiny frame, tail flickering now and then its dreaming. Erian watches it for a moment before dragging a hand down his face. He's not even sure what he's feeling. Not tired exactly. More like..Frayed. The kettle clicks. He pours the water over a teabag in a cracked mug and stares as the color bleeds out, brown slow spreading through grey.
The dream, even if it was a dream, is mostly gone now. What's left feels distant. Like trying to remember something from before you were born.
He turns from the counter and catches himself in the mirror by the door. Eyes shadowed, jaw tense. The exhaustion is there, but its not just from lack of sleep. Maybe he's just over thinking again.
The kitten yawns, hops down, pads over to him. Eran scoops it up, letting it rest in the crook of his arm. It purrs quietly, soft weight grounding him more than the tear ever could.
He sets the mug down, throws on a coat, and grabs his bag. He hesitates at the door, looks back once. The place feels emptier than usual.
"I'll be back", he says to the cat.
The morning air outside is crisp but mild — normal. The sky is streaked with faint gold and blue. No snow, no wind, no fog. Just quiet city waking up. Buses hum in the distance. Somewhere, a street vendor clatters metal trays into place. A few students cross the street ahead, laughing softly, half-awake.
The MK-A platform near his block is empty today. No patrols. Just ordinary silence.
Its a normal morning. Or is it.
The streets of Bristhaven are still waking up. Faint gold spills across rooftops, glinting off moisture-soaked brick and wrought-iron railings, Erian walks with his hands deep in his coat pockets, breath barely fogging in the cool morning air. Not cold enough for snow yet.
The tram stop is two blocks away from his flat, beneath a cracked glass awning that hums faintly from loose wiring. A flickering bulletin loops its usual messages: "Curfew hours remain in effect. 20:00 - 05:00. No exceptions." Followed by a looping safety PSA featuring the greyscale face of a smiling civil enforcer. Erian doesn't look at it.
Te tram rolls in, sleek and steel-blue, rattling faintly as it settles. Inside, its quiet. A few tired passengers swaying in the motion, shoulders bundled in worn coats. A woman coughs softly behind a mask. Everyone is silent.
Out the window, Bristhaven unfolds. Tight alleys, clock towers draped in cables, terraces patched with rust and ivy. A static drone buzzes faintly overhead, likely a MK-A surveillance drone doing routine sounds. Somewhere distant, a church bell chimes the hour — six.
Erian shifts in his seat. The tram hums beneath him. The dream's memory slips further from his grasp with every passing street.
He gets off at Ferrin Station, stepping into the gentle chaos of early students and street vendors unpacking charts. The smell of cheap bread, oil, and ink fill the air. He weaves through the square and up the stone steps, toward the old gate where ivy curls along tarnished metal.
St. Ferrin's University.
He passes through without a second thought.
The courtyard of St. Ferrin's University is waking slowly, shadows retreating under a pale. A few students hurry past the old fountain — dry this time of year — clutching coffee, chewing on breakfast, shoulders hunched against the morning air. The usual buzz is softer toady. The city feels muted, like its still deciding whether to stay asleep.
Erian moves through the archway into the central building, head down, hands in his coat pockets. The tram ride hadn't shaken the weight from his chest. Not quite dread, not quite tiredness — just a heaviness. Like something was waiting for him and he didn't know where.
He climbs the stairs to Room 304, fingers tailing lightly along the banister. Same scratchy wall texture. Same loose floorboard three steps from the top.
The door is slightly ajar. Inside voices murmur.
"Erian!" a familiar voice calls as he pushes the door open.
At the far side of the room, Rhett Vance leans over two desks, his usual spot near the middle. Shaggy hair, faded scarf, always dressed like he lives in a more "stylish" century. "You look like hell man." He says.
Erian lifts a hand in a weak wave. "Didn't Sleep."
"When did you ever," Rhett says, grinning. "At this point I think you're powered by spite and tea."
"I ran out of tea"
"Then you are definitely dying"
A few other students glance over and chuckle. Nina, seated in the row ahead, tosses Rhett a pen. "Be nice. Maybe Erian's soul left his body in the night and just forgot to return."
"That would explain a lot." Rhett says. "Like why he keeps showing up to architecture theory without losing his mind."
Erian slides into his usual seat near the back, letting the voices blur. He's grateful for it. This normalcy. Small talk. Banter. It gives soul and shape to the space around him. He pulls out his notebook.
The professor isn't here yet. Probably won't be for another ten minutes.
Rhett leans back in his chair, talking at full volume. "Anyone else hear the MK-A engines last night? My wall practically vibrated."
"Thought those things didn't patrol our sector anymore." Nina mutters.
"They don't." Erian says quietly, not even sure why he says it.
Rhett looks over, "You alright?"
Erian blinks. "Yeah.. Just..never mind."
The room shifts again. A hush rolls over it like someone dimmed the sound without touching anything. Just for a second. Then the door clicks open. The professor walks in — 'Dr. Mallier', thin as a rake.
"Morning," he says, not waiting for replies. "Let's pretend we're all awake."
A few scattered groans.
Erian turns his head toward the window, letting their voices continue without him. Outside, the sky has turned just a little winter. Not clouded—just pale. The kind of pale that makes you feel like the color got drained out of the world. The dream itches at the back of his head again, but the more he tries to remember it, the more he forgets.
Something about a garden. Something..about his name.
The door clicks shut behind him as he steps out into the hallway. Students spill out in slow clusters, voices low, feet dragging. Afternoon has dulled the building. Lights feel dimmer than they should, like they've been on for too long.
Rhett's beside him, fiddling with the zipper on his coat. "Lunch? Or are you ghosting again."
Erian shrugs. "Not hungry."
"You never are."
They walk in silence down the stairs. Past the cracked noticeboard with its usual tangle of printed warnings..curfews, meal, public safety codes. One of the papers flutters loose as they pass, even though there's no breeze
Outside, the air is dry. Too dry. Erian's coat doesn't feel right on his shoulders, and the sunlight was a washed-out quality, like its passing through something thick before reaching them.
A few students cross the quad ahead. One of them is laughing loudly. It echoes oddly against the stone walls.
"Did the light change?" Rhett mutters, squinting up at the sky.
Erian follows his gaze. The sky's still blue, mostly, but there's a faint film over it. Like dust on glass.
He doesn't answer.
"Hey."Rhett nudges him with his elbow. "You good?"
"Fine," Erian says. "Just tired"
"You said that yesterday."
"Then maybe I'm still tired."
Rhett snorts. "You're a real joy lately, y'know that?"They slow near the edge of the courtyard. There's a metal kiosk sunk into the wall — one of the city's public bulletin terminals. The screen flickers, glitching once before settling.
"NOTICE: Curfew parameters updated. Sector 7-C now classified as Moderate Risk Zone. MK-A patrols authorized to detain without warning."
Erian reads it twice. The wording is different than usual. Sharper. Les… bureaucratic. There's a small symbol in the corner of the screen. Not the city seal. Something else. He doesn't recognize it.
"That's near my street," Rhett mutters. "Guess I better walk home in a hi-vis vest."
Erian doesn't say much. The symbol sticks in his head. Simple design triangle inside a circle, lines through both. It almost looks familiar.
A wind kicks up. Not strong but cold enough to slip past the collar of his coat. He shivers. They keep walking.
Back in his flat, the door shuts. The air inside is still, the kind of still that settles into your bones. Erian drops his bag beside the shoe rack and exhales slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The clock ticks. The room smells like old paper, fabric, dust. Everything familiar.
The kitten mews from the window ledge, where it had wedged itself between a book and a dying plant. Erian crosses the room and lifts it gently into his arms. It purrs as if the day hadn't happened.
"You don't care about midterms," he mutters, voice barely above a breath.
He opens the window. The latch sticks, he wrestles with it a second before it clicks free. Cool air pours in. The fainest gold light creeps along the buildings, and with it comes a low, near subsonic hum. Rhythmic.
MK-A. Somewhere distant.
He looks down at the street below. Empty. Trash bins lined up neatly like quiet sentinels. No movement. No sound beyond the wind threading between old bricks and neon signs. The city is holding its breath again.
Then he notices — across the street, on the rooftop of the opposite building.
Someone is here.
A figure, unmoving. Not leaning. Not adjusting. Just standing arms slightly away from the body. Something about the stillness is wrong. Wrong in a way that registers not in his eyes, but in his spine.
Erian squints. The distance is too far to see clearly. They're wearing dark clothes, but there's no shape to them. No face. The light doesn't touch them quite right. Like they're not supposed to be there.
And then
They move.
But not step, not shift. The figure jolts forward — too fast, too final.
They fall.
Not flail, not stumble — fall. Like something pulled them.
Erian gasps. His hand grips the windowsill.
The body disappears from view behind the rooftop edge. A solid three-story drop.
No scream. No thud. Nothing.
He stares at the roof. Waits.
But no one comes to the edge. No one looks down. No alarm, no yell. Just the slow rise of a pigeon flock taking flight somewhere nearby. The street remains empty. The building opposite sits still, windows dark. Quiet as it ever was.
The kitten stirs in his arms and lets out a soft, curious sound.
Erian swallows. His pulse has quickened. His feet don't move.
He waits. Thirty seconds. A full minute.
Still no one.
He leans out the window slightly, trying to spot movement on the sidewalk. A person, a shadow, anything.
Nothing.
Just the city.
Just silence.
And now, doubt.
Did I actually see that?
His mouth is dry. He doesn't know why the silence feels heavier now. Like it saw what he saw.
The kitten looks up at him, eyes half-lidded. Peaceful. Unbothered.
Erian pulls back from the window. Closes it slowly.
He says nothing.
The city exhales in low mechanical echoes outside, but his flat is still.
Too still.
He sets the kitten down, and it trots to its water dish without concern.
Erian stands there.
Alone with whatever just happened.
To be continued.