JALEN'S P.O.V
Name: Jalen Cross
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Complexion: White
Height: 5'9" (179 cm)
Major: Physics and Astronomy
Bio: Jalen Cross is a loner by choice, genius by force. Raised by a father who treated affection like a distraction, Jalen was groomed to be the perfect academic machine. Music is his only therapy, and his dorm—thankfully private—is his sanctuary. Socially awkward and emotionally distant, he avoids people like they carry a virus. He's a computer and art fanatic, rich enough to want for nothing, but emotionally bankrupt thanks to a mother who walked out early. He doesn't scare easily, doesn't talk much, and definitely doesn't do "friends." Just stargazing, solitude, and silence.
*******
The darkness had claimed the sky like a patient predator, smothering the world beneath a thick blanket of shadow. Above me, stars bled silver through the night—each one a distant, indifferent eye watching from afar. The roof of Virelle Dorm had become my nightly haven, a place where silence reigned and no one expected anything of me.
I sat cross-legged, my sleeveless hoodie pulled over my head, headphones blaring a playlist that had long since become my lullaby. Bass-heavy tracks thudded through my skull, drowning out the world. The concrete beneath me was cool, rough against my palms as I leaned back and stared at the vastness above.
It was nearly midnight, long past curfew. But the hostel master was either asleep or too tired to patrol. I'd risked it before and never gotten caught. Besides, what did it matter? I didn't speak to anyone. No friends. No trouble. No rules broken that anyone cared enough to enforce.
The wind brushed over me, soft and cold, and I welcomed it. Nature—unlike people—didn't expect anything. It just… existed. The breeze didn't care if I was a genius. It didn't demand I be perfect. It didn't punish me for falling short.
I closed my eyes and let the music consume me. I inhaled deeply, grounding myself in the quiet symphony of the night and the artificial beats in my ears. This was my escape. The one place where I wasn't Jalen Cross, son of an emotionally bankrupt tyrant masquerading as a father. I wasn't the award-winning prodigy. I wasn't the boy who had been trained like a machine to win, win, win.
I was just a soul in the sky.
People thought I was cold. Maybe I was. Or maybe years of whips, starvation, and mental abuse for anything less than perfection had numbed me. There was a time when I cried. When I longed for love. When I missed my mother. But that was a long time ago. Now, I didn't crave connection. I didn't need anyone. Not even her.
Then I heard it.
"Jalen…"
The voice was soft—barely more than a whisper—but it threaded itself through the pounding music like silk through steel.
My eyes flew open, and I twisted around sharply.
Nothing.
Just your imagination, I told myself. You've been hearing things for days now.
But my gut twisted.
Because the voice had sliced through music that was playing on full volume.
How the hell did I hear that?
I pulled off the headphones. The silence hit harder than expected, like the world had held its breath.
I waited.
Nothing.
Just stillness.
I believed I was really going crazy and it was just all in my head, after all this wasn't the first time I heard something strange from nowhere.
But the wind had stopped.
Even the trees had ceased their gentle swaying. No rustling. No creaking branches. The ambient sounds of the night had vanished—no crickets, no distant hum of campus life. Just… still.
Unease curled its fingers around my chest. Not fear. I didn't get scared. I didn't allow myself to.
But this silence felt wrong.
Off.
I stood up slowly, peering over the edge of the roof. My eyes flicked across the expanse of the university grounds, and then—they landed on it.
The Greenhouse.
A gleaming, glassy structure tucked a little behind the edge of the dormitories. During the day, it sparkled with filtered sunlight, teeming with life and energy. But at night, it looked like a crystal coffin.
And someone was inside.
Standing completely still.
Watching me.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The figure was cloaked, featureless in the dark, but there was no mistaking it—they were looking straight at me.
My heart thudded.
Keep calm. Don't react.
I'd been trained not to react. Years of being under my father's thumb had taught me control. Emotion was a weakness. Fear was failure.
I shoved my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie, forcing a calm I didn't feel, and began heading down from the rooftop. I didn't look back.
But halfway down the steps, I couldn't resist.
I glanced over my shoulder.
The figure was still there.
Unmoving.
Watching.
What do you want from me?
I brushed off the little chills I felt and I reached my floor and moved down the hallway toward my room. But as I neared it, I stopped dead in my tracks.
At the far end of the dim corridor, shrouded in shadow, stood the same cloaked figure.
No way. That's impossible.
How did they get here so fast?
They had been inside the greenhouse seconds ago.
My heart pounded in my ears.
The air had grown colder. Heavier. Every hair on my arm stood upright. My fingers hovered near my pocket, where my phone sat like a useless talisman.
I pressed pause on my music, pulling the headphones down to my neck.
"Who are you?" I asked, voice flat but firm.
The figure didn't respond.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
I lifted my phone, flashlight on, and aimed it at them.
The light cut through the dark—
—but the figure was gone.
Just gone.
Not a sound. Not a whisper of fabric. No footsteps. No creak of wood.
My pulse was quick now, and for once, I admitted to myself—I was afraid.
I bolted into my room, slammed the door, and locked it with a shaky hand. I twisted the key and yanked it out, backing away slowly.
I tried to breathe. To center myself.
Was that a ghost?
Was I being haunted?
"No, Jalen. You imagined it. All of it. You're stressed. Sleep-deprived". I thought to myself.
But I didn't believe that. Not really.
Something had happened.
Something real. I knew what I saw.
I moved to my study table by the window and gripped its edge, staring down at the polished surface. I could see my reflection in the glass—wide eyes, lips parted, hoodie damp with cold sweat.
Then—
A soft, slow knock.
My head snapped toward the door.
No.
Not the door.
The window.
The knock came again.
Steady.
Measured.
Like it had all the time in the world.
I turned slowly. The curtains fluttered slightly from the earlier wind, and beyond them—
—a shadow moved.
I took one step closer and swept the curtain aside.
My breath left my lungs.
The cloaked figure stood just outside the window—on the ledge.
Three stories high.
Impossible.
My heart hooked in my chest and the glass suddenly flew open with a violent snap, and the cold night air blasted into the room, scattering books and papers. I stumbled back.
And then it glided in.
Through the window.
Effortless.
Weightless.
Silent.
It didn't walk. It didn't hover. It just... was.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't scream. My mouth was dry. My limbs froze.
It came close. Inches from me.
I saw its hand rise.
Long, thin fingers pale as moonlight emerged from its sleeve.
The hand pressed against my chest.
Right over my heart.
At first, nothing.
Then—burning.
A pain like liquid fire pulsed through my ribs and shot down my spine. I bit down on a scream. My eyes clenched shut as my knees buckled, but I refused to fall. I would not collapse in front of it.
The pain vanished.
So did the figure.
Gone. No flash. No sound. No door or window opening. Just… gone.
I gasped, staggering backward and tearing at my hoodie. I ripped my shirt down the middle and stumbled to the mirror.
There it was.
Faint. Glowing. Etched directly into my chest like a celestial tattoo.
A symbol formed into my chest—an intricate, circular glyph surrounded by markings that moved like they were alive. It glowed, pulsing once… twice… then slowly faded beneath my skin.
It pulsed once more, then dimmed.
I pressed a trembling hand over it.
I gasped awake and stood up straight from my bed—it was just a dream. But I couldn't catch my breath. It was still quite dark.
This was the first time a dream felt so surreal and shook me to my core.
I felt a faint tingle on my chest. I rubbed a finger on the area it tingled, just right above the position of my heart.
Strange.
I suspected.
I got up from my bed and went to the mirror, holding up my phone's light and pointing it to myself.
And then I saw it. The same mark from dream!.
So It was definitely not a dream!
"What is this?" I asked myself
My mind reeled. Logic, science—none of it could explain what just happened. And that terrified me more than anything.
Because for the first time in my life…
…I didn't have an answer.