"Before long, the individual has forgotten their roots, preferring to burn the pages that hold the story of their life. They pretend not to recognize themselves, feigning deafness, blurring the images of their ghosts from the past."
The night breeze caressed the terrace. Although the moment was calm, Rasen couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. From a shadowed corner, he had glimpsed a silhouette: a figure dressed in black, watching him with piercing intent.
Clear, leaning against the railing, noticed the shift in his expression.
—"Is something wrong, Rasen?" —she asked gently, leaning closer with concern in her eyes.
Rasen shook his head, trying to mask the tension building in his shoulders.
—"It's probably just my imagination playing tricks on me, love. Nothing important."
He tried to reassure her, but his gaze kept drifting to the spot where he had seen the figure. Now, the corner was empty.Clear embraced him tenderly, resting her head against his chest.
—"I just want you to be okay. You know you can tell me anything."
Rasen returned the gesture, gently running his fingers through her hair.—"I know. Thank you."
But inside, the fear and doubt kept growing. After everything—losing Julio, facing the ghosts of his past, and building a future with Clear—he longed more than ever to leave the chaos behind.
In a whisper barely audible, he said:—"I love you."
Then kissed his fiancée back.
When Clear returned inside, Rasen remained on the terrace a moment longer, scanning the shadows. But the figure did not return.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled him to bed, but peace never came. In the middle of the night, a nightmare wrenched him from sleep.
He awoke with a muffled cry, gasping, his body drenched in cold sweat. Outside, rain lashed against the open windows as the wind whipped the curtains in erratic patterns.—"Ah—!" he gasped, clutching his chest, where a sharp, unfamiliar pain throbbed.
The room was shrouded in darkness, broken only by distant flashes of lightning that briefly lit the corners.—"It was just a dream," —he told himself, though the images clung stubbornly to his mind: a boy with his same face, standing in a dark forest. His stare, piercing and accusatory, filled Rasen with anguish.[I broke my promise, brothers.]
The words struck like a slap. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he remembered something he hadn't known he had forgotten.
He turned on the lamp beside his bed, trying to banish the terror closing in.—"Sariel..." —he whispered. But why that name?As he tried to sit up, a voice echoed—not in the room, but in his mind."You heard me clearly."Rasen froze, fear rushing back with a vengeance.—"Sariel?" —he whispered, praying it wasn't real."I am your guest, Rasen."The words echoed in his skull, freezing his blood. He wasn't alone—he hadn't been for a long time, but only now did he understand.
Somewhere beyond the storm, the figure in black watched. From a nearby rooftop, their eyes gleamed with a mix of curiosity and purpose.
—"Soon," —they murmured, never taking their eyes off Rasen's window— "you'll know why I'm here."The figure wrapped themselves in their cloak, disappearing once more into the shadows, as the threads of past and present began to intertwine.