The hallway was empty.
Kyra stood at the threshold of her room, one hand clutching the doorknob, the other curled tight at her side. No footsteps. No voices. Just... nothing.
And yet the silence wasn't peaceful—it was thick. Too thick.
She took a cautious step out. The overhead bulb flickered once and went dark, leaving her in shadows.
A chill crawled across her skin. She rubbed her arms, trying to convince herself it was nothing. Probably a power surge. Probably just nerves.
Then she smelled it.
Faint. Almost nothing. Like something had burned—but long ago. Ash, not smoke. Something older.
Her eyes dropped—and she froze.
A symbol had been drawn right outside her door.
It wasn't elaborate. Just a circle and three jagged lines running through it, but it pulsed with a kind of... wrongness. Like it didn't belong in this world. Like it had been waiting for her to see it.
She crouched down, heart pounding. Her fingers hovered above the mark.
Who did this? When?
There were no windows in the hallway. No footprints. Just her door and that symbol—like a warning... or a seal.
' Who could've done this? ....and why??'
She wiped it away with her sleeve, her movements jerky and frantic. The chalk—or whatever it was—clung to the fabric like it didn't want to go.
When she finally stood up, the whispering that had been humming at the back of her mind all day had vanished.
The silence returned.
But it didn't feel like a relief.
It felt like a breath being held.
---
That night, she dreamt again.
But this time, it wasn't a memory. It wasn't a replay of something she couldn't explain.
This time, she knew it wasn't her.
She stood in a burning forest—trees split open like ribcages, fire curling around the trunks as if alive. The air smelled like blood and smoke.
And she was running.
Her legs moved on their own, powerful and swift, but her lungs burned. Her hair—blue. Her hands—calloused. Her body moved like a warrior, someone trained to survive. To kill.
But behind her—something followed. Something old. Not fast, but patient.
She didn't look back.
Then a voice—female, deep, older than the fire—echoed from the trees:
> "You are not ready. But they are already moving."
The ground cracked beneath her feet.
She turned—and saw nothing.
Just darkness . Endless void and within the blink of an eye
She fell.
---
She jolted awake, chest heaving.
The room was quiet, her sheets damp with sweat. She threw them off and stumbled to her feet, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Pain pricked her collarbone.
She looked down—and gasped.
There was a mark.
Circular. Faintly glowing. The same shape she saw outside her door. Like it had sunk into her skin, branding her in her sleep.
She reached out to touch it.
And just like that, it vanished.
Gone.
But the cold lingered.
---
She barely heard a word in class the next morning.
Her fingers moved before she could stop them, her pen scratching symbols, faces, eyes, and flames into her notebook. It felt more like memory than imagination.
"You've been marked."
The words cut through her haze.
She looked up, startled.
Her teacher stood over her shoulder, face pale, voice tight. Her eyes were glued to the page.
Kyra blinked. "What?"
The woman stepped back, almost afraid. "Nothing," she said quickly, then turned and walked away.
Kyra stared at the page again.
The symbol. It was back.
---
On her way home,
Her phone buzzed.
Kyla:
> where r u ur ignoring me again, are you okay?!
Kyra locked the screen.
What would she even say? Hey, I'm being haunted by a symbol that shows up on my skin and in my dreams?
No. She couldn't drag Kyla into this. Not yet.
---
Her father was home early.
That was already unusual.
He sat in his chair, newspaper in hand but unread. When she walked past, he spoke without looking at her.
"You've been quiet lately."
She paused. "I've been tired."
He turned a page. "That all?"
Her throat dried. "What else would it be?"
A pause. Then he looked at her—really looked. And there was something sharp in his eyes. Something... knowing.
"You've been acting strange," he said. "Seen anything... interesting?"
The words landed too softly to be casual.
Her blood turned to ice.
"I'm fine," she lied.
He nodded, but the smile he gave her didn't reach his eyes. "Of course you are."
---
That night, she didn't wait for sleep.
Her father had gone to bed early, like always. She waited until his snoring filled the house.
Then she moved.
He'd spent years acting like she didn't matter.
So why the sudden concern?
Why now?
He was hiding something.
And she had a pretty good idea where to look.
His study.
A memory flickered—her father hastily slamming the door shut whenever she got too close. And the one time she'd offered to clean it, he'd growled, 'Mind your business.' Her stomach twisted. Something had always felt off about that room..
Tonight, she'd find out why.
The study door was locked, but one of the hinges at the bottom had been loose for years. She slid her fingernails into the crack and eased it open just enough to slip inside.
The room smelled like dust and ink. Books lined the walls. Dozens of them. Legal codes. War history. Languages she couldn't read. The lamp on the desk was dim, like it hadn't been turned off properly.
She searched quickly, fingers shaking, until her hand brushed something at the back of the bottom shelf.
A cloth-wrapped book.
She pulled it out and unwrapped it slowly.
The leather was cracked, the pages yellowed. There was no title.
Inside: drawings of creatures with blacked-out eyes. Diagrams of rituals. And then—her necklace. Sketched in perfect detail.
"Solarian Veil – The seal."
Kyra's mouth went dry....
There were notes scribbled in the margins. Her father's handwriting. And worse—dates.
Recent ones.
Her heart sank as she croutched to the ground.
All this time, he had known...
He had been studying this —studying her.
She clutched the book to her chest and backed out of the room.
---
The whispers returned at midnight.
But they weren't whispers anymore.
They were chanting.
Not loud—but steady. A low, murmuring pulse, like a storm gathering behind the walls. The sounds crawled through the air, brushing against her ears with words she couldn't understand, couldn't place.
She rushed to the bathroom, the only place with a mirror that didn't feel like it watched her back.
She splashed cold water on her face. Again. Again.
Her skin was pale. Her eyes sunken. She barely recognized herself.
The chanting climbed.
She looked up.
And froze.
Her reflection wasn't hers.
The blue-haired woman stared back. Her face bloodied. Her clothes torn, scorched. Her eyes glowing with grief... and fury.
Her necklace—the same one around Kyra's neck—pulsed.
A tear slipped down Kyra's cheek.
"She remembers."
---