The amber glow of sunset bled across the city skyline, casting long shadows over empty streets. Somewhere in the distance, laughter echoed, but it felt faint and far away.

Ryu opened his eyes, his breath ragged, heart racing as though he'd woken mid-fall.

And then, the world collapsed.

Or so it seemed, but then he regained his vision.

The bench beneath him seemed cold and unfamiliar, the texture of rough wood pressing against his palms like a jagged warning.

He wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead, grimacing at the sensation. A bitter taste lingered on his tongue, metallic and wrong.

A dream—no, a nightmare—but the details slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. The only thing left was dread, heavy and unrelenting, coiled tight in his gut.

He stood stiffly, shoulders tense. The familiar weight of his black coat grounded him, but his pulse still thrummed with unease.

This wasn't normal.

As if anything in this world is normal.

But no, this was a different kind of unease.

He wasn't the type to lose himself in dreams. That hollow coldness he wore like armor didn't bend for things as trivial as bad sleep. His mind was supposed to be a fortress, but now it felt cracked, as if hit by a titanic siege ram.

And something was leaking through.

His mind, perhaps?

Or something even worse.

The wind carried a faint chill, rustling the dry leaves scattered across the path. People passed by without sparing him a glance—joggers in bright gear, a mother pushing a stroller, a couple murmuring in hushed tones.

Everyone was happy, everyone was smiling.

Normal.

Everything was normal.

Then why did it feel like the world was holding its breath?

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Ryu's lips pressed into a thin line as he walked toward the street, boots scuffing against the pavement. He kept his expression neutral, masking the growing sense of unease crawling under his skin.

His breath was steady, but his instincts weren't fooled.

Ryu wasn't the type to follow instinct, he knew that humanity's greatest weapon was intelligence, and the ability to ignore instinct.

But he also knew humans cannot survive without instinct.

And his instinct was telling him something was wrong.

Very wrong.

A flicker caught his eye—so faint he almost missed it. Just a brief shimmer along the horizon, like light reflecting off fractured glass. He stopped mid-step, scanning the skyline. Nothing. The lights of the city twinkled as they always did, indifferent to his scrutiny.

His fingers tightened in his coat pocket. "You're seeing things," he muttered under his breath.

The words felt hollow.

He did not believe that one bit, yet he had to.

That was how the human mind functioned, after all.

A natural reaction.

The air smelled different now—sharp and metallic, like ozone before a storm. He glanced up. The streetlights overhead buzzed faintly, their glow flickering unevenly. No one else seemed to notice. People kept moving, immersed in their conversations and routines.

It wasn't just the flicker. It was the weight pressing against his ribs, the nagging certainty that something had shifted.

And it had its eyes on him.

The eyes of a predator, no less.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep walking.

Step. Breathe. Ignore it.

But the flicker came again, closer this time. A distortion rippling through the air, warping everything for a split second. His breath caught in his throat. His body tensed on instinct, the kind of taut readiness born from years of discipline.

Everything in him screamed to move. Fight or flee.

But he did neither. He stood there, pulse thrumming, waiting for the world to right itself.

The distortion faded, leaving behind an eerie silence.

He exhaled sharply, the sound ragged. "This isn't like me," he said quietly, voice barely audible.

The words tasted bitter. It wasn't just the flicker or the strange air—it was the way his own body betrayed him. He was calm under pressure, always calculating, always controlled. But right now, cracks were forming, and he felt them splintering deeper with each passing second.

He needed to leave. Get back to routine. Shake this feeling off before it took root.

Ryu took a step forward—

And the world flickered violently, like shattered glass refracting light.

He flinched, instincts roaring louder now. His gaze darted around, heart racing as reality warped and bent. The shadows stretched unnaturally long, twisting like living things. The streetlights overhead dimmed until the world was wrapped in suffocating darkness.

It lasted only seconds, but it was enough.

The world broke.

And so did he.

His breath came shallow when the city returned to normal. The streetlights hummed back to life. Cars rolled by on the distant avenue. Conversations resumed as though nothing had happened.

But it had.

He could still feel the faint echo of that flicker lingering in his bones, unsettling and undeniable.

This wasn't a trick of light. And it sure as hell wasn't his imagination.

Ryu's hand trembled at his side, and he clenched it into a fist, forcing himself to steady.

He wouldn't let this crack him. Not now. Not ever.

But even as he tried to shove it down, one thought pressed itself into his mind like a brand:

The nightmare hadn't ended when he opened his eyes.