BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The alarm’s piercing ring cut through the night, dragging me awake. I blinked at the glowing numbers reading 5:30 a.m., the red light casting it's hue on my nightstand.

With a groan, I reached over and slapped it off, the familiar feeling of exhaustion settling over me, thicker and heavier than usual.

It felt like I was dragging weights as I sat up, rubbing my face, trying to shake off the grogginess.

Early mornings and long days had left their mark on me, and today felt no different. Just another day, slaving away to barely survive.

I shuffled to the washroom, feeling the chill of the tiles under my feet. I splashed cold water on my face, in order to pull me out of the haze clinging to my mind.

The cold was jolting but the fog lingered, as if my body was awake, but my spirit was still somewhere else.

The overhead light flickered with stuttering glow, bright one second, dim the next. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and for a second, something felt… off.

My face was the same, but a strange hollowness tugged at my reflection, like I was staring at someone who was almost me but not quite.

I brushed it off, moving through the rest of my morning routine on autopilot.

By the time I was dressed, it had faded to a dull whisper in the back of my mind. I went to the window, yanked open the curtains, and I looked outside.

Snow. But not the gentle kind that blankets the world. This was a full-blown storm, snow whipping through the air in thick swirls, piling high along the sidewalks, blanketing the streets until they looked like ghostly outlines.

The trees swayed under the weight and their branches heavy with ice, creaking in the wind.

Everything outside was painted in shades of white, blurry and endless.

My chest tightened, an uneasy feeling prickling under my skin, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.

I've always felt winter held a mirror to my life—a harsh, uninviting season in my eyes.

I was born in winter, a time when snow covered everything. They said it was winter, too, when I was left on the steps of the orphanage, bundled up and waiting in the cold.

The nanny who took care of me always said that night was just like this: a storm swallowing the streets in silence, covering my arrival in white, like a blank page.

And it was winter again when I finally left the orphanage, walking alone through the snow. As I passed rows of houses, I could see families inside, cozy and warm, huddled around tables and TV screens. Laughter drifted through the frosted windows, each scene like a small world I’d never quite belonged to.

They were safe, snug, tucked away inside while I walked alone on the outside.

Oddly enough, winter was the one season I never got sick in. I caught colds in spring and fevers in summer, but winter left me untouched, like it knew I was already familiar with its coldness.

And yet, I always had this sense that winter was when I should be unwell, as if it was the time when people like me—the ones on the outside—were meant to feel it most.

The strange, heavy feeling lingered as I looked out at the storm, my chest tightening like the winter was trying to tell me something, some quiet truth buried under the snow.

I turned, grabbing my coat from the rack, the routine barely needing thought. My boots were waiting near the door, where they always were.

But as I reached down, I paused, my hand hovering just above them. These boots… they weren’t mine.

They were bright red, with a strange wet sheen to them, almost as if they’d just been worn through slush, snow melting and dripping down their sides. A chill crept up my spine.

When had I bought these? I didn’t own red boots. And yet, here they were, bold and out of place in my hallway, as if they’d appeared out of nowhere as I stared at them.

Maybe I was just sleep-deprived. Had I bought these without realizing it? I shook my head, my brain foggier than usual, struggling to make sense of things. It had to be a mistake, right? I just wasn’t remembering.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I told myself that was it—no big deal. Besides, the clock was ticking. If I missed the bus, I’d be late.

I bent down, my fingers grazing the damp material as I pulled them on. They felt strange against my feet, stiff and somehow sticky, even though they were perfectly dry inside.

The laces slipped through my fingers as I tied them, and with each pull, a strange sense of finality settled over me, like once they were on, there’d be no going back. No taking them off.

The feeling made my pulse quicken, but I ignored it, brushing off the thought as quickly as it had come.

Standing up, I reached for the doorknob, ready to step outside, ready for another day. But the feeling of something being off was back, creeping in at the edges of my mind.

Still, I left. Stepping outside, I braced myself against the biting cold. I knew the storm was going to be rough, but I hadn’t expected it to hit this hard.

Thick snowflakes smacked into my face, stinging my skin and making me blink every few seconds just to see straight.

Everything around me was a swirling blur of white, blending the ground and sky into one. Each step felt heavy, crunching down into the snow as I made my way toward the bus stop.

But something still felt off. Sure, it was early, and the storm was brutal, but even with conditions like this, I wasn’t expecting this kind of silence.

No cars, no distant chatter, no hum of life. Usually, there’d be at least a few people trudging to work, a car’s headlights piercing through the snow, or the faint sound of someone walking.

But there was nothing. Just the howl of the wind and the constant falling snow.

The quiet started troubling me, a prickling unease creeping in, making me feel strangely alone. I pulled my collar up, squinting against the storm as I moved on.

And that’s when I noticed it—a small, rounded figure a few meters ahead, moving slowly through the snow. It was hard to make out, just a silhouette against the endless white, but it seemed familiar somehow.

The figure started bouncing up and down, small, quick jumps, almost like it was trying to get my attention, urging me to follow.

I couldn’t explain it, but something inside me told me to keep moving toward it, to follow wherever it was leading.

“Hey!” I called out, my voice barely carrying through the howling wind. “Who’s there?”

No response, just the figure continuing its little jumps, edging forward through the snow.

I picked up my pace, straining to keep my eyes on it, but as I pushed forward, the storm seemed to get even worse, the wind biting into my face as the snow swirled heavier around me.

I tried to keep my focus on the bouncing figure, but then… it was gone. Vanished into the blinding white.

I was completely alone now, the wind drowning out my thoughts, the direction of the bus stop lost. Just as worry started creeping in, a piercing scream shattered the silence. It was a woman’s voice, desperate, terrified.

“Help! Somebody, please, help!”

I whipped my head around, trying to locate the source. Through the haze of snow, a new silhouette appeared, staggering and struggling to move, stumbling toward me.

As it got closer, I saw a woman, her face pale, blood trickling down from cuts on her forehead and cheek, her coat torn and soaked in patches of dark red.

“Oh my god,” I muttered, rushing forward, dropping to my knees beside her as she collapsed just a few feet in front of me. “Are you okay? What happened?”

She coughed a ragged and desperate sound, barely able to keep her eyes open. Her hand gripped my sleeve, her fingers trembling as she managed to whisper, “Please… they’re coming. You… have to run…”

“Who’s coming?” I asked, my pulse picking up, a heavy feeling settling in my stomach. “What happened to you? Do you need me to call someone? I can—”

Her grip tightened, and her eyes, wide and terrified, locked onto mine. “They’re… everywhere… you can’t escape… If only he had succeeded…”

Almost against my will, I found myself asking, “Who?”

Her gaze didn’t falter, but her breathing grew more shallow, and in a barely-there voice, she murmured, “…our champion…”

“Champion?” I echoed, feeling something tug at my thoughts.

She took a weak breath, and with her last bit of strength, whispered, “...leon.”

Leon? The name echoed in my head, making my heart skip. Leon? Who’s… Leon? The word felt like it should mean something to me, like I knew it, but the connection was just out of reach, slipping away before I could grasp it.

Her hand fell from my sleeve as her eyes drifted shut, her last breath vanishing into the storm around us. “Hey! No, don’t… stay with me!” I shook her gently, hoping for any sign of life, but she was gone, her face frozen in that last look of fear.

Kneeling there, confused, I felt a faint tremor begin to rumble beneath me. The ground shook, subtly at first, but growing stronger.

I looked up, and through the thick, swirling snow, shadows began to appear—figures, dozens, maybe hundreds of them, barely visible through the storm’s blur.

And they weren’t… normal. My heart pounded as I took in the shapes moving toward me, twisted and strange.

Some looked almost human, but with unnatural twists—a horn here, a limb stretched too long there. Others slithered like snakes or dragged themselves along the ground, contorting in ways that didn’t make sense.

“What… what is this?” I whispered, backing up, but they kept coming, each figure looming closer, blurry and menacing in the blizzard.

The storm raged on, wind shrieking as snow stung my skin and blinded me until I had no idea which way was out.

The figures crept closer, their eyes—or whatever those dark hollows were—fixed on me. I felt them tightening the circle, closing the distance. And then—

I jolted awake, gasping, my eyes snapping open to the room around me. My heart was pounding, my whole body drenched in sweat.

As I lay there, muscles tense and mind racing, I became aware of something soft on my chest. Slowly, I looked down, and there it was—one of my slimes, perched on top of me, its round, worried eyes staring right at me.

It must’ve sensed the nightmare. Even now, I could feel the faint, lingering pulse of fear in my chest, but I stayed perfectly still, letting the weight of the slime and the soft, steady warmth of its presence help calm me down.

"What was that?"