Noah woke up on the ground, the sharp sting of pain radiating through his body. His skin burned slightly as if the memory of fire had followed him out of the dream, embedding itself in his flesh. His breaths were shallow and uneven, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to orient himself. The faint scent of smoke still lingered in his nostrils, though the air around him was clear.
Through the haze, a voice pierced his disoriented mind.
“Noah, sweetie, why are you lying on the ground for?”
His head snapped up, his eyes widening. It was her voice. Soft, familiar, warm in a way that clawed at his heart. For a moment, everything felt still, his thoughts suspended as his body went rigid. But then the memories surged back, crashing over him like a wave. His chest tightened as realization struck.
‘This was the tenth time,’ he thought bitterly, his teeth clenching. The tenth time he had been forced to relive that damn memory. Over and over again, the same house, the same fire, the same twisted mockery of his mother. Each time, it felt more real, more suffocating, and each time, it left him feeling more broken than before.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his limbs trembling with effort. His vision swam, the world around him blurring at the edges as he tried to focus. The faint golden light of the setting sun bled into the scene, casting soft shadows that felt eerily familiar. His gaze darted around, his mind racing to piece together where he was, and what was happening.
“I need to… fight,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. The words felt foreign in his mouth as if they belonged to someone else. But the thought burned fiercely in his mind, refusing to let go.
‘This isn’t real,’ he told himself, though the conviction wavered. ‘It’s the trial. It’s the memory. It’s not her. It’s not her.’
“Noah?” the voice called again, softer this time, tinged with concern. “Are you all right, sweetie?”
He turned his head, his heart lurching as he saw her standing a few feet away. Her figure was bathed in the golden light, her features soft and familiar, so achingly real it made his chest ache. But something was wrong. The way she stood, the stillness of her frame, the unblinking stare—it wasn’t right. It wasn’t her.
‘It’s always slightly different,’ he thought, his fists clenching at his sides. ‘Every time, it changes. Sometimes I say something different. Sometimes I can take a step back. But it doesn’t matter. It always pulls me back in. Always.’
His blood boiled as his gaze sharpened, anger flaring in his chest. ‘And this… this thing, this demon hiding itself as her—it’s mocking me. Every damn time.’
He pushed himself to his feet, his body swaying slightly as the ground felt unsteady beneath him. His vision cleared for a moment, and he locked eyes with the figure in front of him. “You’re not her,” he said, his voice low and cold, his hands trembling with a mix of fear and fury. “You’re not my mother.”
The figure’s expression didn’t waver. Her soft smile remained, unchanging, as she tilted her head slightly. “Noah, sweetie,” she said, her voice sweet and soothing, but there was a subtle distortion beneath it, like a note played slightly off-key. “Why are you saying such silly things? Come inside. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Noah’s heart raced as the golden light around her dimmed slightly, shadows creeping in at the edges of her form. His hands balled into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He bit back a scream of frustration as the hum returned, low and insistent, pressing against his mind like a relentless tide.
“I’m not playing this game anymore,” he growled, his voice rising. “You’re not her! Do you hear me? You’ll never be her!”
The words echoed in the air, defiant and raw. For a brief moment, the figure before him remained still, her soft, unchanging smile frozen in place. Then, a sharp crack shattered the silence. A fissure appeared across her face, splitting her features like porcelain. The crack spread slowly, revealing dark, oozing shadows beneath the surface. Her smile didn’t falter. She just stared at him, her eyes widening unnaturally as they turned black as coal, voids that seemed to devour the light.
Before Noah could react, she was suddenly standing over him. It wasn’t movement—it was as though she had shifted, skipping space and time like a frame torn from a film. Her cold, claw-like hand gripped his mouth and cheek, her nails digging into his skin as she tilted his head upward, forcing him to meet her empty gaze.
“Now, now, Noah,” she cooed, her voice still sweet but dripping with malice, like honey laced with venom. “I am your mother. You will respect me, and you will submit. Slowly, surely, I will break that precious little will of yours into stardust.”
Her grip tightened, the pressure suffocating, and Noah’s breath hitched. The shadows beneath her skin writhed like liquid, blackened lines spilling from the cracks on her face and trailing down her neck like ink in water. She tilted her head, her smile growing wider, revealing too many teeth, sharp and jagged.
“So, allow me the pleasure of watching your failing attempts to fight,” she continued, her tone almost playful, though her blackened eyes gleamed with cruelty. “Because you are failing, Noah. You’re getting weaker and weaker, whether you realize it or not. You can’t feel it yet, but you’re fading—piece by piece, thought by thought.”
Noah’s chest tightened, his mind racing as her words burrowed into his head like thorns. He tried to pull away, but her grip was unrelenting, her nails digging deeper into his skin. A cold, numbing sensation crept along his jaw, spreading like frost through his veins.
“See?” she said, her voice softening into a mockery of tenderness. “You’re already slipping, aren’t you? Just a little further now… and then I can finally break you.”
Her smile grew impossibly wide, her head tilting at an unnatural angle as the fissures on her face deepened. “Maybe another hundred of these little cycles will do the trick. Or maybe less. Who knows? Let’s find out together.”
With a flick of her wrist, she let him go. Noah crumpled to the ground, gasping for air as his body trembled violently. He tried to steady himself, his hands clawing at the dirt beneath him, but his vision blurred, his head spinning. When he looked up, she was back in her original spot, standing calmly as though nothing had happened. The cracks on her face were still there, faint but visible, yet her smile had returned to its soft, motherly mask.
“Come on, Noah,” she said, her voice light and warm. “You’re dirty. You need to shower before dinner.”
Her eyes flickered back to their usual colour—blue, or maybe green. Noah blinked, his mind unable to settle on which was right. Everything felt hazy now, as though a fog had seeped into his thoughts. His limbs grew heavier, his breaths slower. His body screamed at him to resist, but his mind felt like it was sinking into quicksand.
“No…” he whispered, his voice faint, barely audible. He clenched his fists, trying to anchor himself to the moment, but the numbness crept deeper. His eyelids drooped, his body swaying as exhaustion wrapped around him like chains. “I won’t…”
But the haze thickened, and his thoughts unravelled, slipping away like water through his fingers. Sleep—or something far darker—began to pull him under, forcing his defiance into silence.
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An untold number of cycles.
Noah awoke again, his body numb, unresponsive. He tried to move, to breathe, but there was nothing—no sensation, no sound, no taste. Only sight remained, and with it, the unending vision of fire.
The burning building loomed before him, vivid and relentless. He watched himself within it, screaming in agony, his voice silent to his own ears. His younger self writhed in pain, the flames consuming everything.
Then, like clockwork, it began again. The cycle reset.
He found himself back in the yard, the grass cool beneath him. The fire was gone, but the dread lingered, heavy and suffocating. He raised his head weakly, his eyes locking onto the figure standing nearby.
It was her. His mother.
Or what was left of her.
Her face was fractured, blackened lines spreading outward from the cracks like veins of corruption. They pulsed faintly, oozing shadows that dripped down her skin before vanishing into the air. The mask she wore—the one pretending to be her—was breaking, but the sight didn’t bring him comfort. It made his stomach twist, his chest tighten with something that wasn’t quite fear but wasn’t far from it either.
Noah didn’t know how much more of this he could take.
“Ah, my dear boy,” she purred, her voice dripping with mock concern. Her laughter rang out, hollow and cruel, as she began to walk toward him. “Oh, my, it seems you’re beginning to break now.”
Her steps were deliberate, unhurried, as if savoring his torment. Her blackened eyes glittered with malice, the cracks in her face deepening with every word. Noah lay prone on the ground, his limbs heavy, his mind spiralling into the dark abyss of exhaustion and despair.
The fake mother crouched beside Noah, her smile twisting into something cruel. “Oh, sweet boy,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock tenderness. “Do you know what she’s dreaming about, lying in that endless sleep of hers? It’s not you.”
Noah’s chest tightened, his fists clenching against the ground.
“She’s free,” the demon whispered, leaning closer so her cold breath brushed his ear. “Free from you. Free from the pain you brought into her life. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t come back. Maybe she doesn’t want to.”
Her words hit like a dagger, twisting deeper with every syllable. The flames around them roared higher, the heat pressing against Noah’s skin, suffocating him. Her clawed hand rested on his shoulder, its grip cold and heavy, anchoring him to the burning nightmare.
“You’re the reason she’s gone,” she hissed, her blackened eyes boring into his. “And she’s not the only one, is she?”
Noah’s breath caught, his throat tightening.
“What about your father?” she continued, her smile widening into something monstrous. “You remember the way he looked at you, don’t you? The last time you saw him alive? He was a twisted monster burning alive. You watched him die, Noah. And you did nothing.”
The ground beneath him felt as if it might crack open, swallowing him whole. He wanted to scream, to argue, but the words wouldn’t come.
“And your sister?” the demon purred, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “She couldn’t stand to stay, could she? She left you, just like everyone else. Maybe she knew what you were—a walking curse, a storm that ruins everything it touches.” Her nails dug into his shoulder, the sharp pain barely registering over the suffocating weight of her words.
Noah’s jaw trembled as her voice softened, becoming deceptively gentle. “And then there’s that,” she said, tilting her head, her tone quiet but cutting.
His breath hitched, his mind screaming for her to stop.
“Oh, Noah,” she said, leaning in closer, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Do you really think you can keep hiding it? That part of yourself you bury so deep, afraid of what they’d think—of what he’d think?”
Noah’s chest tightened, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“You can’t even say it, can you?” she taunted, her smile sharpening like a blade. “You think he’d hate you if he knew. That’s why you’ll never tell him, why you’ll keep pretending to be someone you’re not. But it doesn’t matter. He’ll leave you, just like everyone else has. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Being left behind.”
The flames flickered, casting cruel shadows across her cracked face, the blackened lines spreading further as her smile grew impossibly wide.
“You’ve always been alone, haven’t you? And you always will be.”
The fake mother rose to her feet, her form beginning to distort, the cracks across her face widening. Blackened lines slithered down her neck and arms like spilled ink, merging with the flames that danced around them. Her once-soft features twisted, warping into something monstrous yet disturbingly familiar.
Her voice dropped lower, echoing with a hollow resonance that seemed to claw at Noah’s mind. “Do you see now, Noah?” she said, her body flickering like a broken image, a warped projection of every face he had ever known. “You don’t just lose people. You destroy them.”
As she spoke, her form shifted again. Her smile grew sharper, her teeth lengthening into jagged points. Her eyes flickered—blue, green, brown—cycling through colors he recognized but couldn’t place. Her hair grew longer, darker, then shorter, curling and straightening as if it couldn’t decide whose memory it wanted to steal.
Her figure flickered once more, and suddenly, she wasn’t his mother anymore.
She was his sister, her dark hair falling messily over her shoulders, her lips curling into a familiar sneer. “You let me go,” she said, her voice cold and detached. “You were so wrapped up in your own misery, you didn’t even notice I needed you.”
Noah’s heart twisted, his hands clawing at the dirt beneath him. “That’s not true,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
Her form shifted again, blurring and stretching until it solidified into someone else. His father now stood before him, his face gaunt and shadowed, his eyes filled with disappointment. “I died because of you,” the figure spat, stepping closer. “I gave everything to protect you, and for what? Look at you—weak, broken, unworthy of the life I sacrificed for.”
Noah recoiled, his breath hitching as tears burned in his eyes.
The figure loomed over him, its form shifting once more. Now it was someone else, someone he knew too well but had never dared to look at this way. His best friend.
The demon smiled cruelly through the new face, the features achingly familiar yet warped with malice. “You think I don’t know?” it said, the voice dripping with mockery. “The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching? The way you wish you could tell me but never will, because you’re too much of a coward?”
Noah’s chest tightened, the air leaving his lungs in a shaky gasp.
“You don’t belong anywhere, Noah,” the figure sneered, leaning down to meet his eyes. “Not with your family. Not with your friends. Not even with him.”
The blackened cracks now spread across its entire form, the shadows writhing like living things, consuming every trace of humanity left in the face he once trusted.
“You’ll always be alone,” the demon said, its voice now a thousand voices, layered and discordant. “Because deep down, you believe you deserve it.”
The demon stepped back, its form twisting and breaking apart like smoke caught in a gale. For a moment, it seemed to dissolve entirely, only for its shape to solidify into something new—something worse.
Noah’s breath caught in his throat as he saw himself—a younger version of himself. A child no older than six, standing there with wide, innocent eyes and a shy, uncertain smile. The sight was like a punch to the gut.
The child tilted its head, its small hands clasped behind its back. “Why didn’t you save us?” the boy asked, his voice soft and trembling, yet laced with accusation. His eyes, so much like Noah’s own, shimmered with unshed tears.
Noah’s heart twisted painfully. “I—I couldn’t,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You could have tried harder,” the child said, its voice hardening as its form began to flicker. “You let Dad die. You let her leave. And you couldn’t even tell the truth about who you are.”
The words struck like daggers, each one cutting deeper than the last. Noah stumbled back, his hands trembling. “That’s not… that’s not fair,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Isn’t it?” the boy said, his face beginning to fracture, cracks spiderwebbing across his small features. Blackened veins crawled down his neck and arms, his eyes hollowing into twin abysses. “You’ve always known the truth, Noah. You’re weak. You’re a coward. And you’ll always be alone.”
The child’s form crumbled into smoke, twisting violently before reforming into the likeness of his mother once more. Her cracked, hollowed face smiled sweetly at him, her eyes glowing faintly.
“Come now, Noah,” she said, her voice deceptively gentle. “It’s almost over. Just let go. Stop fighting, and it’ll all go away.”
Her hand reached out toward him, the flames around her dimming to an eerie glow. Noah stared at it, trembling, his mind a storm of fear, and pain.
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Luma emerged from the dungeon trial doorway, her tiny wings buzzing as she floated into the open air. The chill of the night greeted her immediately, sharp and biting, causing her to shiver despite her natural resilience. She paused mid-flight, casting a quick spell for warmth—a soft, golden aura flickered around her, pushing back the icy grip of the evening.
Her gaze shifted upward, and her breath caught. There it was—the World Tree of this realm. It stood smaller than any she had ever seen before, its branches sparse, its trunk slim and youthful. The tree pulsed faintly with life, its magic raw and untamed, yet undeniably potent. Luma had heard stories of young World Trees, but she had never seen one in person.
“Still growing…” she murmured, her voice tinged with awe.
But something about the atmosphere pulled her focus back. The air was heavy, carrying an unnatural stillness, and the stars above glimmered like distant, watchful eyes. Luma shook off the creeping unease and hovered higher, readying her next spell.
“Bonds of Soul,” she whispered, extending her hands as her glow dimmed slightly. A gentle hum surrounded her, and then, like threads unravelling from an unseen loom, glowing strings appeared, each one leading in a different direction.
These were Noah’s bonds—the connections he held dear, woven into the fabric of his soul. Luma’s eyes flicked over them, taking in their colours and strengths.
The first bond was bright and warm, stretching toward a wooden cabin not far from her position. Its light had a sisterly quality, radiating familiarity and affection. Luma smiled faintly at this one.
Two others followed, not as radiant but steady. They pulsed faintly, their energies intertwined with Noah’s in a way that suggested friendship—or perhaps something deeper, though the threads didn’t reveal more.
Her gaze moved to another thread, this one glowing greenish and descending toward the young World Tree. It thrummed with an energy that was unlike the others, rooted in the earth’s magic, as if the tree itself had tied its fate to Noah’s in some way.
But it was the next bond that gave Luma pause. A pale, silvery thread stretched upward into the sky, disappearing far into the unknown. She squinted, her brow furrowing as she noticed a faint white tip at the end.
“A bond across worlds…” she whispered, her voice heavy with curiosity and concern. It was rare—almost unheard of—for a bond to transcend realms.
Finally, her eyes settled on the last string, and her heart sank. It was dim and golden, its light flickering weakly, like a dying ember clinging to life in a sea of shadows.
The thread quivered, trembling under an invisible weight that seemed to press against it from all sides. It stretched far into the distance, disappearing into a barren, lifeless expanse where the horizon blurred into darkness. The land beyond felt devoid of hope, a place where echoes of the past whispered but never answered.
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Luma hovered in place, her wings slowing as a deep unease settled in her chest. Her tiny hands clasped each other tightly, and her glow dimmed as she studied the fragile connection. “That one…” she murmured, her voice trembling.
The golden thread wasn’t just weak—it was burdened. It carried a sorrow so profound that it seemed to resonate in the air around it. Luma could feel it, a pulse of emotion radiating through the string: grief, longing, and an unrelenting sense of guilt.
Her thoughts turned to Noah. This bond—it was his connection to someone important, someone who had once been a cornerstone of his world. And yet, it was clear that the connection was frayed, worn thin by time and distance and something deeper, something darker.
She reached out hesitantly, her tiny fingers brushing against the thread. A ripple of warmth and pain surged through her, and for a moment, she felt as though she were standing in Noah’s shoes. Memories not her own flickered in her mind—his laughter as a child, the warmth of a hand holding his, and the cold, crushing emptiness that followed when that presence was gone.
“This is… his mother,” Luma whispered, her voice soft but weighted. Her wings faltered slightly as she steadied herself. “She’s still alive, but…”
Her gaze followed the thread’s path toward the barren land. The golden light flickered weakly, but it refused to snap. It was delicate, fragile, yet unyielding—a bond that persisted against all odds, as though the sheer force of Noah’s love and determination kept it from fading entirely.
But there was something else. The shadows around the thread weren’t just passive—they moved, curling and shifting like living things. Whatever lay at the other end of the connection wasn’t simply far away—it was trapped, ensnared by forces beyond Luma’s understanding.
She shivered, her tiny frame trembling as she hovered closer to the thread. “Noah,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “You’re holding on so tightly. But this bond… it’s hurting you, isn’t it?”
The golden thread seemed to pulse faintly as if responding to her words. Luma bit her lip, her mind racing. She couldn’t ignore the heaviness in the air, the sense that something—someone—was waiting, calling out from the other side.
“I have to follow it,” she said finally, determination hardening her voice. “If this is tied to Noah’s heart, then it’s my responsibility to see where it leads. To understand what’s holding her—and him—back.”
With one last glance at the dim, flickering thread, Luma braced herself and began to follow its path into the unknown, her glow intensifying as she ventured into the desolate expanse.
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Karan POV
Karan stared at the wall, her eyes glassy and distant, her lips moving in a constant, near-inaudible murmur. The faint glow of the system window flickered before her, pulsing like an unwanted heartbeat in the corner of her vision.
“Welcome, new user,” it chimed, its mechanical cheerfulness grating against her nerves. The message blinked for what felt like the millionth time, relentless and mocking.
Her fingers clenched into fists, her knuckles whitening as she leaned forward, the chair beneath her creaking under her weight. “I’m losing it,” she muttered, her voice hoarse and bitter. “That’s got to be the answer. I’m just losing my damn mind.”
The small, dimly lit room felt suffocating, the walls pressing in like a vice. The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of old coffee and unopened windows. She glanced at the screen again, its persistent glow the only light in the room.
Her husband had been gone for weeks now, supposedly on some important business in Brisbane. She couldn’t even recall the details of his excuse—not that she cared. His absence was a relief. She didn’t have to listen to his shallow pleasantries, his half-hearted attempts to feign interest in her life. She didn’t have to feel the weight of his presence, always there yet never truly with her.
Karan scoffed, her lips curling into a bitter grimace. The sharp sound of her own voice seemed to cut through the oppressive stillness of the room. “Useless,” she muttered under her breath, her words as sharp as the edge of a broken glass. She leaned back in her chair, the old leather groaning in protest. “Good riddance. Breathe all the Brisbane air you want. See if I care.”
Her voice echoed faintly in the room, bouncing off the peeling paint of the walls. For a fleeting moment, she almost felt guilty for saying it aloud, but the feeling passed as quickly as it had come. If anything, the thought of her absent husband being far away filled her with a sense of grim satisfaction.
“Welcome, new user. Please confirm the system interface.”
The merciless message appeared before her face again, hovering in the air like an uninvited guest. Its stark white-blue glow pulsated faintly, casting an eerie light across her dimly lit room. Karan’s eye twitched as she glared at it, her patience worn down to a fragile thread.
The blinking was relentless, like the rhythmic tapping of a dripping faucet in the dead of night. It wasn’t just irritating—it was mocking her, pushing her to the brink.
“Are you serious? AGAIN?!” she snapped, her voice echoing through the still room. Her fists clenched at her sides as she ground her teeth.
The window didn’t respond. It just blinked. Mockingly. Repeatedly.
Her frustration boiled over, a scream of raw annoyance tearing from her throat. “FINE! I’ll do it! I’ll accept the goddamn interface!” she shouted, her voice cracking with pent-up rage.
She raised her hand and slammed it into the floating window, expecting resistance, or maybe even shattering glass. Instead, her hand passed straight through it, as though plunging into a pool of cold, viscous water.
Karan froze, her breath hitching as the sensation crawled up her arm. It wasn’t like touching a screen or air—it was something else entirely. The feeling was alien, alive, like tiny threads of energy were wrapping around her fingers and pulling her in.
The window shuddered, its soft glow intensifying as it reacted to her touch. A low hum filled the room, vibrating in her bones, and the words on the screen shifted.
“Interface confirmed.”
The message dissolved into a cascade of shimmering light, scattering like tiny stars around her. The air seemed to ripple, growing heavier with a strange, electric charge.
The hum grew louder, deeper, resonating through the walls. Karan stumbled back, her arm pulling free from the dissolving window. She stared as the light coalesced into a new form, the edges sharp and angular, the symbols on the screen shifting faster than her eyes could follow.
“Loading system interface…” the window declared in an even, mechanical voice.
Karan’s breath came in shallow gasps, her heart pounding against her ribs. She stared at the screen, her anger momentarily forgotten, replaced by a mix of unease and morbid curiosity.
“What the hell did I just agree to?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the interface’s activation.
The glowing symbols began to shift and align, forming a pattern intricate and mesmerizing, like the delicate etchings of a machine far too perfect for human hands to craft. The lines shimmered with an ethereal light, pulsing faintly as though alive, each symbol resonating with a faint hum that grew louder in her ears.
Karan’s breath hitched as an oppressive weight pressed down on her chest. It wasn’t just fear—it was awe, the sudden realization that she had touched something immense and incomprehensible. Her vision blurred, the edges of the room seeming to dissolve into nothingness as the screen consumed her focus.
Then it hit.
A surge of raw, untamed energy exploded through her, racing from her fingertips to the farthest edges of her body. It was as though her nerves had been ignited, set ablaze with a current she couldn’t contain. Her muscles seized, her spine arching involuntarily as the force overwhelmed her.
The sensation wasn’t just physical; it clawed at her mind, her very essence, like a thousand voices screaming in unison. Fragments of images—unfamiliar places, impossible creatures, and blinding flashes of light—assaulted her thoughts, as though the interface was forcefully rewriting her perception of reality.
Karan’s legs buckled, and she fell backward, her body hitting the ground with a dull thud. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, leaving her gasping as she stared up at the hovering screen.
It hadn’t faded. The symbols continued to glow and shift, the patterns becoming more complex, weaving together like threads of an infinite tapestry. Each pulse of light sent ripples of power through the room, bending the air itself around her.
She tried to move, to push herself up, but her limbs felt leaden, her body still tingling from the energy that had flooded her moments ago.
“What… is this?” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her gaze remained locked on the screen, a mixture of dread and wonder in her wide eyes.
The humming sound began to change, deepening into something melodic, almost like a song just beyond comprehension. For a moment, it felt as though the symbols were watching her, sentient and aware, judging her.
“System interface synchronization in progress,” the mechanical voice intoned, devoid of emotion.
The screen flared brighter, casting the room in an otherworldly glow. Karan shielded her eyes, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of what was happening. She could feel it now—something stirring inside her, an unfamiliar force weaving itself into the core of her being.
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Carol’s body lay motionless on the hospital bed, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound in the sterile room. The heater had been turned up slightly to counter the winter chill outside, making the room feel almost cozy if not for the palpable sense of emptiness.
Yet, beyond her closed eyelids, Carol wandered through the endless corridor of her memories. She was stuck here—trapped in this vast, dreamlike place without any clue how long she’d been inside. A dull anger simmered beneath her confusion; she imagined her children—Noah and his sibling—living their lives without her, day after day, and the thought gnawed at her heart.
The hallway stretched infinitely in both directions, lined with doors of varying shapes and colors. Each door bore the same golden knob, and each one opened onto a piece of her past. Some revealed sweet recollections of lullabies and little hands clutching her fingers. Others cast her into more tumultuous scenes—arguments, regrets, and longing.
But the double doors at the very end demanded four distinct keys. She’d collected three so far, each one capturing a chapter of her life:
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* A light brown key, reminiscent of her childhood—quiet moments spent daydreaming beneath sunlit windows, books strewn around her feet. It reminded her of simpler days, before responsibility weighed her down.
* A broken silver-and-gold key, symbolizing her teen years, that rebellious spark. She could practically feel the late nights sneaking out, the edgy haircut she’d once loved, and the thrill of declaring her independence, if only for a moment.
* A patterned black-and-white key, found only recently—time in this place was meaningless, but it felt like both hours and years had passed. This key pulsed with the memory of marriage, of heartbreak, of learning to stand on her own two feet again.
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Now she stood at the threshold of a memory she didn’t recognise, keys clutched in her hand, but the last key was still missing. No matter how many doors she opened—happy or painful—she couldn’t find it.
“I’ve scoured every moment,” she grumbled, her voice echoing in the silent hall. A subtle frown tugged at her lips; even here, in her own mind, she couldn’t escape feeling cheated by life. “My kids need me,” she whispered harshly, anger flashing in her eyes. “I can’t stay here forever while they grow up without me.”
Her fingers curled around the small brown key, the one that made her recall bedtime stories and stubby crayons and the little feet pounding across the floor at dawn. A surge of guilt flared alongside her anger. They must be missing me… or worse, getting used to life without me.
She took a few steps, the sound of her footsteps lost in the corridor’s hush. The double doors loomed ahead, resolute and unyielding. Their golden knobs reflected her face in a soft, distorted shape—a reminder that she wasn’t truly living, not in the way she needed to. Her children’s laughter flickered through her mind like distant echoes.
Something stirred in her chest—a mix of bitterness and defiance. “I won’t let this place keep me away from them,” she murmured. The frustration in her voice simmered, driven by the realization that each passing moment might be another milestone in her children’s lives that she’d never get back.
She drew a shaky breath and looked at the keys in her hand. Three out of four. So close, yet so impossibly far.
“I’ll find it,” she declared, lifting her chin. Determination sparked in her eyes as she stepped toward the next door. Even if she had to open every single memory, no matter how painful, she would search until the last key was hers. Her kids’ future—and her own—depended on it.
Then, just as Carol was about to step into another memory she’d already visited, she paused. A faint, golden string had caught her eye—wrapped snugly around her hand, running straight toward the pair of double doors at the far end of the corridor. It pulsed softly, radiating warmth through her palm, almost like an encouraging nudge.
She frowned, heart pounding. Could this be linked to Noah? she wondered. Whatever was guiding her—whoever—she refused to stand still. The corridor’s silence pressed down on her, yet that glowing thread tugged her gently onward, urging her toward the looming doors.
She took a tentative step, and suddenly whispers filled the air—a tapestry of voices drifting through the countless doors behind her. At first, they were too muddled to make sense, but as she focused, one voice rang clearer: Noah.
“Mom… can you hear me?
…Is it okay if I bring Claire next time? She’s scared too…”
Carol’s eyes burned. He’s bringing Claire with him. Her daughter was younger, still in need of so much care and support. The thought of Noah trying to protect Claire in her absence felt like a knife twisting in her chest.
The whispers surged again, fragments of Noah’s daily monologues:
“Grandma’s helping us, but she’s old, Mom. I try to do my homework and help Claire with hers, just so Grandma isn’t overwhelmed.”
“Sometimes I read Claire a bedtime story—the ones you used to read to us. She pretends she doesn’t like them, but I think it makes her feel better.”
Carol clenched her jaw. Pain and pride warred within her, imagining Noah stepping into a protector’s role while Claire struggled with her own fears. The corridor around her seemed to ripple, reflecting her own turmoil.
Another wave of whispers came:
“Dad’s gone, and… now it’s just me. I’m doing my best for Claire, but sometimes I feel so alone.”
“Please, if you can hear me, just wake up, Mom. Claire and I… we need you.”
Tears welled in Carol’s eyes. She could practically see Noah, standing by her hospital bed—too young to carry such burdens. The golden thread around her hand pulsed again, as if urging her to move faster.
She did. Heart hammering, she sprinted down the corridor. The double doors at the end loomed, their golden knobs reflecting her anxious face. The thread guided her in a steady, glowing line, pulling her onward with every beat of her heart.
More voices—Noah’s voice—broke through:
“I don’t want to fail Claire, Mom. I—I don’t want to fail you either. It’s so hard, doing this without Dad, without you.”
“Please… if you can hear me, just wake up. Come back. Claire needs you. I need you.”
Carol’s chest tightened, each word drilling deeper into her soul. They shouldn’t have to be this strong, she thought bitterly. I should be there. They need me. The corridor closed in on her, the air thick with guilt and desperation.
At last, she reached the double doors. They stood tall and silent, their handles gleaming with an almost ominous light. Through the thin gap, she heard a final whisper—a breathless plea that sent shivers down her spine:
“Grandma says you might hear us if we talk to you. Claire and I… we just keep hoping. Please, Mom… don’t leave us alone.”
The golden thread quivered at those words, and Carol felt her heart clench painfully. She pressed a trembling hand against the door, tears threatening to spill. Noah… Claire… I’m trying. I won’t give up.
The doors resisted for a heartbeat, then gave way under her touch. A rush of air and light poured through the opening, the golden thread blazing brighter than before, tugging her into the unknown. Carol swallowed her fear and stepped forward, resolved to find the final key—and, by extension, a path back to her children and the life they deserved together.
As Carol reached the double doors, she tried to push them open, but they refused to budge. She stood there, panting, the chill air of the corridor brushing against her arms. A faint echo of voices drifted through the silence, drawing her attention. Her heart clenched when she heard Noah speaking again. The childish waver in his voice was gone—replaced by something deeper, more measured. She could almost see him standing there in the half-light, older than she remembered.
“Mom… Claire’s doing okay, I think. She pretends she doesn’t miss you as much as I do, but I know better.
She just started grade six last week. You’d be proud of her. She’s braver than I was at her age.”
A soft glow pulsed from the golden thread coiled around Carol’s hand, intensifying each time Noah’s voice drifted through the stillness. The corridor around her darkened, the overhead lights dimming as if responding to his words. Perhaps it was a reflection of his fading innocence—each syllable proof that he was growing up without her.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself forward. She pressed a trembling hand against the door again, but it still wouldn’t move. A jolt of frustration shot through her. How long had he struggled alone like this?
Noah’s voice filled the space again, clearer this time, as though he were standing right beside her:
“Grandma’s tired, Mom. She doesn’t say it, but I can see it in the way she dozes off in the afternoon and barely touches her dinner. I try to pick up the slack. You know, I got a cleaning job at Dad’s old workplace. Thought maybe I’d learn some medical stuff over time—but it’s tough juggling it all, especially with Claire. She’s drifting away from me. I… sometimes I wish Dad were here. Or you. I visit Dad’s grave every month to talk, but he’s… gone. You’re both gone, in your own ways.”
Carol’s breath stuttered, tears burning at the back of her eyes. He shouldn’t be carrying this weight, she thought bitterly. He’s still just a boy. Even so, she heard a stubborn resilience in his tone—he was trying to be strong for everyone’s sake. The knowledge simultaneously swelled her with pride and crushed her with guilt.
Suddenly, another voice cut through the air—lighter but brimming with pent-up anger. Claire. Carol’s stomach knotted the moment she recognized the defiance in that tone.
“Noah, stop hovering! You’re not my mother! You can’t act like you are, okay? Just leave me alone!”
“I’m not trying to be her,” Noah replied, his voice weary but firm. “I’m just… doing my best, Claire. Where are you going? Claire!”
A sharp ache slammed into Carol’s chest, and her knees almost gave out. Hearing her daughter lash out—hearing Noah’s desperate attempt to hold the family together—hurt more than any physical pain this dreamscape could inflict. She clutched the golden thread, tears dripping onto the corridor’s worn floor.
She longed to step between them, to scold them for fighting, or better yet, to hug them both and tell them it would be okay. But she couldn’t. She was stuck, locked behind these doors, locked in her own mind.
“You never talk about her anymore,” Claire’s voice crackled, the echo faint but laced with accusation.
“Because it hurts,” Noah shot back, frustration cracking his tone. “Every time I think about Mom, Dad… about Grandma—it just hurts, okay?”
A door slammed somewhere in the distance. Claire shouted something else—Carol couldn’t quite make out the words—but it sounded like anger, fear, and heartbreak all at once. The sudden silence that followed was almost worse than the shouting.
Carol sank to the ground, her trembling fingers locked around the flickering thread. “I’m here,” she whispered, voice raw. “I’m trying to come back. Please… wait for me.”
Darkness crept in, the corridor’s lights growing dimmer until only the thread’s glow remained—a fragile beacon in a sea of shadows. Noah’s voice emerged once more, deeper still, resonating with a quiet maturity that Carol both admired and mourned.
“I got an apprenticeship, Mom. It’s… it’s a big deal. Dorian—my friend—he’s letting me room with him. The place is a dump now, but we’ll fix it up. Make it ours, you know?”
He paused, a long silence stretching before he spoke again. “But I still haven’t heard from Claire. I went by her place last week—she’s gone, Mom. Didn’t leave a note, nothing. She’s old enough now to handle things on her own, I guess…”
Carol pressed a hand over her mouth, her tears falling unrestrained. She pictured Noah, older, taller, carrying burdens she never wanted him to face alone. And Claire—angry, hurting, vanishing into the world without a goodbye. A swirl of guilt, pride, and sorrow tore through Carol’s chest.
The voices faded, leaving only silence. And with that silence came the suffocating realization that time had marched on without her. She’d missed birthdays, arguments, holidays, confessions of loneliness—all while lying comatose in a hospital bed.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she fought the urge to collapse entirely. If she gave in now, if she let the despair swallow her, she’d never pass through the doors. She’d never reach that elusive final key that might unlock her return to them.
She staggered to her feet, every muscle shaking, the golden thread pulsing like a heartbeat in her palm. She knew, with painful clarity, that these lost years weren’t just moments she’d never get back—they were scars etched into her children’s lives.
The double doors stood before her, unmoving, as if challenging her to prove she deserved to pass. Her chest tightened. Noah’s voice still echoed in her mind, even in the hush:
“Please… don’t leave us, Mom…”
Carol pressed her forehead against the doors, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I won’t,” she whispered. “I refuse.”
She summoned whatever strength she had left and stood, her legs trembling beneath her. The golden thread pulsed faintly in her hand, urging her forward. Gritting her teeth, Carol stepped toward the towering double doors once more. She pressed her palms flat against their cool surface, ready to force them open with every ounce of willpower she could muster.
But just as she leaned into the effort, a soft voice echoed from behind her.
“If you can hear me…”
The words sent a chill up her spine. She froze, her head snapping toward the source of the voice. Floating a few feet away was a small ball of light, faint and flickering like a candle in the wind. Its glow illuminated the dim corridor, casting faint shadows on the walls.
Carol blinked, her heartbeat quickening. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice low and wary.
The light didn’t respond immediately, hovering closer as its glow brightened slightly. Then, the voice spoke again, calm but tinged with urgency.
“I’m not sure if you can hear me… so I’ll make this quick. Noah needs you right now. He’s trapped in a memory—tortured by it—and he can’t escape on his own.”
The words hit Carol like a punch to the chest, her breath catching in her throat. Her heart clenched painfully, the golden thread in her hand vibrating as if in agreement.
“Noah?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “What do you mean? What’s happening to him?”
The light shimmered faintly, its tone softening.
“He’s fighting, but he’s fading. The memory is relentless, but something is holding inside the memory, if it not able to get out of the memory…he may die”
For a moment, the world seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Her knees buckled slightly, but she caught herself, planting her feet firmly on the ground. A cold, seething rage began to simmer in her chest—not the helpless kind she’d felt moments ago, but something sharper, more primal.
Someone was hurting her son.
Her hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms as her breathing steadied. This wasn’t fear she was feeling—it was something else entirely. A mother’s fury, white-hot and unyielding, at the thought of anyone or anything daring to harm her child.
“Who’s doing this?” she growled, her voice low and dangerous. The light seemed to waver for a moment under the intensity of her gaze.
“The trial,” it said simply. “It’s twisted… corrupted. But you can help him. You’re the only one who can.”
Carol’s blood ran cold, but not from fear. Her rage burned brighter, giving her strength as she straightened fully, her shoulders squared. She’d spent too long trapped here, too long watching her children struggle from afar. Whatever had Noah in its grasp, whatever dared to torment her boy, was about to face the full force of a mother’s wrath.
She stepped toward the light, her voice firm and unyielding. “How do I get to him? Tell me what I need to do.”
The light flickered, hesitating as if weighing her resolve. Finally, it pulsed brighter, the golden thread in her hand glowing in response.
“Follow the thread,” it said simply. “It will take you to him. But be warned, Carol—the trial won’t let him go easily. It will fight you. It will fight him. You’ll need to be stronger than you’ve ever been before, as I said before I not sure if your able t hear me, so follow the thread it will lead you to him”
Carol didn’t hesitate. She gripped the golden thread tightly, her resolve unshakable. “I don’t care what it takes,” she said, her voice steady and cold. “I’ll tear this place apart if I have to. No one hurts my children.”
With those final words, the light began to fade, its presence dissolving into the air around her. Carol watched it vanish, her heart pounding as the golden thread pulsed once more, leading her back toward the double doors.
Her fingers tightened around the thread as she turned to face the towering barrier. She didn’t need to force it this time. The doors groaned softly, swinging open as though recognizing her resolve. A brilliant light spilled through the gap, illuminating the dark corridor behind her.
With one final breath, Carol stepped forward, her anger burning like a flame in her chest. She didn’t know what awaited her on the other side, but she knew one thing for certain
Whatever was doing this to her son, wouldn’t live to see another day.