He hadn't slept in three days. The skin under his eyes had gone gray, the veins across his temples showing faintly like threads of ink. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the runes again, burning red, floating in the dark like coals. They were no longer on paper, they were carved inside his thoughts.
Kael sat at the desk, his hands trembling as he tried to write, but the words came out wrong. The quill jerked, dragging lines across the page that twisted into shapes not his own. The ink bled into symbols he didn't recognize, but his heart stuttered every time he saw them. His body did recognize them. They were written into him, somewhere beneath the skin.
The hum was back, faint at first, then louder, crawling through the back of his skull. He pressed his palms against his ears, but it was inside. Always inside. It pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, a slow, steady drum that filled the room.
"Kael."
The voice again. Softer this time, almost gentle. He froze. The sound carried warmth, like someone whispering close to his ear in the dark. His fingers twitched.
"Why do you fight me," it said. "We are the same."
He tried to stand, but the world tilted. His vision warped, colors stretching and bleeding together. The floor rippled like liquid, his shadow writhing in time with his breath. He stumbled to the mirror, tearing the cloth from it.
A dozen faces stared back. Each one was him, but not quite. Some smiled. Some wept. One had black eyes and a slit across the throat, leaking smoke. Another had symbols carved into its cheeks. Only one looked alive, and even that one's eyes were fading.
He gripped the mirror frame, nails scraping against the glass. "You're not real."
The reflection smiled. "You said that once before."
Then the glass rippled, and something moved behind it. Hands, too many to count, pressed against the surface from the other side. Long, gray, jointed fingers that flexed and stretched the reflection outward. His breath caught in his throat.
The voice filled the air again. "The cult made you a vessel. You never left me behind. You were my gate."
Kael stumbled backward, knocking over the chair. "No. They failed. I broke free."
A low, wet laugh echoed through the room, vibrating in his bones. "Free. You still draw from me when you cast. You still feel me in your veins. Where do you think your power sleeps when you close your eyes?"
The shadows began to move. They peeled away from the corners, slithering across the floor, coiling up the walls. The runes on his arms flared through the fabric of his shirt, glowing faintly with that same red light. His skin burned where the markings had been branded years ago. He fell to his knees, gripping his forearm, his vision swimming.
He could feel something inside him waking. Not a memory, but a pulse. It moved through his blood like fire, spreading from his chest to his fingertips. For a moment, he thought he saw faces forming in the smoke that drifted from his skin.
He clutched his head, trying to drown it out, but the whisper grew louder.
"Let me in again. You'll remember the song. You'll remember what you are."
Kael's mouth moved before he realized it. His lips shaped words he didn't understand. His voice came out layered, two tones speaking in unison. The lamp exploded, glass scattering across the floor. The smell of ozone filled the air.
He fell forward, gasping, his hand hitting the floorboards. Light seeped from between his fingers, white and red mixing like blood in milk. His heartbeat stuttered. The room felt smaller now, the walls closer, breathing with him.
For a second, he saw something in the corner. A shape that didn't belong. Tall, thin, its body like liquid shadow, its head tilted too far to one side. It didn't move, but the space around it bent, like the air refused to touch it.
Kael forced himself to look away. "You're not real," he said again, but his voice broke halfway.
The shape leaned forward. Its head brushed the ceiling. A dozen faint whispers spilled from where its mouth should be.
"You made me real."
His vision went white.
When he came to, the sun was rising. The floor was scorched black, his fingertips burned. The mirror was gone. In its place, only a faint outline on the wall, as if something had been ripped out of reality. His head pounded, his breath shallow.
He stumbled toward the door, unlatched it, and stepped into the hall. Students were walking by, laughing, carrying books, chatting about lessons. None of them noticed the faint soot marks trailing behind his feet.
Seret spotted him halfway down the corridor. She smiled when she saw him, but it faded quickly. His eyes were wrong. Too sharp. Too distant.
"Kael," she said softly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
He smiled back, thin and tired. "Something like that."
Behind his smile, the hum continued. It never stopped again.