The path home stretched out before Kaen like a cracked ribbon unwinding through forgotten fields and skeletal remnants of shuttered shops. The world seemed unchanged, but beneath it all, something stirred.
A low thrum vibrated beneath his breath—no sound, but a pressure, a presence pressing at the edges of his awareness. It had always been there, a quiet undercurrent, but now it pulsed louder, resonating with something ancient and unfeeling, vast beyond comprehension.
Yue had sensed it too—the subtle leakage, the faint ozone tang in the air, the whisper of something impossibly old clawing through reality's cracks. He hadn't understood her sudden panic, her urgent warnings about family and home—concepts that flickered like broken static in his mind. They were just containers, he thought, empty labels. Places where he existed, but never truly belonged.
Beside the cracked roadside, a dead crow lay twisted, its neck snapped at an unnatural angle—a smudge of dark on pale dirt. Kaen glanced at the bird, then at the shattered mirror leaning against a bent post. Its surface shimmered faintly, heatwaves dancing in the cool air—a scar etched into the fabric of existence.
The world was riddled with scars now.
He kept walking. The thrum inside deepened, like a dormant limb twitching to life. The constant pressure that shaped him—once baseline, now a taut drumskin—vibrated with a buried rhythm echoing the world's quiet upheaval.
Turning the final bend, the first houses of the town rose before him. Timeworn and silent, their windows stared like dark, empty eyes. There, at the edge of his property, the shadow waited.
It had no shape, only an absence—a darkness deeper than dusk. Taller than a man, wider than two. No limbs, no face. Only presence, heavy and still.
It did not block his path. It simply waited.
Kaen stopped. The resonance within him flared—a silent echo answering the shadow's call.
No fear. No surprise. Only cold observation.
This was new.
Usually, the watchers stayed distant, vague, abstract. This one was close. Like a dark omen deciding to show its true face—or lack thereof.
Their gaze met, though the shadow had no eyes. Still, he knew.
The air chilled, not from wind, but absence—as if the very space around the shadow was thinning and fading.
Then it moved.
Not walking or gliding—flowing, melting like ink bleeding into cloth, dissolving into the earth and sky and twilight all at once.
Gone.
The cold lifted. The thrum softened but remained. Still pressing.
Kaen stepped forward, pushing past where the shadow had stood, wading through overgrown weeds. The rusted gate groaned as he swung it open.
The house awaited—small, old, traditional. Dark inside.
Stale air. Unused.
Alone. As always.
In the kitchen, he took a chipped mug from the shelf and filled it with tap water. He drank—flat and uninviting.
Function, not refreshment.
The mug returned precisely to line with the others.
Kaen: a boy. Going to school. Living in a house. Filling a role.
Except for the pressure. The shadow. The rising wrongness.
His hand rested on his chest. He couldn't feel it—no pulse, no warmth—but he sensed the strain: a silent, immense tearing, not pain but a process, relentless and ongoing. Always there. Now louder.
The creature's whisper echoed again, crawling up his spine: The Broken Pillar.
He didn't understand it. Couldn't name it.
But the words vibrated inside him, a pulse of meaning and warning.
He moved without thought, changing into sleepwear. The fabric brushed over his skin—a familiar weight he barely registered.
Lying down on the futon, he felt coldness—not comfort, only compliance.
Darkness sharpened the thrum until it became the world itself. Pressure coiled tighter inside him. He imagined himself like fragile glass, edges stretched thin, ready to shatter.
No pain. No fear.
Just tension.
Sleep offered no escape. Only dimming. Lowered input. Internally, chaos screamed.
His breath evened, eyes shut.
Time bled away.
Then, a distortion.
A shimmer in the black.
A ripple of cosmic static. Wrongness made manifest.
Grey light crept in.
Dust motes danced like ghosts in its beams.
Kaen rose.
Nothing had changed.
But the thrum remained—softer under daylight but never gone.
He went through morning rituals: cold water on his face, teeth brushed in mechanical rhythm.
Energy input, no pleasure.
The hum pressed behind the veil—and now the veil was thinning.
His bag weighed the same. The clock blinked seven sharp.
Time for school.
He stepped out.
Cool air kissed damp earth. Concrete crumbled beneath tired feet.
The sky hung pale, hazy—a world forgetting how to breathe.
He closed the rusted gate behind him. The soft click rang louder than it should.
Step by step, deliberate.
Kaen.
A boy.
Going to school.
But The Broken Pillar—not just a phrase anymore.
An anchor.
A warning.
And the pressure inside him grew—not resisting now, but reaching.
Something inside was waking.