Night pressed heavily against the Bureau dormitory, the ceiling lights flickering faintly. Ethan lay on his bed, his body rigid, yet sleep eluded him. His heart still raced, and the mournful music from the funeral lingered in his ears, as if ready to play again at any moment.
He tried to convince himself it was just a nightmare. Yet the burning mark of the covenant on his chest constantly reminded him: what had just happened might not have been mere illusion.
He closed his eyes—and darkness surged immediately.
When he opened them again, he was no longer in the dormitory.
Before him stood a dim, old house. The wooden floorboards creaked underfoot, and the air carried the familiar scent of herbs. It was his home.
Ethan's breath caught.
In the room, his mother sat at the table, her back hunched. In her hands was a photograph, trembling against her chest. Low sobs echoed through the room, piercing Ethan's heart like fine needles.
He stepped forward slowly and saw the figure in her hands—the photograph of himself. He smiled in that old picture, taken many years ago.
"Mom…" Ethan choked, whispering.
No response came.
He reached out to touch her shoulder, but his hand passed straight through. The icy sensation sent a shiver down his spine.
His mother's sobs grew louder. She caressed the photo while murmuring to herself:
"Why you… why did it have to be you? You were meant to have a longer path, a life of your own…"
Tears fell onto the table, soaking the wood grain.
Ethan's throat tightened as if gripped by iron bands. He wanted to explain that he was still alive, but no sound came. He knelt beside her, tears blurring his vision.
Suddenly, the lights flickered, and a shadow emerged in the corner of the room. It writhed like a living thing, gradually forming a hazy figure. The whispers returned.
—"She cannot see you."—"She will only remember your funeral."—"You are already dead."
Ethan shook his head violently, gritting his teeth: "Shut up!"
His mother seemed startled by the voice, lifting her head, yet her gaze did not meet his. In that moment, Ethan nearly broke down. Her eyes were hollow, staring into some void beyond.
"If only I could see you one more time…" she murmured.
Ethan's heart twisted. Summoning all his strength, he lunged forward, clutching his mother's shoulders tightly, even knowing he was just a shadow. Tears streamed from his eyes as his voice rasped:
"Mom, I'm right here! I haven't left!"
But the only response was her sobs, growing fainter.
The black shadow spread through the corners of the room, the whispers turning frenzied:
—"You cannot stop it."—"Her sorrow will consume you."—"You are destined to be alone."
Pain stabbed at Ethan's chest, the burning mark flaring like searing fire. He forced the whispers back, staring intently at his mother. Even for a single second, he wanted her to see him.
"Look up! Look at me!" he roared.
Suddenly, his mother's sobbing ceased. She slowly lifted her head. Through tear-blurred eyes, her gaze seemed to meet his. Ethan almost held his breath.
"…Ethan?" Her voice trembled.
His chest tightened, and tears spilled uncontrollably.
But the next moment, the house collapsed with a thunderous crash. The shadows surged, swallowing his mother's form entirely. Her fingers gradually dissolved into nothingness, and the last whisper echoed in his ears:
"Don't… forget me…"
Ethan awoke with a jolt, lying in his dorm bed. His body was drenched, hands gripping the sheets tightly. Outside, the night remained still, as if nothing had happened.
Yet the ache in his chest and the traces of tears reminded him: the scene had been more than an illusion.
His mother's cries still echoed in his ears, lingering relentlessly.