The room was dark.
Phileo stood frozen at the doorway, his eyes slowly adjusting. The air smelled wrong—metallic, heavy, like rust and sweat. His heart pounded so loud he thought it would give him away.
"Mom…?" he whispered.
Something shifted in the corner.
His breath caught.
She was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall. Her head hung low, hair covering her face. One arm was bent at an odd angle, hand resting in a dark stain on the tiles.
Relief hit him first.
"Oh my God…" Phileo rushed forward. "You're here. You're alive. I—I heard you calling me—"
She moved.
Slowly, her head lifted.
Phileo stopped.
Her eyes met his.
They weren't his mother's eyes anymore.
They were dull. Cloudy. Empty. The warmth he had known his whole life was gone, replaced by something hollow and wrong. Her mouth opened slightly, and a low sound came out—more breath than voice.
"Mom…" His voice broke completely. "It's me. Phileo. I'm here."
She stared at him like she was trying to remember what he was.
Phileo dropped to his knees in front of her, tears already spilling. "You woke me up this morning," he said, shaking. "You told me I was late. You told me to get up."
Her head twitched.
"Do you remember?" he pleaded. "You made eggs. You told me to eat before I leave. You always tell me that."
She suddenly jerked forward.
Phileo fell back in shock as she reached out, fingers snapping closed just inches from his leg. Her mouth opened wide, teeth stained dark.
A growl tore out of her throat.
"No—no, stop!" Phileo cried, scrambling backward. "Mom, please. It's me!"
She dragged herself forward, movements broken and wrong, her body fighting itself. Her eyes never left him.
Phileo pressed his back against the wall, sobbing.
"I'm your son," he said through tears. "I'm your son. You held me when I was scared. You told me everything would be okay."
She lunged again.
This time, Phileo saw it clearly.
There was nothing left.
Something inside him shattered.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
His hands shook as he grabbed the metal rod lying near the door—something fallen from a broken shelf. He held it like it weighed a thousand pounds.
She came at him one last time.
"Mom," he cried, screaming now. "I don't want to do this!"
She didn't stop.
Phileo closed his eyes.
The sound that followed was one he would carry forever.
When he opened them again, she was still.
Phileo dropped the rod and collapsed beside her, sobbing uncontrollably. He held her hand, cold and lifeless, rocking back and forth like a child.
"I woke up because of you," he whispered. "And now I don't know how to stay awake without you."
Outside, the world continued to fall apart.
Inside that small, broken room, Phileo lost the last piece of the life he knew.
And something else was born in its place.