Erebus lived an ordinary life—too ordinary.
He woke up in the morning, went to work, returned in the evening, met his girlfriend, then slept.
Days repeated themselves, indistinguishable except for the number of hours they carried.
He left his apartment early that morning.
The city had not fully awakened yet, or perhaps it was waking slowly, as if reluctant to begin.
A white pigeon landed on the sidewalk.
It stood there, still, without fear or hesitation.
Erebus passed by without stopping.
He did not look at it.
He did not think about it.
Something ordinary.
Meaningless.
That evening, he walked beside Nixi after dinner.
She spoke about her day—small details that required no response.
Her voice filled the space between them while he remained silent, present only in body.
They reached the end of a narrow alley.
At its far end lay a wounded cat.
Its body was twisted unnaturally against the cold ground.
Its breathing was weak, uneven.
Footsteps passed nearby, distant sounds echoed, shadows moved along the walls—
yet no one stopped.
Time seemed to slow.
Erebus stood still.
He did not step forward.
He did not step back.
He simply stood there, staring.
The cat lifted its head with effort.
It looked at him.
Not pleading.
Not angry.
Just silently aware.
Nixi turned toward him.
She waited.
Her expression shifted slightly, but she did not ask.
After a long silence, he said quietly,
"Let's go."
They walked away.
That night, Erebus lay on his bed.
Sleep did not come easily.
There were no clear thoughts, no specific memories—
only a vague heaviness in his chest.
And when he finally drifted off,
he did not dream.