For the first time in years, Elias woke before dawn.
Not because of an alarm, nor a nightmare, nor the usual restlessness that sometimes visited him at night. He awoke because something—some faint vibration—passed through his bones like an echo seeking a place to rest.
He lay still, eyes open, staring at the dim ceiling. The room was quiet. Peaceful, even. Yet he had the distinct sensation that if he moved too quickly, he would disturb something sitting beside his bed… something that was not supposed to be there.
He inhaled slowly. The air felt colder than it should.
The book was on his desk—closed, untouched. Just as he had left it.
But Elias couldn't shake the feeling that he had heard it breathe.
He pushed the thought away and sat up, rubbing his face. Morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and hesitant, as though unsure whether it should enter the room. Elias stood, walked to the sink, and splashed his face with water.
The water felt… heavy.
Thicker than usual. As if it clung to his skin a second too long before dripping away.
He gripped the counter and shut his eyes, steadying himself.
*Get a hold of yourself. You're tired. That's all.*
He repeated the thought like a mantra.
But when he opened his eyes, his reflection in the mirror made him freeze.
It was perfectly normal—same eyes, same tired expression—except for one detail:
There was a faint smudge of dark ink on the side of his neck.
Elias touched it. It didn't smear. It didn't fade. It sat there… like a mark.
A memory flashed through him—brief, fragmented—like a dream he had slept through without knowing:
A soft glow.
A pattern of circles.
A whisper pressing against his thoughts.
He pulled his shirt collar aside, searching for more marks. There were none. Only that one, small enough to be dismissed as nothing… but meaningful enough to feel deliberate.
He washed it, scrubbed it—nothing happened.
The mark stayed.
He didn't know why that scared him more than anything before.
***
At work, the world felt misaligned again.
People's voices reached him softer than usual, like muffled sound traveling underwater. Footsteps behind him seemed a fraction too slow. When a colleague placed a hand on his shoulder, Elias jolted as if waking from a trance. He apologized quickly, claiming lack of sleep, but the truth was simpler:
He felt watched.
Not by people.
By something that lingered just outside the edges of his awareness.
During lunch, he sat alone under the same fig tree he always visited. The light filtered through the leaves in shifting patterns, drawing shapes on the ground. Elias stared at them absentmindedly… until he noticed something strange.
The patterns on the dirt were forming a shape.
A circular one.
A shape that resembled the symbol he had seen in the book.
He blinked.
The wind moved the branches, and the pattern dissolved instantly, nothing more than random shadows. But the moment left a weight in his mind, a subtle tug that felt almost like being called by name.
He stood abruptly, heart thudding in his chest.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't coincidence.
Something was bleeding through, leaking into his world in quiet, patient droplets.
***
By the time night arrived, Elias was exhausted.
He sat at his desk, staring at the closed book. Not touching it. Not daring to. The mark on his neck tingled faintly, almost like a reminder.
The silence was back—soft, but aware.
He tried to read another book, but the words blurred. His mind kept drifting toward the old one, as if drawn by a thread too thin to see yet too strong to resist.
Finally, he whispered into the stillness:
"Why me…?"
The air responded—not with sound, but with a tremor. A soft vibration that moved through the floorboards, crept up the legs of his chair, and settled into his spine.
Elias froze.
Then he felt it:
A presence… standing behind him.
Not touching him.
Not breathing.
Just… there.
Watching.
He turned slowly—terrified of what he might see.
Nothing.
Only the room, dim and silent.
But the presence did not fade.
It lingered, patient. Calm. Deeply familiar in a way that unsettled him.
A thought—not his own—rose inside him like a tide:
*You opened the door.*
Elias's pulse hammered in his ears. He shook his head violently.
"I didn't," he whispered. "I didn't open anything—"
The presence pressed closer, though still invisible.
*You were seen.*
The words were not spoken. They simply existed, placed gently into his mind like a hand resting on his thoughts.
His breath hitched. The room felt tighter, the air thicker, the shadows deeper.
He wanted to run.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to deny everything happening around him.
Yet beneath all of it—beneath the fear, beneath the chaos—
a part of him felt drawn toward that presence.
As if it filled a silence he never realized he'd been living with.
As if some dormant part of him had recognized the thing that watched him.
He swallowed hard.
"What do you want?"
The silence shifted, almost warming… almost reassuring.
*You will understand soon.*
And just like that—
the presence faded.
The air returned to normal.
The room loosened its grip.
The silence became ordinary again.
But Elias knew—knew with a certainty that pierced deeper than fear—
that something had begun following him.
And it would not leave.
Not now.
Not ever.