I closed my eyes and fell asleep. No shadows. No whispers. No endless void. No vengeful stare from the little girl. Just silence.

  When I opened my eyes again, something felt… different. My head was clear.

  "Woah... I didn't dream of anything. So everything till now was just a dream? It won't turn into reality?"

  While I was enjoying my peace—

  Smack!

  A sharp sting slapped across my face. "Ouch! Why did you hit me for, Iz?"

  "You're so noisy, you woke me up," Iz grumbled, eyes still half-shut, her morning temper flaring like a boss monster at low HP.

  "Oh, sorry." I backed down immediately. Iz flopped back onto her pillow, too tired to care. I glanced at the clock beside her bed.

  [4:44 a.m.]

  Four. Four. Four.

  A chill ran down my spine. "Ouish... So many number fours. That's bad luck," I muttered. I forced a soft chuckle. "But it’s just a coincidence… right?"

  The air felt colder. Silence deepened. A chill crept up my spine. I buried myself under the blanket and counted sheep like a level-one trying to regenerate HP in a danger zone. It didn’t feel like rest. It felt like waiting.

  Minutes passed. The unease faded. I peeked again.

  [5:00 a.m.]

  Sigh... I survived the curse of 4:44.

  I relaxed and lay still, but sleep wouldn't come. I rolled around, glancing at Iz. Her face twitched; her brows were furrowed in discomfort.

  Nightmare?

  Fear + Morning Iz = danger zone.

  I bolted to the toilet like a rookie mage running from an aggro mob. When I returned, I dropped back on the bed, and fell asleep instantly.

  [9:30 a.m.]

  Knock. Knock.

  Someone was at the door. I stirred, half-conscious. Iz was still asleep, a log in the winter chill.

  "Young lady," called a gentle voice. I rolled out of bed and cracked open the door.

  "Hello," I greeted, brushing off my bed hair.

  "Hello, Miss Llyne. How was your sleep?" Anne, one of the senior maids, stood there, always punctual, always polite.

  "It was great. Thank you."

  "I'll wake the young lady—"

  "No need. I'll do it."

  Anne nodded gracefully. "Then, when you're both ready, please come down. Breakfast is prepared."

  I returned inside and looked at the sleeping beast.

  "Iz…"

  Nothing.

  "Wake up…"

  Still nothing.

  Time for Plan B. I smirked.

  The kind people earn right before regretting their life choices but doing it anyway. YOLO.

  I leaned close and whispered in my best imitation of Miss Selene, our last year's geography teacher: "If you don't wake up now, you will get a B."

  Iz's eyes shot open. "Don't give me a B, Miss Selene!" she yelped, springing up. She blinked. "Where’s Miss Selene?"

  Works like a charm. I bit my lips to withhold my laughter, poking her arm to annoy her further. A personal preference of mine. "Still dreaming? Go prep. Breakfast is ready."

  She rubbed her eyes, still half-asleep. "Where's Anne?"

  "I told her I'd wake you. Who knew it'd be a boss battle?" I raised both my arms up with flair.

  Iz glared. I grinned, enjoying the chaos.

  We went downstairs, and that's when I saw him: Mr. Jong. Iz's father. The man behind the empire. He sat at the dining table, reading the paper. He looked gentler than his photos. More human.

  "Hello, Mr. Jong," I greeted.

  He looked up and smiled warmly. "You must be Llyne. Isabella talks about you a lot."

  "Daddy!" Iz hissed, placing a finger to her lips.

  He only chuckled. But before we could settle in, the head butler leaned in and whispered something to him. Mr. Jong nodded and stood up. "It seems I must be going. Please enjoy the meal and your stay, Llyne. Sorry I couldn't linger. And thank you... for being my little pony's best friend." He kissed Iz's head and left.

  "Little pony?" I turned to her.

  "Don't your Ma have a nickname for you?"

  "Ya. Lazy bum. And I call her 'Demon Queen'… P.S., only in my mind, obviously."

  Iz giggled.

  We quickly finished eating and headed back up.

  We were back in Iz's room and I was lying on the bed as if it belonged to me. "Hey, Iz. I was thinking maybe I should go home early."

  Iz froze, shocked. "Why? I thought you were going to stay?"

  "I haven't told my mom about the dreams. I kind of feel like I should. Or else… I'll regret it." I slowly moved back, bracing for a tantrum.

  To my surprise, she didn't. She just turned her face away, pouting. "Fine, you selfish, immature, good-for-nothing, little insolent brat."

  “That’s… not as bad as I thought,” I muttered, relaxing a little.

  "Come on. Don't be like that." I softened my tone. "I know I can be selfish sometimes, but I wouldn't want to intrude on your precious weekend. Besides, we can see each other next week."

  “I doubt I'll see you next week,” she said, turning her face to the wall.

  My breath hitched. The joke I wanted to make stuck in my throat. Not from fear, but from how truthful it smelled. I can sort of smell lies. When someone lies, there’s a faint sourness to their words, a bitter edge that lingers. Iz lies all the time. I knew that and still chose to be her best friend. Not because I was stupid… well, maybe a little. But there was always worry beneath her lies.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  This time, I didn’t smell it. I felt it.

  When she said we might not see each other next week, a sensation of cold bit into my bones.

  This was the most honest thing she had ever said to me.

  My eyes met hers. Her eyes were lowered, as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t.

  My heart tightened. Ah... I see it now.

  Putting up my jester show, I frowned. "Why? Are you transferring school?"

  "No. Just a feeling I got."

  "You got your grandma's ting ting?"

  Iz nodded slowly. “Maybe.”

  I laughed, but the sound came out thinner than I meant it to. “Well, you've got to let your baby fly free.”

  "That was a trap, wasn't it, Lil?"

  "Didn't catch you, didn't it?"

  "Yup. Grandma's ting ting was working well."

  "I wonder if you'll lend me her ting ting during exams." I winked at her.

  "Keep dreaming. At least stay till lunch," she insisted.

  Dreaming? Hell no.

  "Lunch? Sure! Who can refuse food?" I laughed.

  We studied. We played. And when lunch ended, I packed my things.

  Downstairs, the head butler and maid were whispering something. I couldn't hear it but it didn't feel good. They stopped their conversation as soon as they saw us. Correction. Me. They turned towards us. For a split second, something sharp flickered across their faces. Not anger. Not hatred. Assessment. Then it vanished, replaced by practiced smiles.

  Huh? What was that?

  They bowed. "Young lady and Miss Llyne going out, I presume?"

  "I'm going back home," I said.

  He held out his hand. "Let me call the chauffeur."

  "Thank you." I reluctantly gave the butler my school bag.

  He won't put a time bomb inside, would he?

  I took a peek at the butler. He was still as usual, smiling, polite. I shook my head. No, Llyne. Stop thinking nonsense.

  We waited outside the gates.

  "Iz, can I ask you a serious question?"

  "Oh, the sky must be falling."

  “If I were to die…”

  The words slipped out before I could stop them.

  "Would you miss me?"

  Iz sighed and rested a hand on my shoulder.

  "You know I don't joke around, right?" she said quietly.

  "As if you could. You're as dry as a desert, and I know your grandma would agree."

  Iz bit her lip, eyes twitching.

  "Anyways, Lil. My grandma's ting ting is telling me that you are one hard nut to crack, so don't worry. I think you're going to be the last person on Earth to die."

  I stared at her, my throat tightening. Then I laughed, because standing still felt dangerous.

  "You… You… Oh… I’m so touched."

  Iz stared at me for a long moment, her lips pressed tight.

  “You don’t trust me, do you?” she asked quietly.

  Oh boy… What should I say? I'll be dead before reaching home.

  The limo arrived. I hugged her. She glared.

  That's one hell of a perfect timing, Mr. Chauffeur.

  I waved as the car pulled away. In my mind, I could only think of one thing: Thank you, Iz.

  Not knowing...

  That would be the last time I'd ever see her again.

  I stepped into my house. "Ma! I'm home. Miss me?"

  "You're back? Why didn't you call?" Ma walked out from the living room.

  "I just decided."

  "Poor little Isa. She must be a saint to tolerate this little devil."

  "Ma, if I'm a little devil, then what are you?"

  "Say some more, and no food for you."

  I smirked and headed to my room.

  Shower. Diary. Breathe.

  Dinner time, I helped Ma set the table. We talked. Laughed. Ate.

  Then I asked. "Ma, can I talk to you about something later?"

  "Of course. I'll be waiting in the living room."

  I joined her after the dishes. She looked distant. Uneasy.

  "It's about your dream, isn't it?" she asked.

  I recoiled. "How could you know, Ma?"

  "I heard you screaming in pain yesterday morning… I didn't say anything, but I knew." She reached out, gently stroking my cheek. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me, sweetheart."

  I nodded, and we hugged. I told her everything. The dreams. The woman. The scythe. The girl. The death.

  Ma's face… drained of all color.

  "Ma? You alright?"

  She held my hands, trembling. "My baby. There's something your dad and I never told you. Something about our past."

  Past.

  The word echoed louder than it had any right to.

  I thought of the dreams. The scythe. The girl’s stare. The way death felt less like an intruder and more like a patient observer. I had always believed those things were chasing me.

  What if they weren’t? What if they never had been? What if they were following a trail that existed long before I was born?

  “We were in something dangerous,” Ma said softly. “We made enemies. We left it all behind so you and your sister could live normal lives. No blood. No regrets.”

  Her shaking hands told a different story.

  “But…” Her grip tightened. A tear gathered, stubborn and bright. “I can’t tell you everything now.”

  Something inside my chest twisted.

  A dozen questions surged to my tongue. Who? Why? Is it over? Is it coming back?

  But the memories of those dreams rose instead. The paralysis. The waiting. The certainty that no matter how much I struggled, the ending had already been written.

  If I asked… would I still be able to sleep tonight?

  The dreams answered for me.

  In them, I never fought back. I only waited. For the blade. For the girl’s stare. For the end to arrive like it was late for an appointment.

  “Promise me,” Ma said, squeezing my hands like she was afraid I’d slip through her fingers. “Stay true to yourself, no matter what happens.”

  Stay true.

  Did that mean running? Forgetting? Pretending none of this existed? Or did it mean remembering how helpless I felt in those dreams and refusing to let that be the only version of me that mattered?

  My chest tightened. I didn’t understand everything. I didn’t know what was coming. But I knew one thing.

  I was tired of waiting.

  “I will, Ma.”

  This time, my voice didn’t shake. I wasn’t saying it because I understood. I was saying it because I didn’t want to face whatever was coming the same way I faced death in my dreams.

  She smiled and kissed my forehead. "Let's head to bed. Goodnight, sweetheart."

  "Goodnight, Ma." I nodded and walked upstairs.

  When Llyne’s footsteps faded into the upper floor, Ma remained.

  [Ma's POV]

  I stood in the center of the living room, perfectly still.

  I did not look away as Llyne climbed the stairs. Each step creaked like a confession, one I pretended not to hear. I waited until her presence thinned into nothing, until the house itself confirmed I was alone with what I had buried. Only then did I move.

  I walked toward the console table.

  It was old. Older than the house. More artifact than furniture, as if it had been unearthed rather than bought. The wood had thinned with age, its surface dulled and splintered, veins of cracks spidering beneath faded polish. One careless knock could have sent it collapsing into dust and regret alike. It did not belong here, among clean lines and quiet efficiency. Yet I kept it. Half-hidden in the corner, abandoned to time but never discarded.

  I stopped in front of it.

  My hand hovered above the surface. For a moment, I wondered if it would flinch. When I finally touched it, my fingers were light, reverent. I traced the grain, then slid my hand to the back, where shallow grooves had been worn by years of secret handling. From that hidden seam, I carefully drew something out.

  A photograph.

  Two people stood frozen in its frame, both clad in pristine uniforms, sharp and immaculate. A dove sigil was stitched proudly onto their chests, its wings spread wide in a symbol meant to promise peace. The badge catching the light even now, defiant against age. Medals and ribbons lined the fabric, layered symbols of duty, loyalty, sacrifice. They gleamed faintly, as if refusing to dim no matter how much time tried to erode them.

  One of them was me.

  I was younger there. Unburdened. Smiling with a softness I no longer possessed. My eyes held no calculation, no restraint, only open, radiant pride. I stood straight, shoulders squared, as if the world had once made sense.

  Beside me stood another figure.

  Or what should have been one.

  Time had smudged the image, or maybe my hands had done it. Whoever it was had mattered deeply. That much was undeniable. Our shoulders nearly touched. Our postures mirrored each other. This was not an acquaintance.

  This was someone I had loved.

  My thumb brushed over the blurred features, slow and careful, as if the image might crumble beneath the pressure. A smile touched my lips.

  It was not happiness.

  It was anxiety. Resignation. The brittle acceptance that forms when hope has long since died but memory refuses to follow. I lifted the photograph and pressed a gentle kiss to its surface.

  My lips moved.

  The words never left me.

  A tear formed at the corner of my eye, clinging there, trembling, stubborn as if it still had something to say. I squeezed my eyes shut. The tear surrendered.

  It slid down my cheek, traced the line of my jaw, gathered at my chin, and fell.

  Plop.

  The sound landed harder than it should have, sharp in the suffocating silence of the room. I inhaled deeply, the breath uneven, my lungs tight as though grief had taken up residence inside them. I gave the photograph one last look, committing it to memory.

  Tonight, I thought, my fingers tightening around the lighter. My side of the deal shall be fulfilled.

  Then I picked up the lighter I had hidden nearby.

  The flame bloomed with a soft click, sudden and merciless. I did not hesitate. I dropped the lit photograph into the dust bin. The edges curled inward instantly, blackening, the dove sigil warping as fire gnawed through pride and promise alike. The uniforms vanished first. Then the smiles. Then the unrecognizable face, until the image fractured into glowing embers.

  I watched.

  I did not look away as the fire reduced memory to ash.

  When nothing remained but gray fragments and smoke, I turned and walked upstairs. My footsteps were steady. Controlled.

  I never looked back.

  [Llyne's POV]

  I lay in bed, the warmth of Ma's touch still lingering. Yet something about the night gnawed at me. Like static before a storm.

  If this were my final sleep… I hoped it’d be peaceful.

  Not because I was ready to die. But because I was tired of feeling like something else had already decided when I would.

  Peace, however, was never meant to last. Especially not for someone who had finally stopped waiting for the end to arrive.

  A quieter chapter before the storm. Llyne’s “last normal day” marks a turning point — from here, the threads planted in earlier chapters start coming together.

  Expect the tone to darken and the stakes to rise from this point onward.