Mike awoke with a sudden start. The pale light of dawn struggled through the cracked blinds, casting long, uncertain shadows across his small room. His breath came uneven, his heart pounding faintly in the quiet. For a moment, he couldn't remember why he was so restless — only that something felt… wrong.
His hand twitched on the blanket beside him, and he reached out almost without thinking. His fingers closed around the cold, heavy coin he had found the night before. It felt heavier now, as if it bore the weight of unseen worlds. He brought it closer to his face, studying its worn surface in the soft morning light.
The strange symbols engraved on the coin were still faint, blurred by time and dirt. But beneath that haze, Mike thought he could see a subtle movement — like shadows shifting beneath the metal's surface. His skin prickled, but he brushed the feeling off.
Just tired, he told himself. Just my imagination.
Still, the coin pulsed faintly against his palm — not with heat, but a coldness that seemed to crawl beneath his skin. And then, almost imperceptibly, a whisper rose at the edges of his hearing.
It was so soft that Mike might have missed it entirely if he hadn't been listening for it.
Whisper...
The sound wasn't a word, not yet — more like a breath, a sigh, a secret carried on a forgotten wind. It felt urgent and patient all at once, like the coin was waiting for something only Mike could give.
He swallowed hard and set the coin down on his desk, staring at it with wide eyes. The whisper faded as quickly as it had come, leaving only the silence of his room.
Mike tried to tell himself it was a trick of his mind, the aftereffects of long hours working late and the dull ache of stress. But as the day went on, the whispers didn't leave.
At school, Mike found it impossible to focus. The coin sat folded inside his jacket pocket, but it felt alive — almost pulsating with energy. He caught himself zoning out during class, distracted by the faint echo of that voice in his head.
The hallways felt colder than usual, even as the fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Whispers seemed to hide in the corners, brushing against the edges of his thoughts. Shadows seemed to move just beyond his sight — subtle, fleeting, but undeniable.
During lunch, Mike sat alone on the rooftop, the coin clutched tightly in his hand. He traced the worn symbols with his thumb, wondering where it had come from, who had dropped it, or worse — if it had been waiting for him all along.
A cold breeze stirred the loose strands of his hair and carried the faint scent of rain and rust. The whispers drifted back, more persistent now, like a thread weaving through his mind, tugging gently.
Open me.
Find the door.
Don't be afraid.
The voice was not cruel, but it was hungry — as if the coin itself was a creature with a thirst for something Mike couldn't yet understand.
That evening, the sky darkened with heavy clouds. Mike took the coin out again, walking the alleys near his apartment. The streets gleamed wet and empty, the city hushed under the weight of the coming storm.
He stopped beneath a flickering neon sign, the sharp smell of wet concrete filling his lungs. The coin grew heavier in his pocket, and the whispers pressed against his mind.
From the corner of his eye, a sudden movement caught his attention.
Across the street, beneath the flickering light of the closed café, something stirred. Mike froze.
A figure crouched low, shrouded in shadows that clung to it like a second skin. It moved with an unnatural grace, but its form was twisted — the skin stretched tight over sharp bones, eyes sunken and leaking a thick, black mist that writhed like smoke.
The creature's mouth opened, revealing a maw filled with jagged teeth, and it let out a low, inhuman growl.
Mike's breath caught in his throat. His legs trembled as the creature's gaze locked onto him, hollow and empty, filled with a terrible hunger.
For a moment, time slowed. The rain began to fall again, fat drops splashing around them in the empty street.
Mike wanted to run, to scream — but his feet felt glued to the ground. The coin pulsed against his thigh, and the whispers roared in his mind.
Fear not. Control the hunger.
Before the creature could lunge, a sharp whistle pierced the night.
From the shadows emerged a tall figure clad in a long, dark coat. Their movements were deliberate, measured — and their hands glowed faintly with swirling runes etched in silver light.
The hunter's eyes met Mike's for a brief moment. There was no fear there, only cold calculation and something else — a hint of warning.
With a swift gesture, the hunter unleashed a wave of light that cut through the air like a blade. The creature shrieked, stumbling backward as the runes flared and burned into its flesh.
Within seconds, the monster convulsed violently before collapsing into a pool of blackened ash.
Mike's legs finally freed, and he stumbled forward, heart racing wildly.
The hunter turned to him, voice low and urgent.
"You've been touched by one," they said. "That coin… it's not just a trinket. It's a key. And now, you have a choice."
Mike's eyes searched the hunter's face, desperate for answers.
"Choice?" he whispered.
"To join us," the hunter said, "or be purged before you become that." They gestured toward the smoldering remains of the demon. "We don't kill lightly, but we won't hesitate. The hunger is patient, and it will consume you if you're not ready."
Mike stood there, the rain washing over him, his world fracturing into something he never imagined.
The coin in his pocket pulsed once more, as if affirming the hunter's words.
He didn't know what lay ahead — only that nothing would ever be the same.