The world around Aarav was… wrong.
He opened his eyes and found himself standing in what looked like his own bedroom. The same cracked wall, the old study table, the faint smell of dampness. For a second, he almost convinced himself that everything — the Abyss, the whispers, the reflection — had only been a nightmare.
But then, he noticed it.
The clock on the wall wasn't ticking.
The books on the table were blank.
And when Aarav looked at the window, instead of sunlight, he saw the void—stretching endlessly, swallowing everything in silence.
"Finally home?" a voice asked.
Aarav turned. His reflection sat casually on his bed, hands folded, smiling as if it belonged there all along. But the longer Aarav looked, the less it resembled him. Its eyes were darker, its smile sharper, and its skin seemed to ripple as though it were barely holding a shape.
"You're breaking," it whispered. "Piece by piece. Every step you take in the Abyss, every fear you face… it's not just testing you. It's consuming you."
Aarav clenched his fists.
"You're not real. Just another trick."
The reflection tilted its head.
"If I'm not real, then why do I know the things you've never told anyone?"
Aarav froze. The reflection's voice softened, mocking almost like a lullaby.
"Do you remember the rooftop? That moment you thought about jumping… just to silence the noise in your head? Or how you still blame yourself for her death?"
A sharp pain shot through Aarav's chest. His breathing grew shallow.
He hadn't told anyone. Not even once.
"How… how do you—"
The reflection leaned closer. Its face began to warp, flesh tearing like wet paper. The skin peeled back until it wasn't Aarav anymore. It was someone else.
It was her.
The woman from his memories. The one he had buried deep inside.
Her smile wasn't warm anymore—it was empty, stitched into her face like a wound that refused to close.
"You let me die," she hissed. "And now, the Abyss will let you remember… every single second."
The walls of the bedroom trembled, peeling away like rotting wallpaper. Behind them wasn't the real world. It was corridors of black stone, covered in symbols that glowed faintly like dying embers.
The floor split beneath Aarav's feet. From the cracks, hands clawed their way out—thin, pale, shaking. They reached for him, pulling, dragging. Each hand was familiar. Too familiar.
His classmates. His friends. His family. Faces twisted in agony. Their eyes, hollow, screamed without sound.
"Stop!" Aarav cried, thrashing, kicking, trying to pull free. "This isn't real! This isn't—"
The reflection stood above the chaos, smiling calmly.
"Reality doesn't matter here. Only guilt. Only the truth you hide."
The hands gripped tighter, pulling him toward the black pit opening beneath. Aarav's nails scraped against the floor, desperate for a hold.
But the reflection crouched and whispered in his ear one final time—
"You've already fallen. You just haven't admitted it yet."
And then, the floor collapsed.
Aarav plunged into the darkness, the screams of the dead echoing as the Abyss swallowed him whole.