Ryneth kept walking, or at least he thought he was. The world around him pulsed faintly — violet streaks rippling like breath across the vast, black expanse. Ahead, that strange ripple in the stillness drew his gaze, distorting the serene emptiness like a wound in water.
He slowed his steps. The distortion flickered, bending the light and the shifting auroras around it, never quite revealing its form. It wasn't a person, nor a shadow — more like something the world itself was trying to hide, or perhaps something it couldn't properly render into being. Every movement he made seemed to tug at it, as though his very presence was disturbing its fragile shape.
He squinted, trying to focus, but the harder he tried to look, the less it seemed to exist. The distortion shimmered violently, like glass struggling not to break, the edges of reality trembling in its wake. The air grew heavier, the hum surrounding him deepened, and his breath came out in shaky wisps of pale mist.
He could feel something inside the distortion — not a voice, not a being, but an awareness. Watching him. Studying him. It felt as though the entity was peering directly into the deepest parts of his mind, seeing through every fragile thought he tried to steady.
Ryneth's legs wavered. For a moment, he wanted to stop, to turn back, to run. But where would he go? There was no horizon here — only the same shifting expanse and that unbearable, silent moon above. He steadied himself.
As he took another step forward, the distortion pulsed once — and the sound that followed wasn't sound at all, but something that resonated within his skull. Like his own thoughts repeating back to him in a tone that wasn't quite his.
He froze. The distortion flickered again — closer this time. The air rippled outward, and the whole world seemed to hold its breath.
Ryneth froze in place, uncertain whether his body refused to move or his mind refused to command it. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven. The distortion ahead of him—once a formless ripple in the void—began to gather coherence, bending the faint auroras and fractured light around it as though drawing substance from the world itself.
It wasn't there, not truly, yet it persisted—an outline, a faint impression of a human figure stitched into the fabric of unreality. Its edges shimmered violently, like a mirage struggling against the horizon, never still, always shifting.
He stared, unblinking, his heart hammering soundlessly in his chest.
A human form… or something that wanted to be one.
The more he looked, the clearer it became—not because it was taking shape, but because his mind was forcing it to. The thought unsettled him. It was as if the void was mirroring his perception, feeding off the way he tried to understand it.
The silhouette twitched—an imperceptible jolt, but enough to send a cold rush through him. Its proportions were off, its stance unnatural, shoulders bent too sharply, limbs slightly longer than they should've been. It looked human, but only almost.
Ryneth's throat tightened. He wanted to speak, to ask who—or what—it was, but his voice was gone. The distortion pulsed faintly in response, and though it made no sound, he felt something vibrate inside his mind—like a distant echo.
The human-shaped distortion began to move.
Its steps were slow—hesitant, fragmented—but each one sent a tremor through the void. The light around it bent unnaturally, the auroras shivering like wounded silk. Every movement distorted the air, the world folding in on itself as if reality were trying to resist its presence.
Ryneth's control began to slip. His breath quickened, his heartbeat pulsing like thunder in his ears. The flickering figure advanced, and his body answered not with motion but with pain—violent, suffocating pain.
His muscles convulsed beneath his skin, twitching and contracting in rhythm with the distortion's every flicker. His arms jerked without command, his legs stiffened as if nailed to the unseen floor. It wasn't paralysis—it was rebellion. His own flesh refused to obey him.
The air grew heavy, filled with the pressure of a sound that wasn't sound at all—a piercing, endless ringing that drowned out thought. He clutched his head, but the noise only grew louder, drilling into his skull until crimson tears welled in his eyes.
They burned.
He blinked—and red lines ran down his cheeks, warm against his cold skin.
The distortion took another step. The void shuddered. His vision split apart, each image lagging behind the next like fractured reflections trying to align. The auroras pulsed faster, trembling violently, and with each pulse his body convulsed harder.
Ryneth tried to scream, but no sound came out. His throat tightened, his breath torn away by invisible hands.
And then, through the chaos, he saw it—past the pain, past the bleeding eyes and the trembling limbs.
The distortion's movement wasn't random. It mirrored him.
Every twitch, every flicker, every distorted step—it was him.
The truth struck through the haze like lightning: this wasn't a dream, nor death, nor divine punishment.
This was his mind—his thoughts, his will, his perception—all of it turned against him.
The distortion wasn't approaching. It was collapsing back into him.
And for the first time, Ryneth understood what kind of hell he was trapped in: one where the enemy wasn't something that could be escaped or defeated—
but himself.
The figure kept creeping closer.
Each step it took warped the air, bending the void around it as if reality itself recoiled from its touch. Ryneth could barely hold his ground. His breath came in ragged bursts, every inhalation sharp enough to draw blood from his lungs—or so it felt. The ringing in his ears surged until it drowned every coherent thought. His body trembled uncontrollably, muscles spasming in violent protest.
And then, when it was only a single step away, something shifted.
The pain didn't fade—it realigned. His pulse steadied, his breathing slowed, the spasms grew weaker. The chaos within his mind began to take form, like storm clouds condensing into rain. The same distortion that had once pulled his thoughts apart was now… pulling them back together.
His body, though trembling, began to respond once more. His knees wavered, but he forced himself to stand—if only barely. His voice, broken and hoarse, escaped in a whisper.
"...So this is what it feels like to fight yourself."
He took a step forward, facing the figure that mirrored him. Its edges flickered, unstable, yet almost human. The auroras pulsed faintly around them, as if watching.
The distortion raised its arm slowly—hesitant, deliberate—and extended what resembled a finger. It reached toward his forehead.
Ryneth didn't flinch. He was far beyond fear. His body screamed in agony, his vision blurred from the blood that still streaked his cheeks, but he didn't move. Every instinct begged him to pull away, to resist, yet he stood unmoving—accepting.
"Do it," he murmured, voice trembling. "If you're me… then finish it."
The figure's hand touched his skin.
Or at least, it seemed to.
There was no sensation. No warmth, no pressure, no pain—just stillness. The kind of stillness that comes right before dawn.
Then, the distortion began to shimmer.
The faint ripples of its form brightened into a soft luminescence—hues of deep violet and pale blue spilling through its translucent frame. Its body wavered, unraveling like smoke in reverse, as if the void was folding it back into itself.
Ryneth could only watch.
The light spread from its hand to its arm, its chest, its head—until the entire form glowed with an ethereal brilliance. And then, without sound, it disintegrated. The particles of blue and violet scattered into the void and flowed into him—through his skin, his breath, his mind.
The ringing faded. The trembling stopped.
All that was left was silence—and the faint pulse of a heartbeat. His heartbeat.
He fell to his knees, gasping.
"...It was never trying to destroy me," he whispered weakly. "It was… trying to return."
He looked down at his trembling hands, now steadying slowly, and a faint, exhausted smile flickered across his face.
"My mind… it's whole again."
The auroras above dimmed, the void began to fade, and the last thing Ryneth saw before the darkness claimed him again was the reflection of the moon—
no longer smiling,
but watching in silence.