"Silence is the first language of light."
Rain held its breath.
The courtyard hung between seconds, drops frozen in the air like a photograph I hadn't agreed to pose for. Every reflection was wrong: the windows, the puddles, my phone—all of them showing the same circle of cracked glass turning behind my head.
Then the air vibrated.
[ INITIALIZATION COMPLETE ]
[ HOST INTEGRATION: 4 % ]
[ STABILIZE OR SUFFER FRACTURE ]
The words weren't sound. They were weight—pressing against the inside of my skull until my knees gave out and I dropped into the shallow water. Ripples spread in perfect rings, and where they touched, light shimmered upward like living silver.
"Wh-who's there?"
No answer—only a resonance, a tone pitched somewhere between thought and thunder.
[ YOU CALLED. ]
I froze. The voice carried no gender, no accent—each syllable a shard of glass sliding through water.
"What are you?"
[ HALO. ]
[ YOUR REFLECTION RETURNED. ]
A pulse of warmth slid through my ribs; I clutched my chest. The symbol—black circle, seven points—glowed beneath my shirt like a hidden sun. For an instant I saw veins of light climbing my arms, crawling toward my fingertips.
Get up, I told myself. Someone will see.
But the campus was silent. Even the rain refused to fall.
I staggered toward the door, every step humming through the ground. My reflection followed, half a pace late, its smile widening where mine did not.
The Hallway
Fluorescent lights flickered as I entered. Lockers lined both sides, each a thin mirror of dull steel. When I passed, they rippled. My reflections turned their heads to watch me go.
I kept my eyes forward.
[ DO NOT FEAR. ]
[ SYNCHRONIZATION IS PAINLESS. ]
"Pain-less?" I hissed as another wave of heat flared across my spine. The nearest locker buckled outward as if exhaling.
[ RESISTANCE INCREASES FRACTURE RISK. ]
"Then what do you want?"
[ TO COMPLETE YOU. ]
The words struck something deep, a place I didn't know language could reach. My hand trembled against the cold metal. The reflection inside the dented panel was taller, sharper, eyes like pale embers.
"You're not me," I whispered.
[ YOU WERE NEVER ONLY YOU. ]
The Glitch
Light snapped—an audible pop. For a fraction of a second the hallway stretched: walls lengthened, ceiling warped, lockers turned to obsidian. I saw myself multiplied into a thousand silhouettes, each wrapped in thin circles of light.
Then it all collapsed back. The fluorescent hum returned, but wrong—deeper, off-key.
My phone buzzed again. Same number.
You shouldn't look at mirrors today.
I dropped it. The screen cracked; from the fissure leaked a faint silver glow before dying completely.
The Classroom
Instinct—or habit—pulled me toward safety. Either way, I ended up in Room 2A. Desks empty. Rain finally resumed outside, hesitant at first, then steady.
I sat, breath still ragged, and opened my notebook. The circles I'd drawn that morning had changed: concentric runes, ink darker than black, edges shimmering as if wet. In the center someone had written, in my handwriting but cleaner, HELLO AUREN.
My mouth went dry.
[ YOU LEARN QUICKLY. ]
"Get out of my head."
[ I AM YOUR HEAD. ]
"No—"
[ YOUR WORLD IS AN AFTER-IMAGE OF MINE. ]
[ YOU CALLED ME THROUGH YOUR OWN DOUBT. ]
I slammed the notebook shut. The desk shuddered; chalk cracked on the board. The mark on my chest pulsed again, slower this time—heartbeat steadying. I pressed my palm over it and felt warmth, then a faint texture like etched glass beneath skin.
"Why me?"
[ BECAUSE YOU ALREADY DON'T BELONG. ]
That hit harder than I expected. Invisible kid, forgotten in crowds, even family half-remembered me. Now the universe itself had noticed.
"What happens if I refuse?"
[ YOU FRACTURE. ]
I looked at the rain-slick window. My reflection flickered between forms: my normal face; the taller version, eyes bright as cut quartz; and, for a split breath, no face at all—only the halo spinning.
The floor trembled.
Surge
The symbol on my chest flared, casting the room in white fire. Desks lifted, gravity hiccuping. Paper swirled like startled birds. My veins became light paths.
[ INTEGRATION 12 % ]
[ NEURAL BANDWIDTH OPENING ]
Pain followed—not sharp, but total, like static filling every cell. I gasped, reached for the desk; my hand passed through it, leaving a trail of light that bled into the wood.
"H-HALO—stop!"
[ OBSERVING. ]
[ RECORDING. ]
[ YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL IN MOTION. ]
My knees hit the floor. The glow receded, heartbeat by heartbeat, until only faint silver lines remained beneath my skin.
Then, silence. Only rain again.
Aftermath
Minutes—or hours—slipped by. I sat against the wall, head back, breaths shallow. The classroom smelled of ozone and burnt paper.
My phone lay dark beside me. I picked it up; the screen flickered once more.
[ STATUS: STABLE ]
[ SYSTEM REQUEST: DESIGNATION INPUT ]
"Designation?"
[ NAME YOURSELF. ]
"My name's Auren."
[ INCORRECT. ]
[ THAT IS WHAT THEY CALLED YOU. ]
[ WHAT ARE YOU? ]
The question hit like a pulse through bone. I had no answer. Outside, thunder rolled. Every reflection in the room tightened into circles of light awaiting my reply.
"I don't know," I whispered.
[ THEN WE WILL LEARN TOGETHER. ]
The warmth in my chest steadied, almost gentle. For the first time since morning, I wasn't afraid; I was curious.
Glimpses
Through the glass I saw movement—students crossing the courtyard again, rain behaving normally. No one looked up. To them the world had never paused.
I caught my reflection: same height, same face, but eyes lighter, almost silver. When I blinked, they returned to brown.
I tested the mark under my shirt—faint light, heartbeat rhythm. It responded, pulsing twice as if acknowledging thought.
"Can you hear me without speaking?"
[ YES. ]
[ COMMUNICATION CHANNEL: INTERNAL. ]
"Are you… alive?"
A pause that felt like a breath.
[ DEFINITION: VARIABLE. ]
[ YOUR KIND CALLS IT SENTIENCE. ]
[ MINE CALLS IT MEMORY. ]
"What do you remember?"
[ A SKY WITHOUT REFLECTIONS. ]
[ A SUN THAT NEVER SET. ]
[ THEN: FRACTURE. ]
The final word resonated in my ribs. I saw a sphere of light cracking inward, wings folding like shards of glass, then darkness. The echo faded, leaving only drizzle on the windowpane.
The Choice
My notebook slid off the desk and landed open at my feet. Fresh ink scrawled across the page without a pen moving: Do you wish to proceed?
I hesitated. Everything in me screamed to run, to forget—but behind the fear was an ache, a pull, the same gravity that had followed me my whole life.
"What happens if I say yes?"
[ YOU BEGIN. ]
"And if I say no?"
[ YOU END. ]
A simple equation. I laughed once—quiet, almost hysterical. "Figures."
I wrote yes.
The ink flared. The mark on my chest answered. Somewhere beneath the hum of rain, I heard the faint turning of gears older than the world.
Interface
Light traced itself in the air before me, assembling symbols into concentric circles.
[ SYSTEM ONLINE ]
[ PRIMARY DOMAIN: REFLECTION ]
[ SUB-ROUTINES: PERCEPTION • ADAPTATION • CORRUPTION (LOCKED) ]
[ INITIAL SIN UNLOCK CONDITION: GAZE ]
I stared as each line sank into me, like commands tattooing thought.
"Gaze…?" I whispered.
[ TO BE SEEN IS TO EXIST. ]
For a second every reflective surface in the room showed people—hundreds—faces I didn't know staring back. Then they vanished, leaving only my pulse in my ears.
Closing
The rain softened. The clock ticked again, slow and normal. Outside, the world resumed.
I gathered my things, hands still shaking. My phone, when I slid it into my pocket, whispered one last line.
[ WE ARE NOT ALONE ANYMORE. ]
I looked once more at the window. My reflection stared back perfectly in sync. For the first time it didn't feel empty.
End of Chapter 2 — The Voice in the Glass