Agony had a sound.
Not a scream, not a tear, not a breath— But the cracking of something unseen.
The moment Reflection-Vyom's hand plunged into his chest, Vyom felt the world unravel like threads pulled from a dream. Not even pain came first—only cold. A cold so absolute it felt older than time itself. The fingers passed through skin as if his chest were water, rippling snow-white around the wrist before disappearing entirely.
No blood.
No wound.
Only cold.
Deep. Violent. Hungry.
Vyom's small body convulsed as though a ghostly fist squeezed the very center of him. Something was being pulled. Something he could not name.
He gasped—
but the air around him refused to enter his lungs.
The room darkened. Shapes stretched. Shadows bled into the floor like spilled ink.
The mirrors, once shattered, now floated—
shards hanging midair like frozen raindrops, each reflecting a different time, a different Vyom, each screaming silently.
Nara lunged, trying to pull the reflection away—her hands passed straight through him as though he were smoke. She stumbled, her form glitching, flickering like a broken film reel.
"No—NO—Vyom!"
Her voice warped, thinned—
like time itself was crushing her words.
Reflection-Vyom leaned closer, face inches from Vyom's own, their breaths colliding, though one was icy, the other fading.
"Look," he whispered.
"In this moment… we are the same."
The touch—the violation—dug deeper.
Vyom saw something behind the reflection's eyes:
A roaring storm of hours, collapsing cities suspended in midair, countless versions of himself weeping, laughing, dying. Each timeline twisted like serpents, looping around the reflection's gaze.
He tried to scream.
Only a small whimper came out—
the sound of a terrified child.
Reflection-Vyom's fingers curled, hooking onto something inside Vyom.
Something that shimmered like liquid time—golden, swirling, resisting.
Vyom's vision snapped open.
He was falling.
No floor.
No sky.
Only down.
The world around him spiraled—fractured clocks, broken bells, hands reaching, pulling—voices chanting from distant temples, syllables older than language.
He saw the tower again.
The great clocktower of his dreams— its spire piercing clouds, bleeding light.
He was back on the ledge.
An older version of him——reached forward, eyes frantic with warning, hair whipping in storm winds.
"Don't fall."
The voice was cracked, broken.
"Not again—Vyom—LOOK AT ME—!"
But the reflection's hand twisted— and Aryan vanished like smoke.
Vyom plummeted.
Wind tore at him, screaming past his ears.
He felt his heart tear into thousands of shimmering threads—each thread a memory, a life, a whispered name.
One thread flashed:
A cradle.
A woman singing.
A baby with eyes too old for his face.
Another thread:
A bonfire.
A ritual.
Someone whispering his name—
Aryan—
with reverence and terror.
Another:
Hands binding his wrists in silver chains.
A seal burning beneath his ribs.
A laugh echoing from inside his body.
His breath disappeared.
His body turned weightless.
Time folded into itself.
And then—
Hands caught him.
Small. Warm. Terrified.
Nara.
The world snapped open.
He was back. Back in the art room.
Reflection-Vyom still had his hand in his chest—
but now golden threads spilled out like pulled silk.
They coiled around his arm, resisting, screaming silently.
Nara gripped Vyom's shoulder, her fingers trembling.
"Vyom!"
Her voice broke.
"Stay with me—please!"
Her outline flickered violently—
her skin turning translucent, showing shifting gears spinning beneath like she was nothing but memory given bone-shape.
Reflection-Vyom yanked.
Vyom convulsed—
a pulse of light exploded from his chest, slamming into every mirror shard.
A low bell tolled.
One strike.
The room trembled.
Two.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Three.
Paintings on the walls melted, eyes dripping down faces.
Four.
The floor cracked open, darkness leaking upward.
Five.
Nara screamed as her limbs flickered— stuttering like she was being re-edited out of reality.
Reflection-Vyom smiled— a thin, satisfied curve.
"You hear it, don't you?" he whispered. "This is the hour you stole."
Six.
Vyom's eyes rolled back.
Seven.
His small fingers clawed at reflection-Vyom's wrist, but his hand felt like smoke and blade both.
Eight.
His memories bled—
faces losing detail,
names unraveling.
Nine.
The workshop.
Father.
Mother.
Aarika—
Who were they…?
Nara's voice cut through the haze.
"Vyom—LISTEN TO ME!"
Her palm pressed against his cheek— warmth grounding him.
He gasped, and suddenly— Aarika's laughter returned, bright, sunlit.
Father's smile, quiet but full.
Mother's lullabies—sweet, sandalwood-scented.
Ten.
The golden threads flared.
Reflection-Vyom flinched.
A low growl rolled through the room— not human, not earthly.
Eleven.
From the darkness beneath the cracked floor— something shifted.
A heartbeat.
Deep. Ancient.
Vyom felt it beneath his ribs—pounding, answering the bell.
Reflection-Vyom leaned close, jaw tightening, black eyes burning.
"It's waking."
Twelve.
Nara staggered, pulling Vyom back with all her fading strength.
"You need to breathe—Vyom—look at me—LOOK AT ME—!"
His vision fuzzed—
the room turning black-white, colors erasing.
Thirteen.
The bell's final strike cleaved the air.
The mirrors collapsed, liquefying into pools of mercury, writhing like living things.
Time stopped.
Truly stopped.
Not frozen as before—
but hollowed.
Silent.
Air fell dead.
Light paused mid-glow.
The world's heartbeat… ceased.
A SPACE WITHOUT TIME
Vyom blinked.
The room was gone.
He stood in a void made of dim moonlight and broken echoes.
Shards of mirrors floated like constellations, each showing flickers of different worlds.
Nara was beside him—
but she was nearly transparent now, only her eyes bright, full of fear.
Reflection-Vyom appeared before them, whole, in control.
His arm was still inside Vyom's chest— though neither body touched ground.
"We're between seconds," the reflection whispered. "Where lies cannot follow."
He clenched his fist.
Vyom choked.
The golden threads inside him twisted— screeching like metal.
That was when he felt it— a second presence inside his chest.
Something huge.
Sleeping.
Breathing.
Dreaming of ruin.
Cold sweat drenched his small body.
Reflection-Vyom's voice softened, almost gentle.
"You carried him across lifetimes.
You were the door, Vyom.
And I…"
His black eyes gleamed—
"…am the key."
He twisted.
Vyom screamed— but not alone.
A roar tore through the void— a roar that did not belong to a child, or a man, or any mortal thing.
It came from inside him.
Reflection-Vyom grinned.
"Oh… it's awake."
The void split—
cracks streaking outward like lightning.
Through the fractures, Vyom saw glimpses:
A war-torn city.
A blood-red moon.
Mountains collapsing under invisible force.
Thousands kneeling before a towering figure—
a silhouette with Vyom's eyes.
Another glimpse—
A child—bound with chains, forced to swallow a burning seal as priests chanted, their voices trembling.
That child screamed— and the world shook.
Nara grabbed Vyom and pulled, teeth gritted.
"You can't stay here—!
He'll hollow you out—!"
Reflection-Vyom extended his free hand— and the mirror shards answered, swarming like birds.
Their edges gleamed like blades.
Nara shielded Vyom— but then
—her arm disappeared.
Not cut.
Not torn.
Simply erased.
She gasped, staring at the empty space where her limb had been.
Vyom sobbed, terror buckling his knees.
Reflection-Vyom tilted his head, almost sympathetic.
"She was born from your forgotten hours.
When you are rewritten…"
His smile widened.
"…so is she."
Nara's voice trembled— but steady.
"Vyom… listen to me."
Her form flickered, fading faster, pixels tearing away.
"You must END the bridge—
Break his grip."
"I—I can't—"
Vyom sobbed.
"You can."
Her eyes softened.
"Because I remember you.
Not the others.
You."
She pressed her remaining hand over his heart.
Heat surged there— a small light fighting the cold inside.
Reflection-Vyom hissed.
Golden threads flared—
twisting, biting, burning the reflection's hand from within.
He snarled, eyes darkening further.
Vyom gasped.
Something awakened inside him— not the sleeping beast, but a memory…
A lullaby.
Sung by a woman with sandalwood fragrance.
His mother.
Her voice wrapped around his trembling heart.
Vyom whispered the words— broken, childish, but real.
The golden threads turned bright white.
Reflection-Vyom shrieked— yanking his hand out of Vyom's chest.
Light exploded —ripping the void apart.
Nara caught Vyom— her body failing— but she held him.
The reflection stumbled back, cracks crawling up his arm, face glitching.
"You… should not still be YOU—!"
Vyom stared at him— still crying— but breathing.
"I am Vyom," he whispered, voice shaking.
The void shattered.
Return
They slammed back into the art room.
The mirrors were gone.
The air stank of smoke and wet stone.
The floor was scorched—
blackened like something had burned through time itself.
Vyom collapsed to his knees, chest heaving.
Nara knelt beside him, barely holding shape.
Her voice was soft, fading.
"You… pulled yourself back."
Vyom looked up, tears streaking his face.
Reflection-Vyom stood across the room— glitching, flickering, cracked from within.
But alive.
Still smiling.
"Prove it again,
Vyom."
He dissolved into mirror-dust— vanishing.
Only his whisper lingered:
"That was only the first fracture."
Silence returned— real, heavy, filled with the ticking of distant clocks.
Nara leaned against him, breathing shallow.
Vyom squeezed her tightly— small, cold, but alive.
"I won't let him replace me…"
Nara smiled faintly, eyes half-closed.
"That's why…
he's afraid."
Vyom didn't understand— not fully—
But he felt the truth like a heartbeat.
Something had awakened inside him.
Something older than the tower.
Something hungrier than the reflection.
Something that knew his name before he was born.
And it was no longer asleep.
End of Chapter 14 — The Fracture That Breathe