PEACE
The words lingered in the dark room long after he spoke them.
His breathing slowly steadied.
There was no burning sky above him. No rivers of blood. No fractured horizon. Just a plain ceiling, faint cracks running across white paint like harmless veins.
Outside, a car passed.
Ordinary.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance.
Ordinary.
The world had not ended.
It had never ended.
Morning crept in quietly, light slipping through the curtains and stretching across the floor. The city beyond the window stirred awake — engines humming, doors closing, someone arguing faintly on the street below.
Life moved forward without hesitation.
Without memory.
The young man ran a hand through his hair and exhaled.
'The dream if that's what it was'
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
The floor was cool. Solid. Real.
Before moving, he looked at a mirror where a pale young man was staring back at him. He was tall but not too tall. He was cute but not that cute. He had black eyes with a perfect raven black hair which covered his facial features. Totally, he was just an average looking guy. He sighed and tied his raven black hair and went to the kitchen.
He walked toward the small kitchen of his apartment, movements slow but controlled, as if careful not to disturb something fragile in the air.
The kitchen wasn't large.
A narrow counter. A stainless-steel sink. Cabinets the colour of dark wood. Everything clean. Everything aligned. A place designed for routine, not chaos.
He filled the kettle.
Water rushed in, loud against the morning silence. Too loud.
He placed it on the stove and turned the knob. The soft click-click-whoosh of flame answered him.
Predictable.
Safe.
He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely.
He seemed tiered, but somehow, he knew it wasn't from sleep but from that strange dream of his.
The kettle began to hum.
Steam soon followed, rising in soft spirals that disappeared almost as soon as they formed.
He reached for a mug without looking.
Black coffee.
No sugar.
No milk.
The scent filled the small kitchen — bitter, grounding, familiar. He wrapped his fingers around the warmth and took a slow sip.
Outside the window, the sky was clear.
Too clear.
For a moment, he thought of flames painting it red.
He dismissed it.
'It was just a dream'
'Just imagination.'
He took another sip.
The coffee was bitter.
He preferred it that way.
The refrigerator hummed softly. The clock ticked on the wall. Somewhere above him, a neighbor dragged a chair across the floor.
The world was intact.
Unburned.
Alive.
And yet,
As he stood there in the quiet kitchen, holding a simple cup of coffee, Kael couldn't shake the faint, unsettling thought:
It felt temporary.
As if something vast and patient were waiting just beyond the horizon.
Watching.