(POV – Protagonist)

I carefully watched each visitor as they crossed the doorway to my room. The hallway lights flickered at irregular intervals, casting dancing shadows on the walls. It was only a matter of time before they failed completely — and I knew it.

When darkness took over entirely, that thing out there, whatever it was, would certainly seize the opportunity. It wasn’t a hypothesis — it was a silent certainty. I could feel it lurking, hungry, waiting for the right moment to act.

Anyway, as I watched the visitors enter, something that caught my attention — besides their movement — were their expressions. No matter the angle or distance — fear and caution were clearly etched on every face.

Some looked around with wide eyes, as if expecting something to leap out of the shadows. Others, though trying to keep their composure, had clenched lips and tense shoulders. But what intrigued me most was their behavior as they stepped into my room.

Without a word, every single one of them instinctively moved to the back of the room and pressed their backs against the large glass panel that separated my space from the observation corridor. It was as if they were trying to keep as much distance from me as possible, like any wrong step could trigger an aggressive reaction from me or my sisters.

Of course, everyone there showed some degree of fear — everyone except the couple I met at that burger joint the day the fog appeared. Compared to the others, they seemed relatively at ease, especially the daughter, who even flashed an excited smile when she saw me again. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and familiarity, as if my presence there was an unexpected relief.

Still, even they maintained a cautious posture, mainly because of my sisters, who stood right behind me. It was subtle, but their glances often shifted to them, as if evaluating every gesture, every move. Interestingly, besides that family who already knew me, the only ones who didn’t show obvious fear were the children.

Instead of the paralyzing terror that gripped the adults, the little ones seemed just... alert. Their looks were more of wary curiosity than pure terror, as if trying to figure out whether I was a strange friend or just another part of that new, confusing world around them.

As my eyes scanned the visitors’ faces, a lively, childish voice cut through the murmurs. I immediately recognized it — it was the little girl I met at the burger joint. With a sparkle in her eyes and joy written all over her face, she exclaimed naturally, “Big sister!”

Seeing me, she raised both little arms high as if asking for a hug, and a wide, genuine smile lit up her face, brightening the surroundings.

The moment my ears caught her voice, my eyes instinctively turned toward her. Her face showed a lively, almost convincing smile, but a careful look revealed the truth behind the facade: her legs trembled slightly, betraying the nervousness she tried to hide. And she wasn’t alone.

The other kids showed similar signs — restless glances, shaky hands, uneven breathing. It was impossible to ignore the silent fear hanging among them. And honestly, I couldn’t blame them for being scared. After all, no matter how strong they tried to seem, they were just kids dealing with something far bigger than they could understand.

Besides — to be totally honest — except for the family I met at the burger joint, and, of course, Laura and Emily, I really couldn’t say I cared what happened to the others. That didn’t necessarily mean I would refuse to help them.

I could help, yes — and maybe I would, depending on the situation. But the truth is, if any of them died right in front of me, my reaction would be, at best, lukewarm... probably oscillating between apathy and mild curiosity. Not out of cruelty, but because deep down, they simply meant nothing to me.

As these thoughts crossed my mind, the visitors kept cautious eyes fixed on my sisters, although the level of vigilance varied with each of them.

With Althea, caution seemed almost nonexistent; her angelic appearance — like a figure from a fairy tale or ancient Christian scripture — inspired a kind of almost reverent calm. It was as if her presence radiated an aura of purity that dispelled any fear.

Regarding Nyara, the visitors’ attention was more balanced. They watched her with a mix of curiosity and caution, never fully lowering their guard. And then there was Nekra, whose presence sparked noticeably greater apprehension.

Whenever their eyes turned to her, there was a palpable increase in tension, an almost defensive caution that seemed to grow by the moment. It was as if Nekra carried an invisible mystery or threat that kept everyone on edge.

Anyway, before I could even respond to the little girl or say something to Nekra, Althea, and Nyara, the lights simply went out completely. Once again, we were plunged into absolute darkness. My eyes, burning like flickering candles, along with the soft glow emanating from my sisters, became the only source of light in that oppressive space.

Maybe that’s why the visitors, though hesitant, began to approach — cautious, almost fearful — both me and my sisters. They kept a respectful distance, enough for our glow to illuminate them, but still preserving that thin space where the word “away” remained alive and meaningful.

And amid all that deep darkness, no voice was heard — not even a single breath breaking the absolute silence. It was as if everyone were trapped in a collective state of tension, aware that the simple act of breathing was the fragile barrier separating them from life and death.

The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, as if silence itself conspired to imprison every being in that unsettling stillness. Yet, just when the silence seemed eternal and impenetrable, an unexpected sound broke the gloom, echoing in the darkness like a whisper from the shadows.

At first, the sound was almost imperceptible — a harsh, uneasy whisper, like nails slowly scraping the fogged surface of old glass: “shhhkk... shhhhkk...” It was a cold, almost ghostly noise that seemed to spread through the silent air, making the visitors’ skin crawl and senses sharpen.

The sound came from somewhere ahead, but at the same time seemed to reverberate all around — around, inside, behind. It was as if it had no defined physical origin, as if the sound itself was forming inside their minds, whispering directly into their thoughts.

The visitors, visibly confused and scared, began casting nervous glances around, their faces gradually taking on expressions of growing terror. The silence among them still lingered, heavy and tense, as if all awaited, anxiously, what would come next.

Soon after, the sound intensified, gaining a dense, wet, sticky texture, as if something wet and shapeless was slowly dragging against a cold concrete wall. The noise seemed alive, grotesque: “blorp... tap... crck...” each snap echoed, reverberating through the oppressive silence around.

It was as if a shapeless, viscous thing silently slid across the floor, stopping only to leave small, disturbing traces of its passage — dry snaps that sounded like fingers breaking, or mouths opening in places where none should be. The air felt cold, charged with an unsettling presence.

Then, a laugh emerged. Low, hoarse, almost whispered, and not seeming to come from human throats: “Heh... heheheh... hhHHHEhHEHEHehHE...”

It echoed in the darkness, loaded with malice and a disturbing touch of madness, as if a monstrous presence were having fun at our expense, playing with the fragility of fear. Gradually, the sound grew, becoming higher-pitched and distorted, like a child trying to mimic an adult’s laughter but failing grotesquely and unnervingly.

It was a laugh swinging between fake joy and a stifled sob, as if the creature were lost between pleasure and pain, unsure which feeling dominated. And then... silence. Not a common silence, but an absolute void, dense and oppressive, where even thoughts seemed to suffocate, silenced by the fear of breaking that terrifying stillness.

And then, in the next instant, completely silently, the face reappeared before the glass separating the room from the corridor. Its face, utterly grotesque and deformed, seemed to emerge from the shadows, standing out with frightening intensity.

The bloodshot, wide eyes fixed inside with an unsettling obsession, while the wide, distorted smile slowly stretched, as if coming to life, growing every passing second, revealing irregular, yellowed teeth barely fitting inside its mouth.

The next moment, as our eyes locked onto the face ahead, a deep, almost tangible silence took over the environment. When I glanced at the visitors, I noticed they were visibly scared, some gripping tightly whoever was beside them, seeking some kind of comfort or security in that tense moment.

Amid the quiet that seemed to hold the air captive, Althea’s slightly glowing body approached me, her bare feet touching the floor with an almost ethereal softness, delicately echoing beside me as she moved with silent grace.

“Hmm...” Althea began, her voice soft and controlled, her eyes shining with subtle curiosity. Her expression, initially serene, slowly turned into something almost intrigued: “As always, these defective creatures keep trying to complete themselves at humans’ expense...”

Hearing Althea’s words, a memory surfaced in my mind. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that; she had mentioned it the first time we met. However, to be honest, I never really delved into the topic after that... in fact, I just forgot about it.

Anyway, before I could think further, I decided the wisest move was to get rid of that thing first. With that firm thought, I lifted my gaze toward the grotesque anomaly pressed against the glass — a horrifying sight that made the surface seem ready to crack, so hard it tried to break through the windowpane. Just as I took the first step toward the glass, Althea’s hand suddenly appeared, blocking my way and stopping my movements. Curious, I turned my gaze to her.

Althea noticed my fixed stare and, with a light sigh, quickly replied: “Sorry, sister, but I think it’s better if you don’t go. That one... she’s a little too dangerous for you, especially in your current state”

Hearing Althea’s words, a genuine surprise took over me — something I hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe since I became an anomaly. Confused, I couldn’t help but ask: “You think I could lose to that thing?”

Hearing my question, Althea blinked slowly, her eyes shining with contained surprise. Her expression, once serious, softened for a moment, but then she let out a short, muffled laugh, almost like she was amused by my words.

“Lose?” she said, with a half-mocking smile: “I don’t believe there’s anything that could make you lose, sister”

She paused, her eyes now more serious, heavy with concern: “But it’s true you still haven’t fully recovered your powers. Honestly... that thing would probably tear off an arm or a leg if you went alone”

If I had to be honest, I still didn’t understand the real reason behind Althea’s worries. Losing a leg or an arm seemed, honestly, irrelevant to me. First, because I wouldn’t feel any pain — that sensation that for many is the worst punishment. And second, probably at that same instant, the severed limb would start to regenerate, growing back as if nothing had happened.

However, the moment I noticed Althea’s expression turn visibly darker, an uneasy feeling invaded me — I realized the reason for her concern was actually something quite different from what I imagined. Her gaze, once almost calm, now carried a silent tension, as if she was holding a burden she preferred not to reveal.

Then, with a voice that became significantly colder and more restrained, she continued: “I doubt I could hold myself back if I saw my dear and lovely sister getting hurt like that right in front of me”

That cutting tone seemed to hide much deeper emotions, a mix of fear and protection she barely managed to conceal.