𝗪𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗧𝗶𝗴𝗲𝗿 [ʀᴡʙʏ x ᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴏᴄ]

Chapter 51

The pain... it stopped.

I blinked slowly, the world around me was hazy, and I couldn't quite make sense of what was happening. My body felt heavy, and there was a sharpness lingering in my abdomen, but it wasn't nearly as excruciating as it had been. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, but it no longer felt like it was pouring out of me. The sting in my side dulled to a faint throb, something I could ignore for now.

I opened my eyes, squinting against the bright light that seemed to flood everything. My surroundings were white, too pure, too bright. It took a moment for my senses to catch up, and as I focused, I realized-this wasn't the battlefield. This wasn't anywhere I had ever been.

I sat up slowly, ignoring the faint weakness in my limbs. A soft, almost ethereal glow surrounded me. It was as if I were in a space where time itself didn't matter, like an in-between place. The colors were all muted, blending into one another, yet everything seemed so... distant.

I couldn't help the fleeting thought that crossed my mind-this must be what it feels like to be dead.

The thought echoed in my head, and I couldn't shake it. I glanced around, my eyes scanning the unfamiliar, otherworldly landscape. There was no sign of battle, no sign of blood, no sign of anyone I knew.

The realization hit me like a wave: I'm not in the real world anymore. I've crossed over.

A soft breeze passed, and with it, the faint scent of something familiar, something comforting. That was when I realized-it wasn't death I had encountered. It was something else. I wasn't quite gone, but I was far from being fully here. I was somewhere in between.

A familiar voice broke through the silence in my head.

"Are you ready to return?"

I looked up, blinking at the familiar figure before me-a massive tiger, one whose eyes gleamed with ancient knowledge, standing in the middle of this strange, liminal space. Its fur was a mix of silver and midnight black, its eyes glowing like twin moons. There was something unsettling and comforting about its presence at the same time, something that made me both question and trust its existence.

But it wasn't just the tiger that drew my attention-it was the blue door behind it.

The door stood tall and imposing, as if it had always been here, part of the very fabric of this ethereal world. It was painted with intricate designs of tigers, their bodies swirling around the edges of the doorframe in a fluid dance that felt almost alive. The patterns were sharp yet graceful, a balance of power and elegance, each stripe seeming to move, shift, and pulse with energy.

The door's blue hue was striking against the white backdrop of the space, a deep, vibrant blue that reminded me of the skies at dusk, and yet it felt like something beyond the physical realm. The tigers were not just decorations-they felt symbolic, like they held meaning beyond the simple artistry. Their eyes, etched into the door, seemed to follow my every movement.

The calm, almost ethereal atmosphere shifted suddenly, the stillness of the air now disturbed. The blue door, which had once stood so solidly, began to tremble. At first, it was a slight quiver, almost imperceptible. But then, as though reacting to an unseen force, the shaking grew more violent, the very wood of the door groaning under the pressure.

The tigers on the door, once graceful and controlled, now seemed almost alive, their eyes burning with a fierce light. The edges of the door splintered slightly, and I could feel the pull of it intensifying, as though the door was trying to open itself, pulling at me, inviting me to step closer despite the violence of the movement.

My heart raced. Was this some kind of test? Or was it something darker, something I wasn't prepared to face? But there was no denying the connection between the door and me. It was as if it recognized me, knew my presence, and was calling me in a way I couldn't ignore.