Chapter 6: The Boy in the Glass Temple
The fog hadn't lifted.
William sat bolt upright in bed, the air in his room colder than it should've been, still and pressed in too tightly around him. The candle on his desk had long gone out, and the streetlight beyond his window glowed weak and pale, swallowed by mist.
For a moment, he couldn't remember why he'd woken.
Then he saw it.
The box.
It was open.
He hadn't opened it.
The cloth lay crumpled beside it like something had stirred, slithered free. The blade rested atop it, quiet, unmoving—but faintly glowing. Not warm this time. Cold. Pale. Like a dying star.
He reached for it.
Stopped.
The mirror across the room caught his attention.
He turned his head slowly, heart beating sharp and fast now, a rhythm building in his ears.
His reflection blinked.
But he hadn't.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
His reflection didn't change expression. It just... watched.
He stood up, backing a step away. The floorboard creaked under his foot.
From behind him—just beneath the level of hearing—came something like wind. But it wasn't wind.
It was whispering.
Words he couldn't make out. Not in English. Not in sound. But in feeling.
Cold.
Pull.
Sleep.
The window creaked.
He turned toward it just as the glass shuddered—not with impact, but pressure. Something pressed on the outside, and then the shadows behind it folded inward.
Then came the darkness.
And William was gone.
The ceiling was stone.
Not drywall. Not his bedroom. Stone—ancient, dark, veined with something like frost.
William blinked. His wrists were bound.
He sat in a low-backed wooden chair, feet shackled lightly—not tight enough to cut circulation, but too firm to escape. The room had no windows. Just torches in sconces along three walls, flickering too slowly, casting shadows that bent the wrong way.
His breath fogged in the air.
"Ah," said a voice. "Awake."
It came from behind him—soft, oily, humming with a faint vibrato like it vibrated in his bones rather than his ears.
He didn't turn. He couldn't.
A figure stepped into view.
It wasn't tall in any conventional sense. It just seemed tall. Dressed in a cloak blacker than any fabric had a right to be. Face veiled in something that fluttered though there was no wind. Its eyes—if it had any—did not glow. They consumed.
"Where are we?" William asked, his voice rasping more than he'd meant.
The Shade tilted its head. "Between."
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The Five Realms
FanfictionJoey Jackson, a quiet teen with a stubborn sense of hope, is haunted by the mysterious disappearance of his father during a supernatural fire at their family estate. When a shadowy figure emerges from the smoke-and a long-lost teacher delivers a cry...
