The dreams began quietly.
No storms.No screams.Just a voice—like wind slipping through broken windows.
At first, Kean thought it was the usual fog of sleep.But each night, the voice grew clearer.
"You are not theirs…""You were never meant for soil…""Kean… remember the name… Ashbone…"
And suddenly—he'd wake up.
Drenched in sweat.Eyes wide.Heart racing.Mouth dry like sand.
But no fear.Only a strange, pull.
He didn't speak the name aloud.Didn't even try to write it.
Even in thought, the name felt heavy.Wrong.Like it didn't belong in this world.
But Kean knew one thing:
He had heard it before.Somewhere deep, buried beneath forgotten layers of himself.
One morning, he sat alone in the field.The sky was gray—no birds, no sun.Just silence.
He looked at the soil in his hands.It felt… distant.
He whispered under his breath:
"Ash…bone…"
The wind stopped.
The trees froze.Even the crows that circled far above vanished.
And then, for just a heartbeat—
The ground breathed.
A quiet pulse.As if something beneath the earth had stirred.
That night, the dream returned.But this time, Kean saw eyes.
Not red.Not glowing.Just… empty.
And they were watching him.
"You are close, child…""But names are doors. And doors swing both ways…"
The next morning, Kean looked into the mirror.And for a split second…
His reflection blinked late.