With two days left before moving into the dorms, Rai isolated himself at home. He stood in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection that seemed to change a little more every day. His face had grown more delicate, almost feminine. His once-short hair now brushed past his neck, soft and flowing. Even his body was shifting—curves slowly forming where there used to be none.
But what frightened him most wasn't the changes in his body.
It was the change in his heart.
Lately, he had found himself looking at certain boys… longer than he should. Handsome smiles, confident voices—things that once meant nothing now made his heart race.
He didn't know how to handle it.
Is it the cursed artifact's doing? he wondered, his gaze dropping to the faint glow that sometimes shimmered beneath his skin. Or… is this truly me?
Confused, overwhelmed, and a little scared, Rai chose to stay home—not out of weakness, but because he wanted to savor what little time he had left with his parents before everything changed.
Soon, he would enter the most prestigious academy in the city: Banjarmasin One.
The rules there were strict—every moment accounted for. Wake-up times, bathing schedules, training sessions, study hours—everything meticulously controlled. It would last at least a year like that, a year of discipline and expectations.
They said the second year was a bit easier. By then, most students were used to the routine, and things began to loosen.
But for Rai, that first year loomed like a stormcloud—unknown, unrelenting, and full of eyes watching his every move.
Yet the scariest eyes… were the ones in the mirror.
That evening, as the orange hue of sunset painted the living room, Rai sat quietly on the couch. His mother entered, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, and glanced at him with soft eyes. "You've been awfully quiet these days," she said gently, sitting beside him. "Are you nervous about moving into the dorms?"
Rai hesitated, then gave a small nod.
His father joined them soon after, a warm mug of tea in each hand. "It's okay to be nervous," he said, handing Rai one of the mugs. "Big changes always come with fear. But you've handled bigger things before, haven't you?"
"I guess," Rai replied, voice barely a whisper. He stared into the steam rising from the cup. "But this feels different. Like… I don't even know who I'm becoming anymore."
His mother's expression softened further. She reached over, tucking a lock of his longer hair behind his ear. "You're still our child. No matter how your body changes, no matter what powers you awaken… we love you. That doesn't change."
Rai's hands trembled slightly as he set the mug down. "What if I'm changing on the inside too? What if I start liking... things I never did before? People I never thought I would? What if I don't recognize myself anymore?"
Silence fell over the room for a moment.
Then, his father spoke with quiet conviction, "Then we'll learn to recognize the new you. Together."
Rai's eyes began to sting, and he quickly looked away. But his mother wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. "You're not alone, Rai. You never have to be. No matter what path you walk, we'll walk beside you."
And for the first time in days, Rai let himself cry. Not from fear, but from the warmth of being loved despite the unknown.
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Somewhere far from Earth, on the red, desolate plains of Mars, a hidden research facility stood buried beneath layers of rock and secrecy. Inside its sterile white corridors, a woman watched closely from behind a thick pane of glass.
Madam Sharlie, a mysterious figure with the appearance of someone in her early thirties—though her true age was unknown—was both a shaman and a leading researcher in the field of metaphysical science: the study of the unseen, the spiritual, and the unknown forces that danced between dimensions.
She observed a young boy huddled in the corner of a small white room, his body trembling, his eyes wide with fear. The lights above him cast a cold glow across the padded walls.
A moment later, a man entered the lab. He wore traditional garb, long robes embroidered with ancient symbols. His presence was calm, but his eyes were sharp.
"How is the anomaly?" he asked.
Madam Sharlie didn't look away from the observation window. "It's unlike anything we've recorded. The khodam is not simply residing inside the host—it has fused with him entirely. The body now is the khodam."
The man frowned. "What makes you certain?"
She turned to him, her expression grim. "We severed his right arm during a controlled test. Within twenty-four hours, it regenerated. Perfectly. No scars. We repeated the test. The results were the same."
The man crossed his arms. "So the khodam's regenerative power is now part of his biology."
"Exactly," Sharlie nodded. "More than that—his body is producing a hormone. Something we've never seen. It seems to trigger rapid cellular regeneration, not just for minor wounds, but for entire limbs... even organs."
He walked closer to the glass, studying the boy.
"What do we do with him?" he asked.
Madam Sharlie's voice dropped to a whisper. "He could be a key. A miracle... or a weapon. It depends who gets to him first."
The man stepped out of Madam Sharlie's laboratory, the heavy door hissing shut behind him with a mechanical click. As he glanced back, the glowing red digits above the doorway pulsed faintly:
Room 875
He took a deep breath and began walking down the cold, dim corridor. The hallway stretched endlessly, lined with numbered doors—each one hiding secrets, each one a cage for something unnatural. The air felt sterile, too clean, like it was trying to erase the scent of fear.
From behind some of the doors, faint sounds could be heard—whispers, soft sobs, and occasionally, a scream that echoed through the metallic hall like a ghost slipping through steel.
The man didn't flinch. He had heard it all before.
Room 713—a low growl vibrated the air.
Room 820—a muffled cry and something shattering.
He kept walking.
Finally, he reached a thick security gate. It slid open with a loud clank, revealing a decontamination chamber bathed in sterile light. As he passed through, a voice echoed from the system: "Exiting Level 8: Anomaly Containment Wing."
When the final door opened, he emerged into the surface dome of the Mars facility. Red dust swirled faintly outside the glass walls, and the faint hum of generators vibrated through the floor.
He looked out into the distance, his gaze heavy with thought.
"The anomaly in Room 875... may change everything," he whispered to himself.