The countdown to his birthday was no longer exciting— it was unnerving
Five days.
That's when the dreams became unbearable. Jack would wake up drenched in sweat, heart hammering in his chest, with images of burning cities, skies torn open by light, and men with glowing eyes screaming ancient words he couldn't understand. He no longer remembered them clearly— but the feeling stayed. And it followed him through out the day.
Vivian had observed his silence. She asked if he was okay. Jack only nodded. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that sometimes, he couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep anymore.
Four days.
He started hearing whispers— soft and indistinct, like wind through cracks in the wall. But they were coming from mirrors. First the one in the hallway, then the bathroom, and finally the bedroom.
One night, the mirror fogged on its own and a word scrawled across the glass like a finger hand wrote it from the other side: "Thalon."
He fell to the ground that night, shivering , his hands sparking with a strange blue light. His door flew open, Vivian rushing in. But the mirror was clear. Nothing was there. She believed he was just stressed. Maybe sick.
Three days.
The lights in his room began flickering in rhythm with his heart. Lola noticed it first. She didn't say much — she never did when it came to the strange— but she felt he needed to alert someone of the recent development.
"You need to tell someone." She whispered.
"Something's … changing."
He wanted to believe it would stop. But part of him knew— something inside him was waking up. Something that had always been there, buried beneath the shell of a normal teenage boy.
Two days.
A stranger was watching him across the street. An old man in gray coat and hat. He stood still.
Never blinked. Then he was gone.
That night, Jack touched his mirror and it rippled like water.
One day.
Jack's dream became vivid memories. He wasn't just watching anymore— he was someone else. A boy standing in a circle of fire. A prince in a war of magic. A traitor holding a blood stained blade.
Every vision of him felt too real to dismiss and every dream ended the same way: with a cloaked figure reaching through the flame, whispering, "Wake up, Thalon."
His sixteenth birthday arrived like a storm. Vivian made a quiet breakfast. Lola came over with a gift and nervous smile. Jack pretended everything was okay. But the air around him felt too charged. Even his shadow seemed too long. And the mirrors— all of them were covered with sheets.
All except one.
That night, alone in his room, Jack stood in front of the one mirror he hadn't covered. His reflection blinked.
But he didn't.
He took a step back.
His reflection smiled.
And then a hand came out— paled, long-fingered glowing with blue light— and grabbed his wrist.
Before he could scream, he pulled through the glass.
The world shattered into shards of light and darkness.
And Jack was gone.