Sylus

A bang. Sharp, like glass shattering. A gunshot rang out. You saw Sylus stumble backward, clutching his chest — right where a dark red bloom was spreading. His eyes — cold, clear — widened for a brief moment, filled with confusion. He tried to say something, but it was already too late. Like in a dream, he collapsed to his knees, then fell to the ground. His heart had stopped.

You didn’t even get the chance to scream — the breath caught in your throat. The world goes dark.

You gasp awake. It’s all back again.

Same bed. Same dim light in the room. Rain tapping against the glass like sharpened needles. The phone vibrating on the nightstand. And then — there he is. Standing by the wall. Whole. Alive.

"You’re awake earlier than usual. That’s not like you."

Same voice. Same tone. Same rhythm. Down to every detail.

He squints at your face, as if trying to read it.

"You look scared. What happened?"

He doesn’t remember. Anything.

But you do. Everything.

This day has repeated far too many times. And each time, you tried to change something — say something different, act faster, warn him sooner. But it always ends the same: with his death.