The stars wept in colors she couldn’t name.

They spiraled around her, golden and violet ribbons of light twisting in an endless dance across the darkened sky. The air shimmered with cosmic dust, weightless and slow, drifting in currents unseen. Everything around her felt vast and endless, as if she had stepped beyond time itself, into a realm where the universe whispered its secrets in a language she had once known.

But she didn’t know it now.

Aria turned, searching for something—someone.

Then, the shadows moved.

A figure stood at the edge of the void, just beyond the reach of the starlight. Tall and still, he was a silhouette carved from the abyss itself, his form barely distinguishable from the darkness surrounding him. And yet, she felt his presence as though it had been stitched into the very fabric of her being.

A cold shiver ran down her spine. Not from fear—but from something deeper, something nameless and ancient.

She should have run.

But she couldn’t.

Because somewhere, in the part of her mind that existed beyond logic and reason, she knew him.

The void rippled as he stepped forward, the space around him bending with his presence. The closer he came, the more her body trembled—not in terror, but in something raw and unfamiliar.

And then, he spoke.

“Aria.”

Her breath caught.

The name—her name—was more than a sound. It was a vow, a whisper of something lost and found in the same moment. The way he said it made her stomach twist, like a song she had forgotten but still knew the melody to.

The air between them crackled, alive with something unseen, something powerful. His voice felt like an echo of a dream she had long since woken from.

She swallowed hard, her lips parting, though she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. His face remained shrouded in shadow, but the shape of him, the way he stood—she knew him. She knew him.

“Who—” Her voice faltered. “Who are you?”

The shadows around him stirred.

For a moment, he said nothing. His expression—though blurred by darkness—seemed to fracture, as if her question had struck something deep within him.

“You don’t remember.” It wasn’t a question.

The ache in his voice made her chest tighten, but she didn’t understand why.

“I—” She shook her head. The words wouldn’t come.

A flicker of gold wove between them, delicate strands of light stretching toward him, as if the stars themselves wanted to bridge the space between them. His gaze flickered downward, watching as the threads wove through the air, glowing softly against his fingertips.

He lifted a hand.

The moment his fingers brushed against the golden light, something shifted.

A surge of warmth bloomed in Aria’s chest, overwhelming, intoxicating, and unbearably familiar. Images flashed in her mind—half-formed memories that slipped through her grasp like water.

Laughter in the dark. A voice calling her name. A touch that burned and soothed all at once.

And a promise.

A promise that had been torn from the stars themselves.

Her heart pounded. She took a step forward, reaching for him.

“Wait—”

The abyss shattered.

Light—blinding and merciless—erupted between them, fracturing the sky. The golden threads unraveled, torn apart by unseen hands. The stars flickered, their brilliance turning cold and hollow.

The man’s expression twisted with raw desperation.

“No—” His voice cracked. He reached for her, fingers stretching toward hers, but the space between them was already collapsing.

Aria’s breath left her lungs in a sharp gasp as something unseen pulled her backward, away from him, away from the only thing that felt real.

The universe itself was tearing them apart.

She fought against it, struggling, reaching—don’t let go, don’t let go—but the light swallowed him whole.

And then—

Nothing.

No stars. No voice calling her name.

Only silence.

Aria awoke with a sharp inhale, her chest rising and falling in frantic, uneven breaths. Her fingers clenched the sheets, her body trembling with the force of something she couldn’t understand.

The room was dark, but the dream—no, the memory—was still burning behind her eyes.

She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself, but her heart was hammering against her ribs. The sensation of reaching for something—someone—who was no longer there left an unbearable emptiness inside her.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

It was just a dream.

And yet, as she sat there in the quiet of her room, staring into the darkness, she could still feel the ghost of his presence. A warmth that lingered in her bones, refusing to fade.

Somewhere, in a place she no longer knew, he was still reaching for her.

The morning light felt wrong.

It stretched across Aria’s skin in soft golden ribbons, warm but distant, as if the sun itself hesitated to touch her. She blinked up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. The dream—no, the memory—still pulsed beneath her skin, refusing to fade like dreams should.

A man in shadows. A voice like a collapsing star. A golden thread.

Her hands curled into the sheets.

She did not know him.

And yet, some part of her ached with the certainty that she did.

Aria exhaled and forced herself up, pushing away the lingering unease. It was just a dream. Nothing more.

Wasn’t it?

The city outside was alive, humming with morning rituals—car engines purring, coffee shops bustling, the faint murmur of a world moving forward. Aria moved with it, stepping into the rhythm of her routine.

Yet, everything felt… displaced.

The air was too still, like the world was waiting. People passed her on the street, but their gazes seemed to slide past her as if they weren’t truly seeing her. Even the reflections in glass windows felt off—like they were half a second behind her movements.

She shook her head. Get a grip, Aria.

She forced herself into the café on the corner, the one she visited every morning. The scent of roasted coffee beans wrapped around her, grounding her in something familiar. She stepped up to the counter, offering the usual tired smile to the barista.

“Medium latte, please.”

The girl blinked at her, frowning.

“I’m sorry, do I… know you?”

Aria stiffened.

She had ordered the same drink from this girl every single morning for the past six months.

Aria swallowed. “What?”

“I just… I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” the barista said hesitantly, fingers hovering over the register.

Aria opened her mouth, then closed it. Something cold dripped down her spine. She turned, glancing at the café—at the regulars sitting by the window, the familiar warmth of the place.

And yet… it felt different.

Like the world had shifted overnight, nudging her just out of place.

She forced a laugh. “Long night. Maybe I just look different today.”

The girl hesitated, then nodded, ringing up the order.

Aria stepped back, rubbing her arms.

She wasn’t imagining this. Something was wrong.

The wind howled between buildings as she walked home, colder than it should have been.

Then—

The streetlights flickered.

Aria stopped.

A chill coiled in her spine. The city was alive just moments ago, but now, everything felt… still.

Her breath curled in the air.

The shadows beneath the streetlamp stretched—too far, too unnatural.

And then—

A whisper.

Not in her ears. In her bones.

“…Aria…”

She turned sharply.

No one was there.

Her pulse thundered. She stumbled back, her own shadow stretching oddly beneath her feet. The world around her seemed to waver, as if reality itself was struggling to contain her.

And then—just as quickly as it came—the wrongness vanished.

The streetlights hummed back to life. The city exhaled, as if nothing had happened.

Aria’s heart pounded.

She was losing her mind.

Wasn’t she?

Somewhere far away, the shadows stirred.

Nyx’s eyes snapped open.

For the first time in an eternity, he felt it—the frayed edge of a golden thread pulling taut.

Aria.

She was slipping through the cracks.

He had searched for her across lifetimes, through the veils of existence the gods had bound her in. Every time he reached for her, she had been just out of reach—trapped in a reality that refused to remember him.

But now…

Now, the world was faltering.

And if the world could no longer contain her—

Then neither could the gods.

Nyx rose, the abyss trembling beneath him.

Aria was waking up.

And this time, he would not lose her again.

The first time it happens, Aria dismisses it as exhaustion.

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror, fingers trailing over the cool glass. Her reflection stares back—eyes stormy with thoughts she can’t grasp. Then, for the briefest moment, the light flickers, and her reflection does not move with her.

A chill crawls down her spine. She blinks. The reflection is normal again.

It happens again the next night.

She wakes up gasping, her heart hammering, her room bathed in an eerie, silver glow. It isn’t moonlight—it shifts like liquid, coiling along the walls in soft tendrils of light and shadow. She barely breathes, afraid that if she moves, whatever is happening will stop before she understands it.

Then she hears it.

A whisper. Faint, like the wind slipping through the cracks of an old door. But the voice—it is deep, filled with something ancient, something that curls around her soul as if it knows her.

"Aria."

She bolts upright, her breath sharp. The glow fades instantly, leaving her in the suffocating dark. The whisper lingers. Not in the air—but in her bones.

She’s losing her mind. She has to be.

—

Elsewhere, Beyond the Veil

Nyx stands at the threshold of the abyss, shadows curling at his feet. He has spent eons waiting, searching, tearing through the fabric of fate itself to find her. But something is wrong.

She should hear him. She should remember.

Yet the gods have woven their deception too well. Each time he reaches for her, something blocks him—a force that twists his whispers, drowns his presence, replaces his touch with empty silence.

And then he feels it. A disturbance.

Zephiron. The god of fate is moving.

They know Aria is slipping through their grasp.

A low growl rumbles in Nyx’s chest. If they wish to play their games, he will remind them of what they fear.

—

The Stranger in the Fog

The third time something strange happens, Aria is not alone.

She is walking home when the streetlights flicker out all at once, plunging her into absolute darkness. She freezes. The world is silent, unnaturally still. Even the wind refuses to move.

Then, ahead of her, a figure emerges from the fog.

Tall. Cloaked. Their face is hidden, but something about them—the way the shadows bend around them, the way the air trembles in their presence—makes her pulse quicken in warning.

She should run.

But she doesn’t.

The figure stops a few feet away. When they speak, their voice is laced with something both familiar and forbidden.

"You are not supposed to remember."

Aria’s breath catches. "What?"

A pause. Then, softer—almost regretful—

"And yet… he still tries to reach you."

The air thickens. A rush of cold slams into her mind like a tidal wave, a flicker of something else—

A shadowed figure.

A hand reaching for hers.

A name she should know—

Pain splits through her skull. She staggers back with a sharp gasp, clutching her head. When she looks up—

The figure is gone.

Only the silence remains.

And within it—a single, aching truth.

She is not losing her mind.

Something is terribly, terribly wrong.