Eyes of the Other

'Is this how I die?'

The thought clawed at his fading consciousness, bitter and raw. 'What a pathetic life I've lived…'

His fingers twitched weakly against the monster's crushing grip, but his body had long abandoned resistance. The pressure around his throat tightened, pain fading into a dull throb as numbness crept in, cold and relentless.

'Who decides who lives and who doesn't?'

'Why do the strong dictate how the weak should live?'

A sharp, suffocating pang welled in his chest—not just from the lack of air, but from the sheer helplessness of it all. His vision blurred, the edges of the world swallowed by creeping darkness.

'I hate this.'

'I hate this all.'

A single tear traced down his cheek, its warmth a cruel contrast to the cold embrace of death tightening around him.

'If everything's just going to end like this…'

His breath hitched, the final threads of strength slipping through his fingers.

'Why can't everything just disappear?'

The words barely escaped his lips before his vision turned black.

Silence.

Not the kind that lingered in the aftermath of chaos—but a deafening, oppressive stillness that swallowed the world whole. No roaring monsters. No crumbling chamber. Just an empty void.

Then, a whisper. Soft. Chilling. Omnipresent. It seeped into his bones, curling around him like an unseen force.

"Free me, and I'll show you the secret of the worlds."

Ezra's breath hitched. The voice came from nowhere, yet everywhere, reverberating through the abyss like a phantom wind. His heart pounded, but his limbs remained frozen—trapped in this endless dark.

His eyes darted around, searching for the source. Nothing. Only the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

The first thing he noticed was the water.

It sloshed around his feet—cool, eerily still, despite the faint ripples caused by his presence. The space stretched endlessly, a void beyond comprehension, yet crystal clear beneath him.

He saw his reflection staring back—sharper than any mirror.

Ezra blinked. 'When was the last time I really looked at myself?'

His hair was a chaotic mess of white, strands falling in uneven layers across his forehead. His lavender eyes—once dulled by exhaustion and battle—glowed faintly in the abyss, twin shards of fractured gemstone. Shadows flickered across his sharp features, his expression unreadable. But something in his gaze felt… wrong.

Something fractured.

Something not quite his.

He lifted a trembling hand, watching the reflection do the same. Perfectly mirrored. The water remained undisturbed, yet the sensation of standing within it was real. Too real.

Then, the reflection tilted its head—just slightly. Just enough to be wrong.

Ezra's breath caught in his throat.

The thing in the water wasn't him.

His heart pounded as he stumbled back, feet splashing into the water—yet his clothes remained dry. The surface rippled faintly, but the reflection stayed clear, unbroken. It should have distorted, but it didn't. As if the thing staring back wasn't bound by the liquid at all.

Then, it spoke.

"Were you always this weak?"

Ezra's blood ran cold.

The voice came from the reflection itself—smooth, laced with scorn, as if mocking his very existence.

"Pathetic," it scoffed, crossing its arms, head tilted in cold amusement. "How will you wield the power of the deities if you're afraid of death?"

Ezra swallowed hard, his fists clenching.

The reflection looked like him. Spoke like him. But it wasn't him.

The expression it wore was foreign—sharp, knowing, and utterly unimpressed. It stared into him, as if peeling away every layer, exposing every flaw, every fear. Judging him. Finding him unworthy.

Then, the reflection's eyes flickered—golden embers glowing where violet should have been.

The water around Ezra pulsed with heat, faint but growing, crawling up his arms like invisible flames licking at his skin.

"The flames are part of you," the reflection whispered , it's tone quieter now. "They always have been."

The fire—the power that had drained him, weakened him—it wasn't something he needed to control.

It was him.

The realization sent a shiver down his spine.

But before he could respond—before he could process what this meant—the reflection smirked.

"Wake up, Ezra," it whispered, voice dripping with finality. "You're wasting time."

And then, the surface shattered.