The Boy Beneath the Mask

The chamber was quiet, but Sunny's mind was a storm.

He sat on the cold stone floor, mask in hand. The visions had left him rattled, breath shallow, fingers trembling. They hadn't felt like illusions. No tricks. Just memories. Memories that shouldn't belong to him… and yet whispered truths only he could feel.

"Who were you before all this?" Sunny muttered, staring into the blank face of the mask.

His own reflection stared back—eyes haunted, soul weathered far beyond his years.

Then the silence broke.

Footsteps echoed from the archway above, slow and deliberate. Sunny tensed, hiding the mask in his coat.

From the shadows, a figure emerged.

A boy—perhaps no older than him—but his presence felt older than the stones themselves. He was dressed in a worn, ceremonial cloak, white with ash stains. His hair was silver-blond, his eyes the color of dying stars.

"Sunny," the boy said, voice smooth and unhurried. "You've seen it, haven't you?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm no one anymore." The boy smiled softly. "But people used to call me the Seer. Now, I only serve truths others fear to touch."

Sunny's eyes narrowed. "You knew Lysander."

"I still do." The boy's tone didn't waver. "He walks forward thinking