Ghosts of the Past: Chains, Dreams, and Departure to the Night Sky

A faint creak of chains, ragged breaths, and in the heavy silence, Aiden stared at his trembling hands.

He stared at them as if he didn't know them, as if he didn't know himself.

In a weak voice, as if speaking to the void:

"These are my hands...?"

His voice choked as he raised his gaze to the opposite wall.

"Did I... do this? Did I kill him?"

A vague memory flickered in his mind—a small child, features indistinct, wide eyes filled with terror, no smile, no warmth, just a piercing fear, then a fall.

"Who was that child?"

Aiden whispered, his eyes widening gradually.

"He wasn't laughing... No, he wasn't laughing... He was scared."

Then the truth fell upon him like a rock:

"Was I the cause? Was I the one who made him scream?"

The room door burst open. A bright light from the hallway pierced the darkness. His adoptive father entered, carrying a box of medicine, and quietly closed the door behind him with an ominous calm.

His face was devoid of expression, but in his eyes was something strange... something broken.

He approached slowly, staring at Aiden as one would look at a failed project, then spoke in a low voice, with a bitter tone:

"Do you remember? I dreamed of becoming a doctor."

He chuckled lightly, a tired laugh, then shook his head.

"But fate didn't smile on me, no university accepted me..."

He paused for a moment, then looked at the bound Aiden as a butcher looks at a weak animal before slaughter.

"And in the end? Look at us... I'm sedating you, and tying you up again. Funny, isn't it?"

He leaned closer and whispered next to his ear:

"Even if you're my adopted son, I'm the one who made you... or so I imagined."

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Sira was sitting, thinking about the crime she had witnessed just three days ago. She turned to her mother, who was hastily packing bags, and cried out emotionally:

"Mom! We shouldn't leave! No one saw me... The killer didn't see me! I didn't even see him! Just... just a sound."

She raised her hand to her chest, as if trying to calm her racing heart.

"We can pretend... that what happened didn't happen."

Her mother stopped, took a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling hands. Her eyes were filled with worry, but she tried to appear strong.

"Enough, Sira."

She approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder, pressing lightly.

"I'll do anything to keep you safe. I won't leave you exposed in a city where everything has started to change."

"We'll say we're moving because of Eileen's studies, that way your sisters won't be scared."

Then she stared into Sira's eyes and said in a low but firm voice:

"But you know the truth. We don't have the luxury of pretending. The killer might return... and you, like it or not, are now on the map."

After that night,

Her mother decided to leave.

She looked at her three sleeping daughters,

And in her heart, decisions yet unannounced...

A silent departure, but one that would uproot memories from walls that had embraced their laughter.

That night, Sira was the last to fall asleep. Sleep overtook her, and she slipped into a dream as if opening a door to a parallel world.

Sira dreamed she was standing in an infinite void, with no ground or sky. A soft, familiar voice called to her amidst the silence, giving her an unnamed warmth.

She couldn't see who was speaking, but she felt his closeness. She was holding a small, heavy black bag. She wanted to approach the source of the voice, but he warned her:

"Don't come closer... The path to me is dangerous. Keep the bag; it's yours."

She hesitated, clinging to the bag even though she didn't want it; she wanted him.

Then she woke up.

The sound of her family outside—faint laughter and the clatter of dishes—seemed very distant from the moment she had just emerged from. Her face was wet, and tears flowed continuously, though she didn't know why. She sat on the edge of her bed, gripping the edge tightly, her eyes staring into the void before her.

"Who was that? And why... do I feel like I've lost a part of myself?"

Her hand moved automatically to her side, searching for the bag... and found nothing.

That morning, they faced the truth as the sun's laughter faded little by little: they decided to leave their small, embracing city. Now, as the time of departure approaches, they bid farewell to that small world to welcome "Izora"—or as the residents call it: "Night Sky"—the city of gleaming jewels that awaits them with its shimmering lights and endless promises.

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Aiden, first in a low voice, but then it gradually rose until it exploded in anger:

"I told you to open these damn chains before I lose what's left of my humanity!"

The father, with a cold, sarcastic tone:

"Have you stopped taking your medication again, Aiden? How many times do I have to say that madmen shouldn't be policemen... or owners of a successful coffee shop chain?"

A laugh burst from Aiden's mouth, a mix of pain and madness. His head bowed forward, then he suddenly lifted it, his eyes blazing, staring directly at the man.

Aiden, with a twisted smile:

"Oh, no, no... not like that! I forgot, I should hand over the coffee shop chain to you... Isn't that what you always wanted? Another piece to add to your sick collection!"

The father stepped forward, holding a syringe filled with clear liquid, pressing its tip to release a drop that reflected in the dim light.

The father, with eerie coldness:

"And why not? Didn't I adopt you for this reason? To be useful... not a burden."

And suddenly...

The door burst open. The sound of a scream came before the owner of the voice appeared. A woman in her forties, the adoptive mother, screaming:

"Enough! Are you going to kill him now?!"

She looked at the bound Aiden, then at the man standing, her eyes ablaze.

The mother, with anger mixed with fear:

"And you! Aiden! How did you let him drug you again? How do you let him drag you into this hell?!"

She ran towards him, pulled out a small key, and began unlocking the chains. Her hands were trembling, but her eyes were firm.

The sound of metal falling to the ground echoed in the room like a bell of salvation.

The mother, with a voice full of pain:

"Go, Aiden. Leave this cursed place. Don't look back."

Then she turned towards the man, who hadn't moved from his spot, only watched her with an empty, defiant gaze.

She, in a voice low as poison:

"And if you touch a hair on him again... you'll regret it. I won't protect you this time."

Aiden, slowly getting up, stared at his freed hands, then looked at the woman with eyes filled with conflicting emotions: anger, gratitude, sadness, and confusion. Or even a glimpse of his painful past.