Riv

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Hi 👋🏻 long time no see Wayfarers! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ —🌙

The night outside didn’t deepen or fade; it held, fixed in place, as if time had stopped on one frame and forgotten how to move again. The city lights below flickered faintly, but the sky above remained unchanged, like it had arrived all at once. “It’s not changing,” he said. Tal didn’t answer. Riven could feel it, the quiet behind him, the way Tal stood near the door not guarding it, not ignoring it, but listening to something that hadn’t made a sound yet. That alone made the room feel smaller. Riven turned away from the glass. “You called someone.” A pause, then Tal nodded. “Matthew,” Riven continued. “You said it’s happening again.” Another pause. “Yeah.” The word settled too easily. Riven took a step closer. “Then this isn’t the first time.” “No.” No hesitation. No doubt. Riven exhaled, tension tightening across his shoulders. “Then why does it feel like no one knows what this is?” Tal’s gaze shifted, not to Riven, but past him, toward the window again. “Because it doesn’t happen the same way twice.” The answer lingered, incomplete. Riven frowned. “You said it follows what’s already open.” His voice lowered slightly. “What does that mean?” Tal didn’t respond. Instead, he moved toward the window. He stopped beside Riven, close enough that their reflections aligned faintly in the glass. “Look,” Tal said quietly. Riven hesitated, then followed his gaze. Not outside. Inside in the reflection. For a moment, nothing seemed wrong. The same room, the dim light. Then, Riven’s breath caught. The door. In the reflection, it wasn’t closed. It stood slightly open. Dark beyond it. Riven turned immediately. The real door was still shut and still locked. He looked back. However, reflection didn’t change. “That’s not real,” he said. Tal’s voice was low. “No.” A pause. “But it’s there.” The space felt tighter now, as if something had been added to the room without moving anything else. Riven forced himself to look again, his eyes tracing the reflection carefully. The door in the reflection remained open, and the darkness beyond it felt deeper than it should have, not like an ordinary shadow but like something hollow, something that didn’t belong to the room at all. “Don’t focus on it too long,” Tal said quietly, but Riven didn’t answer, because something shifted in the reflection. The darkness behind the open door moved, barely noticeable, yet enough to make his breath catch. He stepped back slightly. “It’s not just outside, is it?” Tal shook his head slowly. “No.” The silence that followed pressed in heavier than before, until a soft sound broke through it: a faint click from the real door. Riven froze. “Tal.” Tal didn’t move, because this time they both heard it: the handle turning slowly from the other side, without a knock, without a voice, as if whoever—or whatever—stood there already knew it didn’t need permission.

Aislie didn’t wait for the step behind them to move again. She stepped forward. Matthew followed without hesitation. They crossed the threshold just as the old man stepped back, and the door closed behind them with a soft, final click; too quiet for something that felt like it had just sealed them away from whatever had been standing there. For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence inside was different. Aislie let out a slow breath, her chest still tight as she instinctively turned toward the door. Matthew caught her wrist before she could reach for it. “Don’t.” She stopped. Behind the door, there was nothing. No sound. No movement. But that didn’t make it safe. The old man watched them, his expression unreadable as he moved further into the room, gesturing faintly for them to come in. “You made it in time,” he said. “In time for what?” Aislie asked. The old man didn’t answer. He walked instead toward the window, where half-drawn curtains filtered in a dim, unnatural light that didn’t match anything they had seen outside. It wasn’t night. It wasn’t day. It just… was. Matthew’s gaze moved across the room, taking everything in. The furniture. The walls. The small details that felt lived in, but not from now. “This place,” he murmured, “it shouldn’t exist like this.” “It doesn’t,” the old man replied. Aislie’s chest tightened. “Then where are we?” The old man turned slightly. “Between.” The word settled into the room, heavy and unclear. Matthew didn’t like it. “Between what?” The old man looked at him properly this time. “Before,” he said. “…And after.” Silence followed. Aislie didn’t fully understand, but Matthew did. His expression shifted, something clicking into place. “…The fire.” The old man said nothing. But he didn’t need to. Aislie felt it then, the wrongness sharpening into something real. “This is the building,” she whispered. Matthew nodded slowly. “Before it changed.” “And while it’s changing,” the old man added. That was worse. Because it meant this place wasn’t stable. It wasn’t past. It wasn’t present. It was something in between. Aislie’s gaze drifted back toward the door. “…And that thing?” she asked quietly. The old man didn’t hesitate. “It doesn’t belong to either.” The words settled like a heavy weight. Because now they understood something; not everything, but enough. They hadn’t escaped. They had only stepped somewhere else. Somewhere it could still reach. A faint sound came from the door. A knock. Aislie froze. Matthew didn’t move. The old man didn’t turn. The knock came again slowly. “Aislie…” Her breath caught. That voice. Right on the other side of the door. “It’s me…” Josiah. Or something that knew how to be. The old man’s eyes shifted slightly, not to the door, but to them. Waiting as if the choice hadn’t ended. As if it had only just begun. And as the handle began to turn, the light flickered. Once. Then went still. ———————— 𝗘𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭.

The door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing the stairwell away as the space shifted into something quieter, more contained. The hallway they stepped into felt different immediately. Narrow. Warmer in tone, but not in comfort. The dim yellow lighting stretched along the walls, casting soft shadows that didn’t quite settle, while the long carpet beneath their feet muted every step before it could fully form. Aislie didn’t speak. Neither did Matthew. For a moment, they just stood there, listening. Nothing chased them in or followed them. But that didn’t mean they were alone. Matthew’s grip loosened slightly on her wrist, though he didn’t fully let go. His gaze moved slowly down the corridor, scanning every door, every corner, every place where something could be or already was. “We’re not in the stairwell anymore,” Aislie whispered. Matthew nodded once. “Which means it had to choose.” The silence pressed in again. What should they do next? A. Move forward slowly down the uknosn hallway B. Enter the nearest open door C. Knock on a unit (find another resident)

The step below didn’t come again, and that alone was enough. Matthew moved first. “Up,” he said quietly. Aislie didn’t argue this time. They climbed—fast, but controlled—forcing themselves not to hesitate, not to look back. The air shifted with every step, pressing in behind them like something was closing the distance. Aislie fixed her focus on the rhythm of her movement, on the sound of Matthew just ahead, grounding herself in something real as the numbers changed beside them. Six. Her chest tightened. “We just left six.” “I know.” “Then why are we back—” “Don’t stop.” They didn’t. The next landing came too quickly. Seven. Aislie let out a breath, brief and unsteady. “Okay.” But Matthew slowed. Just slightly. Then stopped. Aislie nearly ran into him. “What—” He raised a hand. Silence fell—not empty, but listening. Aislie held her breath. Matthew’s gaze fixed on the number beside them. Seven. It flickered once, then shifted. Six. Her stomach dropped. “…No.” The light dimmed, and from below, a voice rose softly. “Aislie…” She froze. It was too familiar. “Don’t respond,” Matthew said, calm but firm. The voice came again, closer now. “Aislie, wait.” Her chest tightened. Josiah. It sounded exactly like him. “He’s upstairs,” Matthew said. “Not there.” A step echoed from below. Then another came up. “What if it’s actually him?” she whispered. “It’s not.” The certainty didn’t make it easier. The voice was closer now, just beneath the landing. “Aislie.” Matthew stepped back. “Move.” This time, she didn’t hesitate. They ran. Up. The stairwell stretched as they moved, the numbers blurring past, the sound following behind them never stopping, as if it didn’t need to. As if it already knew exactly where they were going.

It was only after they finished that things shifted. It started small, almost unnoticeable at first. A pause in conversation. A silence that lasted just a second too long, stretching just enough to be felt. Then came a sound. Faint and Distant. Like something tapping. Riven’s head lifted slightly. “…Did you hear that?” Maya froze mid-movement. “Hear what?” There it was again. 𝙏𝙖𝙥. 𝙏𝙖𝙥. 𝙏𝙖𝙥. Josiah frowned, his eyes narrowing toward the wall. “Okay, don’t tell me that’s coming from the wall.” Aislie stood still in the kitchen, listening. The sound stopped. Silence returned, heavier this time. “…Probably pipes,” Maya said, though her voice lacked its earlier certainty. “Pipes don’t sound like that,” Josiah muttered. No one responded. Riven glanced toward where the sound had come from. Somewhere deeper in the unit. Or maybe beyond it. It was hard to tell. Then the lights flickered. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦. Aislie looked up. “That happens sometimes.” “Comforting,” Josiah said flatly. Another pause followed, quieter now, more aware. Maya spoke again, her voice softer. “…Okay, now it actually feels weird.” No one disagreed. The room hadn’t changed. The food was still there, the furniture in place, the light soft and steady again. Everything looked normal. And yet, something had shifted. Not around them. But within it. Riven leaned back slightly, exhaling under his breath. This was the first time since arriving that something didn’t feel easy to ignore. And now, they had to decide what to do next.

They didn’t talk much on the way to Aislie’s unit. Not because there was nothing to say, but because the earlier conversation lingered just enough to fill the silence. Still, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just unfamiliar, like they were all slowly adjusting to each other’s presence. Aislie stopped in front of her door and unlocked it without hesitation. “It’s not much,” she said as she pushed it open. “So don’t expect anything impressive.” “It smells good already,” Maya said, stepping in first. “That’s because I haven’t started yet.” Josiah let out a quiet laugh as he followed. “Confidence.” Riven stepped inside last. The unit felt warmer than the hallway. Not just in temperature, but in atmosphere. There were small signs of someone actually living there—books stacked neatly on a table, a jacket draped over a chair, faint music playing somewhere in the background. Comforting. Aislie moved naturally through the space, tying her hair back as she headed toward the kitchen. “Sit wherever,” she said. “I’ll make something quick.” Maya settled onto the couch almost immediately, letting out a small breath like she’d been holding it in all day. “I didn’t realize how tired I was.” “You’re always tired,” Josiah said, dropping into a chair nearby. “I’m a medical student.” “And I’m law. What’s your point?” Aislie didn’t look at them. “If you two start arguing, I’m not cooking.” “Okay, okay,” Maya said quickly. Josiah raised his hands slightly. “Peace.” Riven stayed standing for a moment longer before finally sitting down. He let his eyes wander around the room, taking in the details. Everything felt grounded here. For a while, things were simple. They talked. Light topics. Campus, classes, small complaints about schedules and assignments. The kind of conversation that didn’t require much thought, just enough to pass time. At some point, the food was ready. Nothing complicated. Just something warm, something easy to share. They ate together. And for a moment, it felt normal.

There was something measured in the introduction. Not unfriendly, but not warm either. “Riven.” The name sat between them for a second, followed by a pause that wasn’t long enough to be awkward, but just long enough to be noticed. Tal’s gaze lingered, not intrusive, like he was seeing more than what was in front of him. “You just moved in today.” It wasn’t a question. Riven nodded slowly. “…Yeah.” Another pause followed, softer this time. Then Tal’s eyes shifted, just briefly, toward the other end of the hallway. 9C. 9D. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙮 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙨. His expression didn’t change, but something in the air did—subtle, almost unnoticeable, like a tension that appeared and disappeared before it could fully form. “…You should get some rest,” Tal said, pushing himself off the doorframe. His tone stayed casual, but there was something underneath it. Something slightly off. “First nights here can be… disorienting.” Riven frowned faintly. “Disorienting?” Tal’s lips curved just enough to suggest a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ll see.” Silence settled between them again, heavier now. Then Tal stepped back. His hand rested on the door handle. And just before he closed it, he added, almost lightly— “Try not to open anything you’re not sure about.” The door shut with a soft click. Riven stood there, alone again. The hallway hadn’t changed. The lights still buzzed faintly overhead. The air still felt wrong in a way he couldn’t explain. But now, there was something else layered into it. 𝗔 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲. For the first time since he stepped into the building, Riven wasn’t just reacting to what happened around him.

ㅤㅤ too 𝓢󠁡weet for this world ꒰◞ ◟꒱ྀི ㅤㅤ

Far below him, beyond the floors he knew, beyond the structure that should have defined the building, something shifted again. A door opened—quietly, almost gently—on a floor that should not have existed at all. A hallway stretched out from it, long and narrow, swallowed in darkness that felt less like absence and more like something waiting. At the far end, something stood. 𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜. Its shape was unmistakable. Familiar in a way that made his chest tighten before his mind could catch up. “…𝘿𝙖𝙙?” The word broke as it left him, fragile and uncertain. The figure did not respond. It did not move. And yet, slowly—almost imperceptibly—its mouth began to curve. Wider. Too wide. The lights flickered violently, once, twice—then everything fell into darkness. When they came back, the room was empty again. Riven stood alone, the photograph still resting on the table, unchanged to any eye but his. But the feeling remained. Heavy. Certain. Unavoidable. The voice in the lobby—the one that had called him, that had known exactly where he belonged—𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨. It had been recognizing him. And beneath the grief, beneath the lingering weight of loss, something colder settled quietly in his chest. A realization he could not fully grasp, yet could not deny. He hadn’t come here by accident. Something else had already been waiting. 𝙇𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙙.

The unit was normal. 𝙏𝙤𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙡. Everything about it felt deliberately untouched, as if it had been arranged to appear lived in without ever truly being lived in. The furniture was minimal, the surfaces clean, and there was no trace of anyone who might have stayed there before him. No misplaced object, no lingering scent, no sign of habit. It felt less like a home and more like a space waiting to become one—𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙣𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙧𝙮. Riven stepped inside and closed the door behind him. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘥 through the room, louder than it should have, lingering just a second too long in the air. He set his bag down near the wall, then carefully placed the photograph on the table, adjusting it without thinking. For a moment, he simply stood there, unmoving, listening. He wasn’t sure what he was listening for. 𝙎𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢. It stretched, thick and unmoving, pressing gently against his ears until it almost felt like a presence of its own. Then, somewhere beneath that stillness, something shifted. A faint sound—distant, subtle—like something brushing against the inside of the walls. Riven turned slowly, his gaze scanning the room. The sound stopped. “…Hello?” Nothing came back. He swallowed, the dryness in his throat suddenly sharp, and shook his head as if to force the feeling away. “You’re just tired,” he muttered, though the words felt hollow even as they left him. He reached toward the table again and froze. 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨. At first, it was almost impossible to place. The image looked the same. The lighting, the angle, the faint scratches across its surface unchanged. But the longer he stared, the more certain he became. 𝙄𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙙. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Not enough to be obvious. But he could feel it. Riven didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Because somewhere deep inside him, something had already begun to understand. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙝𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙙. And yet, he couldn’t look away.

The elevator opened without a sound, and then he stepped inside. The mirror caught his reflection and the photograph in his hands. The doors closed and numbers lit up. 3. 4. 5. 6. The light flickered and made Riven frowned. For a moment, he could have sworn the elevator slowed. That something lingered there. But the display didn’t change. Still, something tightened in his chest. Like he had just passed somewhere he wasn’t meant to notice. 9. The doors opened. The hallway stretched longer than it should have. Or maybe it only felt that way. His footsteps softened against the carpet. The lights buzzed faintly above him, just enough to make the silence feel heavier. 9B. He walked toward it, counting without meaning to. One. Two. Three— He stopped. Across the hall— 9C. Empty. 9D. Empty. The doors looked untouched. 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙣𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚. “…Cheap for a reason, huh.”

The lobby smelled off. Not bad. Not rotten. 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜 Like something had been cleaned too many times, but never fully gone. For a moment, he thought the place was empty. No receptionist. No voices. Not even the distant hum of a television. Just silence. Then—“𝗨𝗻𝗶𝘁 𝟵𝗕, 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁?” Riven flinched. He looked up. The receptionist was there. He was certain she hadn’t been before. She smiled politely—too politely. Her lips moved again, repeating something, but the words didn’t quite reach him. They felt delayed, like they had been spoken from somewhere slightly out of sync. His attention drifted past her. To the wall behind. A directory. Floors. Units. Names. His eyes moved quickly. Third floor. Fourth. Fifth. 𝙎𝙞𝙭𝙩𝙝. He stopped. There was a gap. Not obvious—not at first—but something about the spacing felt uneven. Like something had been there once, and removed without leaving a trace. “…Yeah,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was answering. The key was placed in his palm. 𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙙. Colder than it should have been. For a second, he hesitated. Because he wasn’t sure if she had actually spoken or if something else had.

The apartment building didn’t look wrong at first glance. Modern. Clean lines. Neutral colors. The kind of place that tried too hard to feel safe. And cheap. 𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘱. Riven noticed that immediately. He stood in front of it longer than necessary, the photograph still in his hand, his reflection faintly visible on the glass entrance. For a second, he thought he saw someone standing behind him. He turned. 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. Just the street. Just passing cars. Just silence. “…𝙍𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩.” He exhaled, more to steady himself than anything else, and stepped inside.