Not just blurry—but wrong.
Like one of those dreams that leaves you rattled, uneasy, even after you wake up.
The world was soaked in a purple hue. Not the warm kind that comes with sunset—but cold, unnatural. The kind of color that felt like it didn't belong in the world at all.
In the distance, tornadoes spun slowly across the horizon, their forms silent and menacing. Debris drifted through the air—shards of metal, broken glass, splinters of homes long forgotten.
Kaz blinked.
It looked like his Sanctuary.
But it also... didn't.
The buildings were twisted, unfamiliar. Familiar objects were out of place or broken. Everything felt like a bad memory, reconstructed by something that didn't quite understand what it was copying.
He started to walk.
With every step, the debris shifted beneath his feet, forming a path where there hadn't been one. Like the world was responding to him—or watching him.
"This isn't real," Kaz muttered under his breath.
But it felt real. Too real. The air had weight. The cold, violet light cast shadows that moved just a second too slow.
That realization—the way this illusion pressed down on his senses—finally made something crack in him.
A nervous heat flushed through his veins, quick and sharp.
He was not safe here.
The weight of fear settled deep in Kaz's chest, and his blood ran cold.
He kept walking, each step echoing into the surreal silence of the dreamscape.
Then came the smoke.
It slithered across the ground, rising like mist—dense, dark, and hungry. It didn't just obscure the world. It swallowed it. Like the dream itself wanted to crush his chances of finding a way out.
Kaz had always liked to think of his mind as a temple.
He'd survived too much—brutal Rifts, scorching islands, nightmares that left real scars. After all that, he believed he'd earned the right to some peace inside his own head.
But this?
This place didn't feel like a test of survival.
It wasn't even sport.
No…
Whatever was hunting him here—if it was hunting him—wasn't doing it for a reason.
It wasn't doing it for fun.
It was doing it because it could.
Because want wasn't part of it. Only will. Cold. Unshakable. Purpose without empathy.
Kaz slowed, the air tightening like a noose. The mist curled around his legs, like fingers deciding whether to drag him down or simply watch him squirm.
This wasn't a dream.
This was something else.
Kaz pushed forward, but the deeper he walked into the dreamscape, the heavier the smoke became.
It clung to his skin, curled into his lungs, pressed against his thoughts like static drowning a radio signal.
The more he walked, the more his mind clouded.
It didn't want him to see what came next.
He wasn't just being watched. He was being denied.
The mist grew thicker—until it no longer drifted but stood, dense and immovable. A wall of smoke.
Kaz stopped. He reached out, but the smoke pushed back—solid as stone.
"What is this?" he muttered.
The wall rippled.
Then it began to move.
The smoke swirled inward, spinning like a miniature tornado. Faster. Tighter. Until finally, the chaos stilled…
And something formed.
A single object.
A chair.
Kaz blinked, unsure if he was supposed to be afraid… or take a seat.
The chair was simple—made of dark wood, etched with strange, shifting patterns that seemed to change whenever he tried to focus on them.
It looked ancient. Important. Like something meant for a ruler… or a prisoner.
He stood frozen.
Confused.
Uneasy.
The silence pressed in.
Whatever was hunting him wasn't chasing anymore.
It was waiting.
A chair?
Kaz stared at it, baffled.
Of all things in the world… why a chair?
It didn't make sense. It was absurd, almost laughable. After all the horrors he'd seen, all the monsters, curses, and twisted realms—was this the thing that had frozen him in place?
But the unease crawling down his spine said otherwise.
It wasn't just a chair.
It couldn't be.
Kaz stepped closer, his curiosity outweighing his fear—barely. He reached out, slowly, cautiously, as if expecting the chair to vanish… or bite.
His fingers hovered just above the armrest, a breath away.
Then—
Snap.
A sharp spark of electricity leapt from the wood to his skin.
Kaz recoiled with a hiss, shaking his hand. The jolt wasn't strong enough to injure him, but it was strong enough to make a point.
This wasn't just some symbol.
It was a threshold.
And he wasn't ready to cross it.
Not yet.
"Nuh uh uh."
The voice was playful—almost singsong. But something in its cadence was wrong. It curled in Kaz's ears like a knife wrapped in silk.
His blood ran cold.
Where did that come from? Behind me?
Kaz spun around, heart hammering, fists half-raised.
And then he saw it.
A haze of smoke, thick and writhing, stood where nothing had been a second ago. It loomed behind him—tall, formless, and alive. Its presence swallowed the air.
Two glowing purple eyes burned in the mist.
The voice continued, still laced with that teasing chill.
"You can't touch that yet... not until someone says our True Name."
Kaz froze.
Then the realization hit him—sharp, absurd, terrifying.
This wasn't some Rift spawn.
It wasn't a specter.
It was him.
His heart stuttered. His mouth went dry.
The Ego of Chaos.
His first innate ability.
He couldn't believe it. Couldn't wrap his head around how something so chaotic, so whole, had come from him.
This thing didn't act like a newborn. It wasn't weak, confused, or even curious. It was confident, calm, and patient.
And it was dangerous.
Kaz's voice came out low and cautious. "Too bad, though. I'm never telling anyone my True Name."
The smoke flickered. Just a twitch. Barely visible.
But Kaz felt it.
Like the world had leaned forward—eager.
The smoke churned.
It twisted into a storm, a cyclone of shadow and pressure. It howled without sound. Kaz kept his guard up, muscles taut, breath shallow.
If he wasn't on the edge of panic, he might've appreciated the sheer spectacle of it—the elegance of chaos. But this wasn't beauty.
This was death, wrapped in a lullaby.
The tornado settled.
A foot stepped out. Then another. An arm. A torso. And finally… a face.
Kaz blinked.
No, not a face.
His face.
The figure stood tall, smoke still clinging to its form like a cloak. Its skin was a bright caramel, identical to Kaz's own. Light brown eyes—no, not quite. Not light. Glowing.
But the differences were there. Subtle, yet striking.
Kaz's hair was tightly coiled, cropped short, practical.
His double's hair flowed back in loose curls, slicked and effortless, like he'd styled it just to smirk better.
And that smile...
Gods.
It came so naturally.
It didn't belong to a version of Kaz that had ever known fear.
That smile made Kaz's blood run cold.
It was charming. Confident. Cruel.
And it was worn on his own face.
Something about that twisted the world sideways.
Kaz swallowed. His own heartbeat sounded like a war drum in his ears.
The double tilted its head. Still smiling.
"Well," it said, tone still dancing on that line between teasing and terrifying, "you look like you've seen a ghost."