The first thing I hear when I wake up isn't the alarm.
It's breathing.
Not mine.
Not anyone else's.
Just breathing.
Slow. Cold. Patient.
Like something ancient is perched on the edge of my bed, exhaling centuries of disappointment at how far humanity has fallen.
I open my eyes.
There's nothing there.
Of course.
Because if there was, I might've had an excuse to scream. Instead, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I dreamt the entire curse. The missing students. The whisper. The entity in my skull.
"You didn't."
Yeah. That's Avici. The spectral roommate I never signed a lease for.
"Seven names have been lost. Six remain. We are halfway to the breach."
"Morning to you too," I mumble, dragging myself upright. "Glad to see subtlety still isn't your thing."
"Subtlety is for liars. And ghosts who want to be forgotten."
"Cool. I'll remember that when I'm shopping for a therapist who speaks dead languages."
He doesn't laugh.
He never laughs.
By the time I get to school, the world feels… wrong.
Not broken.
Just tilted.
Like the hallway stretched a little too long. Like the students' voices echo half a second too late. Like reality is trying to keep up with itself—and losing.
Narayana Dharma International School is spotless as ever. Perfect grass. Glossy tiles. An architectural marvel built on top of what I'm now 90% sure is a mass grave of cursed memories.
I meet up with Raka near the bike shed. He's eating something unidentifiable and looks like he didn't sleep.
"Hey," he says, chewing. "You look like you met your ancestors in a dream."
"Close. One of them still inside my skull."
"Cool. I had a dream where the principal turned into a goat. Think it means anything?"
"Yeah. That we're all doomed."
We head up to class.
Nothing seems out of place.
Until it is.
The moment I step into Class XI-C, I feel it.
An absence.
Not just silence. Not just space. Something is missing.
I scan the room. Desks. Students. The soft buzz of neon lights. Everything looks normal.
Which is the first red flag.
Raka pauses beside me, frowning.
"Wait. Where's Naila?"
"What?"
"Not Nayla. Naila. Short hair. Sits by the window. Always drawing weird stuff."
My stomach drops.
Because I remember her too.
Naila. Good at math. Bad at making eye contact. She once said I looked like a cryptid and then apologized by drawing a chibi demon version of me.
And now?
Her desk is empty.
But no one notices.
No one even glances at the space she should be in.
"We're down to eight," I whisper.
"You are incorrect," Avici says calmly in my head. "You are down to seven."
I freeze.
"What do you mean?"
"There is another you have already forgotten."
And I swear the lights flicker.
Just once.
But enough.
The teacher walks in. Business as usual. Greeting us. Smiling. Reading out attendance.
She doesn't call Naila's name. She doesn't notice.
She just continues.
Business as usual.
Reality trying very, very hard to pretend it's fine.
Raka leans in, whispering.
"Bro. It's starting again, isn't it?"
"It never stopped."
"What do we do?"
"We find Nayla."
Because if anyone can calculate the apocalypse into a spreadsheet, it's her.
I check my phone.
No new messages.
Except one.
Unknown Number.
Text:
"The memory rot begins where the sun doesn't reach. Find the eye."
Followed by a signature I was both hoping and dreading to see.
—A.D.
And just like that, the day turns into a clue.