Hugo had found his passion again. Darlina, her strength. But the story doesn't end with redemption—it begins there.
The Vision
Barry stood frozen, the air around him alive with the hiss of whispers—like fire licking wet stone. A presence curled in the silence, watching.
Then suddenly, light. Warm and flickering. The kind of light born not from electricity, but from flames.
He blinked.
The scene unfurled before him, as vivid as reality. Orion, Zale, Archer, and Liam stood in a circle around a towering stone pillar. Their faces were marked by weariness and something deeper—hope disguised as determination. Archer and Liam sported bruises across their cheeks and shoulders, the kind earned from hard battles. A deep gash bled down Orion's right arm, staining the fabric dark. Zale, once vibrant, now stood with the pallor of someone drained by something unseen.
Barry's heart skipped a beat.
Because he saw himself there, too.
Another Barry. A reflection. A ghost. The Illusion-Barry trembled on the edge of the group, eyes darting like a cornered animal's. He looked ready to flee.
"What... is going on?" Barry whispered. But the words vanished before reaching anyone's ears.
"Hey!" he yelled, louder now. No reaction.
He felt the isolation hit him like a wave. Not just invisible—inaudible. Unfelt.
The forest was gone. The mossy earth and the trees replaced by ancient stone and towering walls. A temple. Massive, cold, and full of secrets.
Barry looked down.
No feet. No hands. No skin. Just a whisper of movement.
He wasn't standing—he was drifting. Air.
Wind.
Panic twisted inside him. But before it could consume him, the vision twisted.
Now Illusion-Barry crouched in the shadows of a crumbling corner. His breath came in frantic bursts, chest heaving, lips parted but silent. Something—something terrible—was approaching, and Illusion-Barry was frozen in place, paralyzed by fear.
The real Barry moved without thinking.
He remembered what had always calmed him down on sleepless nights: a cool breeze on his face.
So he blew—softly. A whisper across skin.
Illusion-Barry stirred. His breath slowed. The tightness in his body eased. Slowly, with quiet steps, he began moving to the right, as if sensing the shift in the air.
That's when Barry turned.
Out of the darkness came a face—rotted, flesh peeling, eyes sunken and endless. It lunged at him.
Barry screamed—
And everything shattered.
8 July – Otto
Far from forgotten temples and visions, another kind of storm brewed. One forged not in mystery—but in bitterness.
"What the heck? Can't they let me stay in one damn place?" Otto growled, pacing in front of the chairman's office. His shirt clung to his back with sweat. His accent, molded by years of relocation, was a strange blend—no hometown, no roots. He was a man made of transit.
The staff avoided his eyes as he passed them. Some gave half-hearted waves. Most didn't bother. They were glad. Otto was technically competent—yes—but his temper scorched everything he touched.
Complaints had piled too high. The upper brass had made their decision. He was being relocated—again. Not promoted. Not praised. Just pushed. Shoved into a forgotten corner of the country to oversee another manager's work. A babysitter. A joke.
No goodbyes. He never gave any.
Outside, his steps hit the pavement with force. He shot glares like arrows, daring anyone to meet his eyes. No one did.
He wasn't headed home.
He was headed to her.
The Breaking Point
The door slammed open with a thunderous crash.
Nora jumped, nearly dropping the spoon in her hand. A waft of curry clung to her apron. Her other hand was wrapped in fresh gauze—an ugly burn still healing.
"Otto? What—"
"What's wrong?!" he shouted. "Everything's been wrong since I married you! You're a curse, Nora!"
The street paused. Curtains shifted. A teenage boy began dialing the police. An old neighbor gently pulled his hand down. "No point," she whispered. "It's like this every time."
Inside, Nora swallowed the heat rising in her chest. She approached with a trembling steadiness. "Let's talk inside, Otto. Please."
Once behind closed doors, her voice softened. "You got transferred again?"
Otto sneered. "Thanks to you. Now pack my stuff. And don't you dare forget a thing."
She didn't argue. Just turned and walked away.
"When do we leave?" she asked flatly, the question loaded.
He laughed cruelly. "We? Who said you're coming? Go to your parents'. They could use a maid."
She froze. Turned back.
"You really hate me that much?"
No tears. No trembling lip. Just quiet resolve.
She dropped her apron onto the floor. Picked up her purse. Slipped on her shoes.
And walked out without looking back.
Otto stared after her, dumbstruck. "I didn't... mean it like that…"
But she was already gone.
Smoke and Silence
His stomach growled. Hunger clawed through his gut.
He stumbled into the kitchen. Empty shelves. Nothing edible.
"She left me to starve," he muttered. "She planned this."
Anger bloomed again. He tore through drawers, cursed the missing condiments, slammed cabinet doors. Then finally found his phone and called the only person who might still care.
"Mom?"
"My boy? You sound upset. What's wrong?"
"I need your help," he said softly. "Can you come over?"
Only with her did his voice ever soften.
He hung up.
Then the smoke hit him.
The pot on the stove—left behind in Nora's rush—was blackened. Charred. Useless.
He grabbed it barehanded.
"AHH—DAMN IT—"
The pain was searing. He dropped the pot, and it clanged into the sink, still smoking.
He stared at his throbbing hand.
"She did this on purpose," he said, as if convincing himself. "She always ruins everything."
A Door Reopened
It took Nora half an hour to reach her parents' home.
She stood outside, suddenly unsure, a stranger at the doorstep of her childhood.
She rang the bell.
An old woman with silver-streaked hair opened the door. Her eyes squinted—then widened.
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Nora?" she gasped. "My baby?"
Nora collapsed into her mother's arms.
Her father shuffled into the hallway, gripping his walking cane.
"What happened to you, my daughter?" he asked gently, "Why do you look so... pale?"
Nora didn't answer.
But for the first time in years, she felt safe enough to cry.