Seren Vale was always aware—too aware. Not in the loud, extroverted way that made people popular or charismatic, but in the quiet, unsettling way that made others uneasy. He noticed things he shouldn't. Like the way someone's eyes twitched when they lied, or how a fake smile didn't quite reach the muscles beneath the cheekbone. It wasn't a gift. It was a curse. A noise in his head that never switched off.
It was his final year of school, and while most of his classmates stumbled through life in half-sleep, Seren walked like a ghost among them—silent, alert, watching.
The morning began as it always did: rain whispering against the windowpane, gray skies pressing against the classroom glass. Inside Room 3-B, the air felt heavy, as if time had stalled. Seren sat in the back corner, close to the window, eyes not on the whiteboard but on people. Every detail entered his mind uninvited.
Adrik, the class joker, laughed a beat too loud—he was nervous again. Probably hiding something. Keira, always quiet, tapped her pen in threes—anxiety spike. And Mr. Renwick, their teacher, adjusted his tie again and again. He'd had an argument at home. Seren didn't know how he knew; he just did.
He wasn't trying to. These things just poured into him like water into an open bottle.
But today felt... different.
There was a weight. Not on the room. On him.
He shifted his gaze to the floor. His shadow—his ever-faithful mirror—was still. But something was wrong.
It didn't follow him.
The moment he stood to collect a worksheet, it lagged—just a blink too slow. Barely noticeable to anyone else, but to Seren, it was like the world stuttered. His heart skipped. He glanced around. No one else saw it. No one else ever did.
He sat back down, staring at the shadow beneath his desk.
It blinked.
Not him.
The shadow.
He didn't move, but it did. A slight twitch at the edge, like a ripple on water. Seren blinked once, twice. It was still again.
Am I going insane?
No. He wasn't. He knew what he saw.
That evening, long after school had ended and the sky bled red behind the clouds, Seren sat in his room, lights off, curtains drawn. The room was silent—too silent.
He stared at the floor. At the shadow.
And it stared back.
It rose.
Not like smoke or fog. Like something real. Something living.
The shape didn't break away from him—it unfolded. Slowly. Like it had always been part of him, but never had permission to move. It stretched taller, broader, more fluid than any human should be, yet eerily familiar.
Then it spoke.
"Finally," it said, voice deep, silky, and laced with amusement. "Took you long enough to notice."
Seren's breath caught. He backed away, pressing against his wall. "What... what are you?"
The shadow laughed—low and smooth, like someone who knew too much.
"I am you. The part that's always been watching. Waiting. The part you shoved into corners while pretending to be normal. But now—now you see."
Seren couldn't look away. The shadow moved without feet, gliding forward like a reflection on water. But its tone turned sharp.
"You've always seen what others miss. Felt what others ignore. That wasn't a glitch, Seren. It was the beginning."
Seren swallowed. "Beginning of what?"
The shadow tilted its head.
"Awakening."
A silence followed. Thick. Final.
Then, as if pulled by an invisible thread, Seren stepped forward. The shadow raised its hand—not a threat, but an invitation.
He took it.
Darkness bloomed.
Not in fear, but in clarity.
And in that moment, he understood: he wasn't broken. He wasn't haunted. He was different.
Awakened.
From the outside, the world hadn't changed. But Seren had. He now felt something crawling beneath his skin—a new awareness. Deeper. Sharper. The colors of the world weren't brighter, but the meanings behind them screamed louder.
He could feel movement in his periphery before it happened. He heard lies echo louder than truths. His mind processed everything faster. Patterns, speech, tension—decoded instantly.
And the shadow—his shadow—hovered beside him now. Not separate. Not whole. A second self. A twin thought, moving with his own.
"You're not meant to walk the path of the average," it whispered. "You see too much, Seren Vale. And now, the world will see you."
As he stepped out into the quiet city street that night, Seren felt it—underneath the ordinary, something extraordinary had awakened. In him.
And the shadows would never leave him alone again.