HAUNTING MELODY

Rain crashed down, turning the city streets into black, rushing rivers. A boy, maybe sixteen, ran barefoot through the storm. His name was Kael, and his heart slammed against his ribs. Wet clothes clung to his skinny frame, and his feet slapped icy puddles. Tears streamed down his face, washed away by the rain. He didn’t dare look back, but he felt it—someone was coming for him.

Behind him, a man glided through the dark like a ghost. His long cloak snapped in the wind, and two swords in his hands flashed silver when lightning cracked the sky. Heavy boots crunched wet gravel, steady and unstoppable. His face hid in shadow, but his voice cut through the thunder. “Majoil!” he roared, the word sharp and unnatural, like it burned the air.

Blue sparks exploded from his hands, twisting into a blazing beam. It slammed into Kael’s back. He screamed, collapsing into the mud. Pain seared through his spine, locking his legs. He clawed at the dirt, gasping, but his body betrayed him. The man’s boots squelched closer, slow and deliberate. Kael whimpered, dragging himself an inch at a time.

Lightning lit the man’s face—hard, scarred, with a cruel smirk. His eyes gleamed like cold steel. “No running,” he growled, voice low and venomous. “Not from me. Not from Majoil.” Kael’s eyes begged for mercy, but the man’s smirk widened. He raised one sword and drove it into Kael’s left eye.

Kael’s scream tore through the storm. Blood gushed, hot and sticky. The man didn’t flinch—he stabbed the second sword into Kael’s right eye. Kael’s cries faded to weak sobs, his face a red ruin. The man knelt, gripping Kael’s jaw. He whispered strange, hissing words, like a snake’s tongue flicking the air.

Kael’s body jerked. From his empty eye sockets, two glowing orbs floated up, pulsing green. The man snatched them, crushing them in his fist. They burst with a sickening *pop*, releasing a misty glow that vanished in the rain. Kael moaned, barely alive. The man stood, raised both swords, and plunged them into Kael’s stomach.

Blood poured out, mixing with the mud. The man twisted the blades, and Kael’s final gasp was lost in the storm. The man yanked the swords free, tore off Kael’s shredded shirt, and grabbed his arm. He dragged the body through the empty streets, leaving a red trail. The city was dead—crumbling buildings, no lights, no people. The rain hid it all.

At a wide, broken square, a cracked fountain loomed. The man hurled Kael’s body against it, letting it slump like a rag doll. He raised his swords to the sky, lightning framing him like a monster. He chanted, voice deep and guttural. The ground trembled. Black shadows slithered from Kael’s corpse, coiling like snakes around the man’s swords and arms. They pulled him into the dark.

“Majoil,” he whispered, voice echoing as the storm roared louder. Then he was gone, swallowed by the rain. Kael’s broken body lay alone by the fountain, the night hiding his pain.

---

The storm died. Dawn crept in, gray and heavy, like the sky was grieving. The city was a ruin—shattered buildings, choked with dust and time. But one structure stood untouched: a sleek, low building of smooth metal, too perfect for this broken world. It sprawled across the land, glowing faintly, like it didn’t belong.



Inside, footsteps echoed on cold floors. A woman in a crisp white-and-silver uniform—Ms. Selena—moved down a sterile hallway. She stopped at a door marked “Caelan Twinmere” She knocked once, sharp, and walked in. A soft light flickered on.

“Caelan,” she said, firm but kind. “Six o’clock. Breakfast’s ready. Shan’s patrolling, so don’t dawdle. Get up.” She tugged the blanket, glanced at the figure in bed, and left, her steps fading.

Caelan didn’t move. Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. Silence.

Suddenly, his body jolted. Eyes snapped open, wide and wild. Sweat soaked his face. His breath came in sharp gasps, vision blurry. He wasn’t in his room—he was strapped to a metal table. Machines beeped around him, screens flashing red. Doctors in white coats stood close, whispering. Caelan’s heart raced. Something was *wrong*.

One doctor, face hidden by a mask, leaned in and pressed a wall panel. A low hum started. The doctors filed out, their steps too calm, and the door clicked shut. Caelan was alone. His chest heaved, panic rising.

Then—a hiss. From a vent above, dark green smoke curled into the room. It moved like it was alive, slinking toward him. Caelan’s eyes widened. He screamed, but no sound came. He thrashed against the straps, but his body grew heavy. The smoke slid into his lungs, bitter and cold.

His vision dimmed. His heart slowed. The room spun. Caelan Aerian was dead.

Outside, through a small window in the door, the doctors watched. Their faces were blank, like they felt nothing.

---

The green smoke cleared. The door slid open, and doctors rushed in. One pulled out a sleek device and spoke fast. “Ms. Shelley, we have a body. Send the Yolkers.” Minutes later, burly men in gray jumpsuits—Yolkers, they called them—stormed in. They unstrapped Caelan’s body and carried it down a hidden stairwell to a damp, stinking bunker below the building.

They dumped him on a metal bed. Without warning, three sharp spikes shot up from the frame, piercing Caelan’s chest. Blood oozed, and the spikes retracted, leaving jagged holes. The Yolkers didn’t blink. They shoved his body into a black crate and sealed it shut.

---

Deep in the building, in a glowing control room, seven figures stood around a holographic table. Screens replayed Caelan’s death—vent cam, heart monitor, thermal scan. The air was thick with tension. Machines hummed, and an old clock ticked, out of place in the high-tech space.

A tall woman in a black coat broke the silence. “He wasn’t supposed to die yet.” Her voice was ice, flat, like she was hiding something. Her eyes flicked to the screen, where Caelan’s lifeless face stared back.

In the corner, a faint green mist lingered, unnoticed, curling like it was waiting.

Pale morning light filtered through thin, grey curtains, painting long shadows across the cold floor. A boy lay on the edge of his bed, already awake. His name was Adam Graye, and today, his chest felt heavy.

The door creaked.

A maid entered quietly, her silver uniform stiff, her steps trained not to echo. She looked surprised to see him sitting upright.

“Adam,” she said gently, “you’re awake already? That’s new. You usually stay buried under the blanket until I call your name three times.”

Adam didn’t smile. He looked at her with wide eyes.

“Today’s Kael’s birthday,” he said. His voice cracked slightly. “I wanted to be the first to wish him. Did he already wake up?”

The room seemed to stop breathing.

The maid’s hands froze on the edge of the sheets. Her face tightened. “Adam…” she said, barely a whisper, “Kael… Kael is no more.”

Adam blinked, not understanding.

“No,” he said slowly. “What do you mean? He—he just… I saw him yesterday. We talked. He said he’d show me the sketch he was working on. Don’t joke, Hannah.”

But Ms. Hannah wasn’t joking. Her eyes glistened.

“He tried to escape last night,” she said, lowering her head. “They caught him. He didn’t make it. They… they didn’t let him.”

Adam stood suddenly. His hands were trembling. “No.”

She looked up, startled. “Adam, please don’t—”

“What happened to him?” Adam growled. “What in hell is going on here? Tell me the truth, Hannah!”

She hesitated, then broke. “They killed him. Brutally. In the streets. No warning. They said he disobeyed, but he just wanted to leave. They called it protocol.”

Adam’s breath came sharp and fast. Something in his chest cracked—rage and grief twisting together.

“I can’t stay quiet,” he said. “Not after this.”

He pushed past her and stormed into the hallway, fists clenched. The lights flickered above him as if even the system was shivering.

The corridors were long, cold, and silent—metal walls humming faintly with hidden energy. Somewhere deep inside the building, machines beeped, voices echoed through vents, and eyes watched behind blackened glass.

Adam didn’t care.

He kept walking, feet pounding the floor with purpose.

But just as he turned a corner into the west hall, a man in a pristine white suit stepped in front of him.

Tall, thin, with a pale face too calm for comfort—Mr. Varel Dyein. One of the Supervisors. A name spoken with fear and disgust by every kid in the facility.

“Going somewhere, Adam?” Varel asked coolly, brushing imaginary dust from his cuff.

Adam didn’t stop. “Move,” he said sharply. “I need to speak with the officials. I want answers.”

Varel raised an eyebrow. “About Kael, I presume?”

“You know damn well what this is about!” Adam spat. “What are we to you? Tools? Slaves? Experiments? You watch us like we're rats in a maze.”

Varel smiled faintly. “And when the rats misbehave, they get exterminated.”

Adam’s hands shook, but he stood firm. “Leave the way, Varel. Or I’ll make my own.”

The Supervisor tilted his head, eyes gleaming.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I will leave a way for you.”

He leaned in closer, voice like ice scraping glass.

“The way to death. Will you go?”

Adam’s eyes burned. “If death’s the only way out of this prison, then yes—when the time comes, I’ll walk through it on my own feet. But I’m not finished yet.”

He tried to step past, but Varel suddenly shoved him hard.

Adam stumbled back. Without thinking, he lunged—his fist slamming into Varel’s jaw with a brutal crack. The white-suited man staggered, blood blooming at the corner of his mouth.

Varel touched his face and laughed—a slow, eerie chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Ah,” he whispered, “you ride on rules, but now you've broken them.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a strange blade—a thin, elegant knife with a glowing button on the hilt. With a click, the blade surged with electric current. It shimmered with buzzing light, pulsing up and down like it was alive.



“Let’s brighten the way, shall we?”

Adam didn’t flinch.

Varel stepped forward, and in one savage movement, drove the blade into Adam’s stomach.

A wet gasp escaped the boy’s lips as the knife tore through flesh. Sparks crackled. Blood burst out, painting the hallway floor and splashing across Varel’s pristine suit.

Adam clutched at the handle, but Varel twisted the blade deeper. His face showed no emotion—only the cold satisfaction of control.

“Your anger makes you brave,” Varel murmured. “But bravery is nothing without power.”

Adam collapsed to his knees, gasping. Blood poured through his fingers. His eyes, though fading, still blazed with hate.

Before Adam does ,he saw a Green mist curling from shadows ,like it was watching.

Adam opened his eyes slowly. At first, everything was blurry. The ceiling above him glowed with strange blue lights. It wasn’t the ceiling from his old room. This place looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. The walls were metal, clean, and cold. Tiny round cameras floated in the corners, silently watching.

His body hurt. His stomach especially. He touched the spot where he remembered being stabbed. There was no wound. No blood. Just a strange numbness.

He remembered the pain. The glowing knife. Varel Dyein. And then… darkness.

So why was he still alive?

Adam sat up quickly, heart pounding. Around him, he saw many people lying on silver beds unconscious. A few were sitting up like him, eyes full of confusion and fear. This wasn’t a hospital. It felt more like a secret lab.

Then, Adam saw something that made his breath catch.

Caelan.

And Kael.

They were standing near a glowing pillar at the back of the room. Both looked alive. Tired and pale, but alive.

Adam stood up fast and ran to them. “Caelan! Kael!” he cried.

They turned. Their eyes widened with shock, then relief. Before anyone could speak, Adam pulled them both into a tight hug.

“I thought you were dead,” Adam whispered. “Both of you. I saw it. I saw Kael get stabbed. I saw Caelan die on that table. I felt myself die too. Varel stabbed me.”

Kael placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “We know, Adam. We felt the same. But we’re not dead.”

Adam pulled back, confused. “But how?”

Kael looked serious. “They faked it. All of it. It was an act for the others to see.”

Caelan nodded. “They want everyone to think we were killed. That way, no one else tries to escape. It keeps fear alive.”

Adam shook his head. “But the pain... the blood...”

Kael sighed. “It was real. But it wasn’t meant to kill us. When that man stabbed me, he took something from me. From my eyes. Two small glowing orbs. They called them Golden Globules.”

Adam looked confused. “What are those?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Kael replied. “Maybe memories. Or emotions. But they shine like gold. He took them and then stabbed me again. But that second stab wasn’t normal. It injected something into me.”

“The green solution,” Caelan added.

Adam touched his stomach. “I think they used that on me too.”

Caelan nodded. “They did. That green liquid makes you look dead. It slows your heart, your breathing. You can’t move or speak. Even machines think you’re gone.”

Adam looked around the room again. “So all these people… are they like us?”

Kael nodded. “Yes. People who were ‘killed’ but not really. Now they keep us here, in this hidden place.”

“But why?” Adam asked. “Why go through so much trouble?”

Kael looked at the cameras. “Because they still need us. For something.”

Adam told "That green solution and that green mist make just us unconsciousness, But Where does our pain and blood goes".

Kael told "That Green mist is really a fantasy element".

Caelan told "At a certain time, It will come to know to us.

The meeting room was dimly lit, with the pale glow of data screens casting long shadows across the steel walls. The tension inside was thick. Doctors stood around a holographic display showing Caelan Aerian’s vitals, frozen at the moment of his so-called death. His heart had stopped. The green gas had done its work. But something about the timing had gone wrong.

Dr. Shelley paced back and forth, her white coat fluttering slightly. Her eyes were fixed on the display. Her husband, Dr. Renold, stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over his chest. A group of scientists whispered behind them, uncertain, uneasy.

Then, the door slammed open.

Varel Dyein stepped in, tall, pale, and dressed in his spotless white suit. His expression was calm, too calm.

"Docs!" he announced with a smirk. "Relax about Caelan. I cleared it."

Dr. Shelley froze. Her eyes narrowed. "Varel... Are you talking seriously?"

Dr. Renold stepped forward. "What do you mean 'cleared'? What did you do, Varel?"

Varel walked to the center of the room and gestured lazily at the holographic screen. "I killed Adam Graye. The roomer."

A hush fell over the room.

Renold frowned. "Roomer?"

Shelley shook her head. "Varel, we were already confused about Caelan. He wasn’t supposed to die yet! And now you killed Adam too? Adam had three more years. Why so early?"

Varel rolled his eyes. "Don’t talk like you're insane. Adam broke the rules. He attacked a Supervisor. That’s execution-level rebellion. I made a judgment call. In Caelan’s place, we insert Adam. He dies, Caelan lives. Problem solved."

The doctors stared at him. The logic was brutal. Cold. Efficient. Typical Varel.

Dr. Shelley let out a long breath and looked away. "So Caelan’s 'death' is reversed... and Adam Graye becomes the body in the system?"

"Exactly," Varel said, already turning to leave. "You’re welcome."

As the door closed behind him, silence returned to the room.

Dr. Shelley picked up the comm. She pressed a red button and spoke firmly. "Ms. Walker? Send in the Yolkers. We need Caelan extracted from Lab Sector 6. He is to be removed. Adam Graye will replace him in the records."

A crackling response came. "Mm, we will send."

---

Back in Lab Sector 6, Adam, Kael, and Caelan were still trying to make sense of everything. The glowing pillar in the center of the room buzzed softly. The walls pulsed like a slow heartbeat. Whispers still drifted from the corners.

"I don’t trust this place," Adam said. "Even now, I feel like something’s watching us."

Kael nodded. "It always is."

Caelan looked down at his hands. "What if we’re not supposed to be alive?"

Before they could speak further, the main door slid open with a loud hiss.

Two Yolkers entered—tall, muscular men in grey suits with emotionless faces. Without a word, one of them grabbed Caelan by the shoulder. The other pulled at his shirt.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Adam shouted.

"Let go of him!" Kael tried to push one of them, but he was shoved back with terrifying force.

Caelan didn’t resist. He looked back at Adam and Kael with fear in his eyes.

"Don’t fight. It’s okay," he said softly. "Maybe this is part of it."

The Yolkers dragged him away, through the sliding door and down a long corridor.

---

They entered a black room. No lights. No sounds. The door closed behind them, and the darkness was complete.

Then, from the corners, a silver gas began to hiss. It sparkled faintly, like tiny stars in fog. It crept across the floor, rose in the air, and reached Caelan’s face. He tried to hold his breath, but it was too late. The gas was inside his lungs.

His knees buckled. The world spun. His thoughts slowed.

He collapsed.



---

Darkness.

Then—light.

Caelan’s eyes opened slowly. He was lying in bed. Not a hospital bed. His bed.

The ceiling above was plain, familiar. The same dim light on the wall. The same thin blanket over his legs.

He sat up quickly, heart racing.

Caelan stood frozen in the hallway, the synthetic light above him flickering in rhythmic pulses. Before he could decide where to go next, he heard whispers—many of them. He turned and realized he was no longer alone.

A small crowd had formed silently around him. Boys and girls his age. Faces he recognized from shared meals, silent halls, and morning drills. They were the other roomers—the ones like him, once numbered and stored in the corners of this lifeless place. Their eyes gleamed not with anger or fear, but with curiosity.

"Caelan..." one of them stepped forward, a girl with braided hair and an anxious look. "What did you see after your death?"

The question struck him like lightning.

"My death?" he asked, voice rising. "What do you mean? When did I die? I’m alive. I feel it—my heart's racing, the air’s real, even the cold floor... I’m alive. I hear music, I feel thrills. I’m not dead."

The roomers looked at one another.

Another boy, taller and sharper in speech, said, "No one wakes up here after the gas. The silver mist ends everything. But you... you came back. That only happens when they make a mistake... or when they reset someone."

Another voice chimed in, softer, from a boy sitting near the wall, "Maybe he didn’t die. Maybe they faked it again. Like the others. Or maybe... he crossed somewhere."

Caelan’s heart pounded harder. The voices piled on.

"Was it dark? Did you float?" "Was it like dreaming?" "Did you see anyone else there?" "Did it hurt, or did it just stop?"

The questions overwhelmed him. His head spun. He felt like drowning again in the green mist.

Then, the door slammed open.

Varel Dyein stepped into the room, his polished shoes clicking against the floor with slow, deliberate menace.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

"Roomers," he said calmly, brushing dust from his sleeve, "Back to your rooms. Immediately."

His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the tension like a blade.

The roomers hesitated for only a second before obeying. Heads bowed, feet silent, they vanished back into their assigned doors. All except Caelan.

He stood still, his breath sharp. His chest rose and fell, and he looked Varel in the eye.

"Varel, sir... they said I died. That I was gone. Is it true? Did I die and now I’m alive again?"

Varel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

He walked slowly toward Caelan and stopped Varel’s smile faded ever so slightly. He stepped even closer.

"Do you know what the worst infection is, Caelan?" he asked, voice like velvet.

Caelan blinked. "Infection?"

"Curiosity," Varel said. "It spreads faster than sickness. It eats through obedience. It makes good roomers ask bad questions. And bad questions lead to broken systems."

He leaned in, and his voice lowered to a whisper.

"We fixed you, Caelan. You should thank us. But if you keep chasing ghosts—"

His calm smile returned. "—you might really die next time. And this place doesn’t make the same mistake twice."

He pulled back and straightened his cuffs.

"Rest now. And forget what the others said. Their words are fog. You are awake. That is enough."

Varel turned on his heel and walked out of the room without another word.

Caelan stood alone. The silence around him felt louder than ever. He looked at his hands, still trembling. His pulse still raced. But deep down, something was different.

He may have survived the gas. But a part of him had changed forever.

Something inside him had been taken—and something darker had been left in its place.