I see white shapes floating in a space with no ground and no sky. Small, round, they move without trajectory. Behind each one, a black trail stretches out. Ink, thick and heavy. It does not dissipate.

  The shapes crack, then burst without a sound. They stop existing and become nothing but ink. The space fills. The writing continues on its own, crossing, overlapping, tightening. What was moving folds in on itself. Ink binds to ink. Words become chains.

  Two silhouettes appear at the heart of this entanglement, drawn by the bindings themselves. They stand there, held in place, inscribed in what remains when words are no longer free.

  Nothing fades. What they mean is no longer stable.

  Something opens inside me before I even see. A dull pulse runs through my chest, too regular to be mine. There is no ground, no horizon.

  I have no way of knowing whether I am alive. Nothing here confirms it. Nothing contradicts it.

  My memories exist, but without sharpness. I know who I am, yet the moment I try to focus, the outlines dissolve. This place refuses clarity. I have the sensation of waiting for something. Or someone.

  I am lost. And yet, I move forward. It is not a choice.

  The mist changes. It contracts, thickens, and a darker area slowly emerges, more present than the rest, as if space itself had agreed to yield. I first make out horns, long and twisted, disturbingly elegant. Their black is neither matte nor glossy; it absorbs the mist around them, devours it without effort, leaving behind a void heavier than silence.

  Then the silhouette reveals itself. Not because it advances, but because the mist finally stops hiding it.

  it is already here.

  Its skin is white like something that has been erased, smooth, uniform, too perfect to belong to a living being. Its eyes settle on me. Frozen lakes, without depth or emotion, observing without curiosity.

  A smile slowly appears on its face. There is nothing human about it. Its lips part just enough to reveal fangs, not as a threat, but as an accepted detail, integrated into what it is. Heavy gray braids fall over its shoulders, thick and weighty, and in the mist they resemble chains more than hair.

  I feel its gaze before I meet it. It does not try to intimidate. It remains there, motionless, as if verifying something. It has been watching me for some time already.

  Its voice finally falls.

  “You almost died.”

  The word strikes harder than expected.

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  “How do you know?”

  It does not blink.

  The silence that follows unsettles me. Not because it lasts. Because it is held. I clench my jaw.

  “Who are you?”

  An almost imperceptible movement. Its head tilts slightly.

  “Your Contrary.”

  Nothing more. The word stays there. I do not try to give it meaning. I cannot.

  “When your Word awakened, mine did as well.”

  “When your life wavered, so did mine.”

  It speaks as if everything were already established. As if my existence had entered an equation older than me.

  “If you had died, I would no longer exist.”

  My shoulders lower slightly. The body instinctively tries to reduce its presence.

  “So… we are linked.”

  “Yes.”

  It continues.

  “Your existence sustains mine.”

  “Mine does not protect yours.”

  It takes a step forward.

  The mist tightens around us. No sound. Just space contracting, as if neutrality were no longer possible.

  “If you die, I disappear.”

  “If I die, you continue to live.”

  It looks away for a fraction of a second. Not out of hesitation. As if this detail had already been filed away.

  “Demons like me live with this condition.”

  “There is no alternative.”

  I frown.

  “What are you going to do?”

  It is closer. I did not feel the movement. Only the absence of distance.

  “Kill you.”

  The tone does not change.

  “It is not a choice.”

  “It is a consequence.”

  A brief laugh escapes me.

  “So you are going to try to kill me.”

  “Yes.”

  No tension in its posture. As if violence were not a decision, just a step.

  “You brush against death too often.”

  Its jaw tightens for an instant. Then relaxes.

  “I cannot let you live long without control.”

  I still lift my head slightly.

  “And you explain this to me like it is nothing?”

  It looks at me.

  “I explain so that you understand.”

  “Resisting without understanding changes nothing.”

  Each sentence makes me feel like I am giving ground.

  “Understand what?”

  It steps closer again. Too close. It does not invade me. It imposes itself.

  “That you will destroy yourself.”

  “That your Word will consume you.”

  “And that I will disappear with you.”

  It stops.

  “This is not a threat.”

  “It is already in motion.”

  A faint smile forms. Not out of defiance. Because I finally understand one simple thing. What stands before me does not need to hate me to want my death.

  A chain appears without a sound and closes. Cold metal wraps around me with exact precision. The air cuts off instantly. Muscles contract. The pressure adjusts.

  Breathing becomes impossible to regulate. Each inhale catches. Each exhale falls short. I can no longer move. The cocoon of chains closes. This is not restraint. It is confinement.

  One thought imposes itself, without emotion. I will not get out.

  I wake with a jolt. My heart is pounding wildly. Sweat runs down my neck and back.