Chapter 1: The First Sign

I grew up in a town where people believed in things I never did.

Angels.

Demons.

Guardian angels.

Chosen children.

To outsiders, it sounded like stories—old, dramatic, exaggerated. But here, people didn’t just tell those stories. They lived by them. They trusted them more than logic, more than proof, more than anything real.

And I hated that.

Not because I was scared of those stories.

But because everyone expected me to believe them too.

I was born into a family of priests. Not ordinary ones—respected ones. People looked at my family like we were closer to the divine than everyone else. Like we had a role to play in something bigger.

According to them, we did.

They said one of my ancestors was a chosen child. Someone blessed by the gods themselves. Someone who had a guardian angel—an actual divine being—assigned to protect them from all evil.

And now, they believed history would repeat itself.

That another chosen child would be born in our family.

Between me… and my elder sister.

Of course, they chose her.

She believed in everything. Followed every ritual, every prayer, every rule. People admired her. Trusted her. They looked at her like she was already chosen, just waiting for confirmation.

And me?

I didn’t believe in any of it.

So to them, I was the problem.

The ungrateful one.

The one who didn’t deserve something so “sacred.”

Honestly, I didn’t care.

I didn’t want to be surrounded by people whispering things like “You’re special… you’ll bless us… you’ll change our lives…” It felt suffocating. Fake. Like I wasn’t a person anymore—just a story they wanted to believe in.

So I ignored it all.

Until something happened that I couldn’t explain.

It was a normal evening. Nothing strange. Nothing unusual. I was just walking through the house with my cousins and a few of my aunts. We were talking about random things, laughing like we always did.

Everything felt… ordinary.

And then—

CRACK.

The sound came out of nowhere.

Before I could even understand what was happening, the floor beneath me gave way.

For a second, I felt nothing.

Then I dropped.

My foot went straight through the wood, my body losing balance as the ground disappeared under me.

I didn’t even have time to scream.

Someone grabbed my arm.

Hard.

I felt myself being pulled back, my body slamming against the solid part of the floor as splinters scratched my skin.

“Are you okay?!”

Voices surrounded me.

Hands pulling me up.

Panic everywhere.

I couldn’t answer immediately. My heart was racing too fast, my breathing uneven. I just nodded, still trying to process what had just happened.

Everyone started talking at once.

“The floor is rotten—”

“This house is getting too old—”

“This could’ve been bad—”

They treated it like an accident.

Like something normal.

Like something that just happens in an old house.

And maybe it was.

That’s what I told myself.

But for a moment… just a moment…

When I looked down into that broken part of the floor…

Something felt wrong.

It wasn’t just wood.

It looked deeper than it should have been.

Darker.

Not empty… just hidden.

Like the dark down there wasn’t just the absence of light, but something waiting for it.

Like if I leaned a little closer… it would look back.

But before I could look properly, someone pulled me away.

“Don’t go near it,” they said.

And I didn’t.

I didn’t think about it again.

Or at least… I tried not to.

That night, I saw something outside my window.

A white blur.

Fast.

Too fast to understand.

It crossed my vision in a second and disappeared into the darkness.

I sat up immediately, staring at the window.

Waiting.

But nothing happened.

No sound.

No movement.

No explanation.

And that silence…

It didn’t feel empty.

It felt like something had just been there.

Close.

Watching.

I stared for a few more seconds before lying back down.

“Just my imagination…”

That’s what I told myself.

It was easier that way.

The next day, one of my friends died.

People said it was an accident.

But when I saw her…

I knew it wasn’t.

There were marks on her body. Deep ones. Sharp ones. The kind that didn’t come from falling or slipping or anything normal.

Something had hurt her.

Something that didn’t make sense.

Something that didn’t need to make sense.

I felt uneasy.

But I still didn’t connect it.

I still didn’t want to.

A few days later, it happened again.

That same white blur.

Outside my window.

Silent.

Fast.

Gone before I could react.

This time, I didn’t even move.

I didn’t want to see it clearly.

I didn’t want to know.

The next day…

Another friend died.

That’s when the pattern started.

Or maybe… that’s when I finally stopped ignoring it.

Every time I saw that white blur…

Someone close to me died.

Not strangers.

Not random people.

My friends.

And the worst part?

Their bodies were always found near my house.

Sometimes outside.

Sometimes inside.

In places they shouldn’t have been.

Places they couldn’t have reached on their own.

People didn’t accuse us directly.

They wouldn’t dare.

But the way they looked at us changed.

Like they were trying not to think something…

but already had.

Some of them whispered that this was divine punishment.

That my friends were sinners.

That being close to our family brought judgment.

I hated it.

Because deep down…

I knew something they didn’t.

This wasn’t punishment.

This wasn’t fate.

This was something else.

Something wrong.

Something that didn’t care about right or wrong at all.

Something that felt like it was… connected to me.

And I didn’t know why.

I tried to ignore it.

Tried to act normal.

Tried to believe it was all coincidence.

But no matter how much I tried—

That feeling didn’t go away.

That something was watching.

Waiting.

Getting closer.

And somehow…

It had already chosen me.

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