"Ah, my foot... this hurts more than I thought."
Ethan limped quietly down the hallway, one hand brushing the wall for balance. Each step sent a dull sting up his leg—a pulsing reminder of the broken glass he'd stepped on that morning. His mind remained foggy, still weighed down by the strange dream, the heat of his sweat-drenched sheets… and now, the ache in his foot.
He reached the bathroom, twisted the handle, and flicked on the light. A soft buzz came from the ceiling bulb. Everything looked normal. Too normal.
The mirror was slightly fogged from early morning humidity. The toothbrush cup was exactly where it had always been. The towel hung limp and worn beside the sink. Nothing out of place—but something still felt wrong.
He grabbed his toothbrush and stared blankly at himself in the mirror as he began brushing.
"How long have I been living in this village now?" he wondered. "Five years? Six?"
His reflection didn't answer. It just stared—dull-eyed and pale. The ticking sound from his dream echoed faintly in his skull.
Today feels strange.
He spat into the sink, rinsed his mouth, and leaned forward to splash cold water on his face. The sting on his foot flared again, but worse was the sharp pain that bloomed behind his eyes like a sudden crack.
"Ugh… damn headache."
He gripped the sink tightly and closed his eyes until the pain faded.
When he opened them again, the mirror seemed slightly warped—just off enough to make him frown. He shook it off and turned away.
Downstairs, the smell of food wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Familiar. Safe.
His mother and little sister were already at the table when he entered. The clink of dishes, the soft thump of cutlery, the low hum of the morning routine.
His mother looked up with a tired but kind smile. "Come eat, Ethan. Breakfast is ready."
"Alright, Mom," he said, returning the smile and easing into the chair across from his sister, Anna.
She was already halfway through a slice of toast, chewing fast with narrowed eyes.
"Why are you walking like a zombie?" she asked. "Did your foot get cursed or something?"
Ethan blinked, then remembered. "Oh—right. Mom, the clock in my room… the one on the wall."
His mother paused, fork hovering. "Yeah?"
"It fell. I think. Must've slipped or something. Broke when it hit the floor. I didn't see it until I stepped right on the damn thing."
Concern crossed her face. "You stepped on glass? Ethan! Is your foot okay? Do we need to go to the clinic?"
He waved it off. "I'm fine. Just a small cut. I'll clean it up and put some medicine on it. No big deal."
Anna grinned. "He's fine, Mom. He's a man, remember? If a little cut takes him down, then maybe he's—"
"Hey, quiet down." Ethan shot her a smirk. "Eat your food, gremlin. We've got school."
He turned to his mother. "What time is it?"
She glanced at the wall clock. "Six o'clock, son."
Ethan froze for half a second.
6 o'clock.
He said nothing, but something behind his eyes flickered—uncertain. Unsettled.
They finished their meal in relative silence, the usual bickering exchanged in mumbled jabs. Then both headed upstairs to change into their uniforms.
In his room, Ethan pulled open the closet and threw on his school clothes. As he buttoned his shirt, he paused.
"Wait… doesn't Mom have work today?"
When he returned downstairs, she was at the sink, washing dishes. He leaned against the doorway.
"Hey, Mom. Don't you have work?"
She glanced over her shoulder. "Not today. Factory's closed. Maintenance or something."
"Oh. Alright then."
At that moment, Anna bounded down the stairs, still fiddling with the straps of her backpack.
"Took you long enough," Ethan said.
Anna glared at him. "Says the guy who almost slept through half the morning!"
Their mother didn't even turn around. "You two better not start again. Go. You'll be late."
At the front door, they slipped on their shoes, still muttering insults under their breath. Then, in rare unison:
"Bye, Mom!"
"Don't get into trouble," she called back. "And listen to your teachers!"
The door closed behind them.
Silence returned.
She rinsed the last dish, wiped her hands dry, and looked toward the stairs. After a moment, she sighed.
"I should check Ethan's room… make sure there's no glass left behind."
She walked up slowly, hand trailing along the wooden banister. As she passed the hallway shelf, her eyes fell on an old photo. The frame was weathered. Dust clung to the edges.
Her husband smiled up at her from behind the glass—frozen in time.
"James…" she whispered. "I miss you."
Her fingers brushed the surface gently. "Your son turned nineteen this year. Anna's nine now. They argue all the time, but they love each other—just don't know how to show it."
A soft breath.
"And Mom… Agnes. I'm still keeping this house the way you wanted. Just like I promised."
She stepped into Ethan's room. The smell of old sweat still lingered in the air. Sunlight slanted through the curtains, hitting the floor where he'd cleaned the glass. But near the bed, she spotted a few remaining shards.
She knelt to sweep them up—and then froze.
Tick... tock. Tick... tock.
The sound was faint. Mechanical. Coming from the trash bin near the desk.
She approached cautiously and peered inside.
There it was—the broken wall clock. Bent. Cracked. But the second hand was twitching.
Still ticking.
She narrowed her eyes. "This kid never checks things twice. Said it was broken…"
The minute hand moved.
"…but it's still working."
End of Chapter 1