The wind howled against the window, as if trying to break it.

  The amateur writer sat down and began to write:

  Chapter One

  Awakening

  (“True transformation is not about creating new habits... it is the complete negation of the primordial self.”)

  Sandra

  13:15

  The classroom was, as always, filled with students’ voices. The teacher hadn’t arrived yet; boys and girls were busy telling the most trivial memories of their lives.

  “I’m telling you, I swear—”

  “What do you mean, swear?? I’m saying, that’s impossible...”

  “What are you saying? You actually saw them with someone else?”

  The class had about thirty students, but the room was large. Light from the window fell across the desks of those sitting by it.

  One of them, seated in the row second from the back, was lost in thought. A thin boy whose height was obvious at a glance—black eyes, a long face and nose, and black hair that reached his shoulders. A second-year student at Alodiak High, studying mathematics:

  Nyxen Velark.

  …

  [When is that lazy guy going to show up?]

  At that moment the door opened and the teacher came in.

  “Ah. Well, good — it’s as if he heard what I was thinking.”

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  “Alright—page eighty-nine.”

  Without preamble and in a rush, the teacher began the English lesson.

  Nyxen kept tilting his rectangular eraser on its edges; his eyes were fixed only on the eraser.

  …

  [Phew, finally this class is over.]

  After class Nyxen stretched and stood. The moment he rose, a few people involuntarily turned to look. His two-meter frame and bony build really drew attention.

  His steps were fast as he headed toward the station. On the way he grabbed a coffee from a café. The surroundings were very green; Sandra was a lowland city and it rained a lot.

  Nyxen sipped the coffee slowly and felt tired of the routine route. He had been taking this path for a year and a half of high school. He turned his head and looked at a green, wooded hill. The hill sat exactly between the school and the station, and he always had to go around it on the left.

  [What if I just cut straight across the hill? I know it’ll take longer, but I want to go for no reason.]

  Without paying attention to anything else, he climbed the damp, muddy slope. Anyone who saw him on the way only smirked and moved on.

  …

  Ten minutes later

  [Isn’t there someone who’ll tell him he’s crazy for crossing here?]

  Nyxen panted, scraping the soles of his feet against a tree trunk to clean the mud off them.

  A little later, while walking, he spotted an old bench at the edge of the hill. The bench sat where there was no tree opposite it and looked exactly like a scene from a story—a bench among trees with an empty space in front of it. Only the sun had dried that spot. It had no dust; the rain had already washed it.

  Nyxen relaxed a little and moved toward it. He was very tired, so he lay back on the bench. His legs hung off the edge, but it didn’t matter; he just wanted to doze.

  The city was visible from there, but the trees hid him.

  [Just two minutes.]

  Slowly, exhaustion carried him into sleep...

  Time passed. Nyxen woke and saw that it was dusk. His vision was still fuzzy; he rubbed his eyes, looked up, and scanned the area. It had grown somewhat dark and there was no one around.

  “Oh... I really fell asleep. I should get home fast.”

  He picked up his bag and looked around again, when suddenly, behind a tree, he saw a thin figure staring at him.

  Nyxen startled. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but the figure was still standing there. When he looked closer, he confronted the most terrifying sight of his life.

  The face was a copy of his own—identical. The only difference was the eyes: they were the black of night, with no hint of white around them—completely black.

  Nyxen fled without thinking. After a few steps he glanced back and saw his clone closing in on him at lightning speed.

  He could barely place his feet properly, let alone think straight. Before his brain could command his body, his legs were already running.

  The clone’s hands were smeared with blood. But when Nyxen looked closer he realized it wasn’t blood; it was a tar-black liquid.

  The clone moved like a vehicle. It reached him and, with a blow, pinned him to a tree.

  Nyxen felt he might soil himself. In his mind he wished that, if this was a dream, he would wake up quickly. The clone grabbed Nyxen by the neck and said, “If you change everything, will there still be ‘you’?”

  Nyxen’s heart pounded as if it would burst his chest. He redefined fear in that moment. He had no idea what the clone meant. Why would anyone ask such a question?

  The clone increased the pressure on his neck; first came the crack of breaking bone—the hyoid bone—and then the bones in his neck creaked and popped.

  Gradually Nyxen’s vision went black.

  The clone said something to him, but Nyxen didn’t hear it because his ears were buzzing.

  Slowly, the spark of life in Nyxen’s eyes flickered.

  “Am I going to die here?” he

  thought.

  His hands went limp and fell. He could no longer see or hear anything.

  Nyxen was dead.