Chapter 5 : Outrun the Dark
1464 Words
The bell above the bookstore door jingled softly as Rheon stepped inside.
It smelled like old paper, faint coffee, and pine-scented cleaning solution — familiar and calming. Rows of bookshelves stood like silent guardians, each holding stories waiting to be forgotten or discovered. The light from the back window stretched across the wooden floor in golden stripes.
He didn’t head home just yet.
Instead, he slipped behind the counter and unzipped his school bag. From between crumpled notes and a pencil case, he pulled out a borrowed comic, slightly wrinkled from the lunchbox it shared space with.
He placed it back onto the shelf with a quiet thud, then wandered down the narrow comic section. His fingers slid across the spines until one caught his eye.
“The Bornwalker Oath.”
The cover showed a long-coated hero standing in front of a burning city, holding a glowing sigil over his heart.
Rheon grinned. “What kind of name is Bornwalker anyway?” he whispered to himself.
Still, he opened the first few pages, read a few lines — and giggled. A small, quiet laugh that escaped before he could catch it.
He closed it quickly and looked around. No one was watching. Probably.
He slipped it carefully into his bag, tucking it between his notebooks, and zipped it shut like he was hiding a treasure.
Just as he was turning to leave the aisle, a voice called out behind him.
“Do they teach comic-reading in school now?”
Rheon froze. He turned his head slowly. His mother stood by the cash register, arms crossed, one brow raised.
“Did you pass the exam by reading that comic?” she added, nodding subtly toward his bag.
He scratched the back of his head, smiling in defeat. “It helps… with stress.”
His mother scoffed, throwing a towel over her shoulder.
“Aigoo… what makes you stressed? You eat, sleep, and go to school. That’s it.” She shook her head, half amused, half pretending to scold.
“If you can memorize character backstories, you can memorize your science formulas.”
“I can do both,” he replied, walking toward the counter.
His mother narrowed her eyes slightly, playful suspicion rising. “Oh, really? Then what’s the chemical symbol for potassium?”
He didn’t even look up. “K.”
She folded her arms. “Okay, Mr. Genius. What’s the next noble gas after neon?”
“Argon.” He casually zipped his bag as she raised an eyebrow.
“Alright then,” she said, now grinning. “Let’s see if your brain works for numbers.”
She leaned on the counter. “What’s seventy-four minus twenty-eight?”
“Forty-six.”
She blinked. “What’s twelve percent of three hundred and sixty?”
“Forty-three point two.”
His mother paused, staring at him. He looked up, finally, lips twitching into a quiet smile. “ I read comics, Mom. Not because I’m lazy… but because I already finished the homework.”
She narrowed her eyes but couldn’t hide her smirk. “You’re definitely your father’s son.”
From the back room, her husband’s voice chimed in again. “Did someone finally admit I’m a genius?”
“No,” Rheon and his mother replied in unison.
The shop filled with laughter.
Later that evening, Rheon sat cross-legged on his bed, fresh from the shower, damp hair falling slightly over his forehead. The air smelled faintly of soap and laundry.
His room was small but comfortable.A desk tucked beneath the window, shelves stacked with books, posters of old games and anime above his bed. The lights were dim, just enough to cast a warm glow over the space.
He reached for his bag, pulling out the comic he’d stashed earlier.
But something else caught his eye. The lighter.
He had placed it carefully on his desk after coming home, half-forgetting it was even there. Now, as he picked it up again, he frowned.
“Why is this so cold…?” he murmured to himself.
It wasn’t just metal-cold. It felt like it had been buried in ice. Like it didn’t belong to this world at all.
“I hope I see that guy tomorrow,” he whispered. Maybe he’d be walking past again. Maybe he’d be looking for it.
Rheon set the lighter down beside his lamp, then reached for the comic — paused — and sighed.
“Homework first,” he muttered.
He grabbed the workbook from under his pillow and flipped to the math section. His pencil tapped softly against the page as he leaned in, scribbling formulas with ease, already dreaming about the pages he’d dive into once he was done.
The hallway stretched on endlessly. Dim. Cracked. Flickering with dying light. His boots moved soundlessly across the wet pavement. Every step felt heavier than the last, not from exhaustion but from memory.
Or the absence of it. The city was asleep, but the air wasn’t silent. Something whispered at the edge of his hearing. The sound curved behind his ear like a breath, too faint to understand but too familiar to ignore.
He didn’t flinch. He had heard it many times before. It followed him.
He walked beneath broken lamps and forgotten signs, beneath a sky that had no stars. A world between worlds. A place that only appeared when the past began to stir.
His coat dragged along behind him, soaked at the hem. The hood covered most of his face, but beneath it, his eyes were open — distant, cold, watching everything and nothing at once.
He didn’t know where he was going.
His feet moved on their own, deeper into the narrow city streets. The lights above flickered, weak and uncertain, as if they were trying to disappear.
Then he felt it. The air behind him shifted. A weight. A presence. He didn’t turn around, but his steps quickened.
Something was following him.
He could feel it, not with his body, but somewhere deeper. A cold breath trailed just behind his neck. Like a shadow that didn’t belong to him.
Still, he didn’t run. Not yet.
But when the light above him blew out with a snap, plunging the alley into darkness, he moved.
Fast. His coat dragged behind him as his boots struck the pavement. His breath grew sharp in his chest. The shadows around him stretched unnaturally, crawling along the walls, reaching for his heels.
He didn’t look back. He ran. And then, just ahead, a glow. A small convenience store with a flickering red and white sign. A 24-hour mart. Bright. Open. Ordinary.
He crossed into the light. The pressure behind him disappeared.
The shadow stopped at the edge of the street, frozen just beyond the light’s reach. It did not move. It did not speak. It only watched.
He stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling, sweat slipping down his jaw.
Inside the store, someone was restocking shelves. A bored cashier looked up, then looked away.
The world returned to something normal. But he knew it wouldn’t last. It was still out there. Waiting.
The morning began like any other. Rheon walked the narrow street toward school, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his glasses slightly slipping down his nose with every step.
As he neared the school gate, the same familiar voice called out. “Rheon! Walking like a scholar again, huh?”
It was the school security guard, standing with his usual wide stance and teasing grin.
Rheon gave a small bow. “Good morning, sir.”
The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Still too polite for your age. You sure you’re not a retired teacher in disguise?”
“I’m just on time,” Rheon replied softly.
He passed through the gate and made his way to the classroom.
The corridors were buzzing with noise. Students reviewed notes, whispered formulas, scribbled on last-minute pages. Rheon slid into his seat at the front without saying a word.
No comic today. It was an exam day.
He opened his pencil case, arranged his pens, and stared briefly at the blank board ahead. His thoughts were still heavy from last night. The lighter remained untouched in his bag, but its presence lingered in his mind like a smudge he couldn’t wipe off.
To ground himself, he turned toward the window.
Outside, on the football field, a group of senior students were already practicing. A mix of warmups and light drills filled the space, their laughter rising faintly through the glass.
He watched the ball bounce across the field. One of the players chased after it.
Then Rheon’s eyes stopped. Just for a second.
At the far end of the field, standing alone in the sun, there was something.
A figure.
- Writer
