Nexus

CARMELLA SYN

Julian’s eyelids flickered open, and the world came crashing back into focus.

For a brief, horrible moment, he was unsure if he was still in the dream, drowning in that suffocating cold.

The pain in his chest—sharp, stinging—reminded him that no, he wasn’t still trapped in the nightmare. He was awake.

But that didn’t mean he was free.

The pain lingered. The cold.

The suffocation. Every night, it was a new death. And every time, it felt more real.

When does this all start, you may ask? Well, since he was fifteen, the dreams had started.

At first, they were vague—strange, disjointed images, a sense of dread hanging in the air. But soon, they grew sharper, more vivid.

More brutal. He’d wake up gasping for air, feeling the lingering ache of death in his body.

It was like his brain was trying to remind him what it felt like to die, over and over again. To make him remember the pain.

The first time it happened, he had died in his sleep. The dream was simple. He was walking down the street, minding his own business, when a van screeched to a halt next to him.

Before he could even react, the door swung open and a man with a mask pulled him inside.

The next thing he knew, the world went dark as the air was forced out of his lungs, suffocating him as a plastic bag was pulled over his head.

It was horrifying, the feeling of his body struggling to stay alive while his lungs collapsed. He had awoken with a strangled gasp, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, but the suffocating sensation hadn’t gone away.

It clung to him for hours, the taste of death still fresh on his tongue.

The next night was different. He had died from fire. His skin burned as he tried to escape a collapsing building, smoke pouring into his lungs, his body writhing in agony as flames licked at his legs, his chest, his face.

He had been screaming—he knew he was screaming—but no one could hear him. He could feel the heat, the unbearable pain of his flesh melting away, and then—nothing.

And it hadn’t stopped. Every night had been another death, another way for him to feel his life ripped away from him. His neck snapped in one dream.

His ribs crushed in another. A bullet to the chest.

A knife to the throat. The sensations were always terrifyingly real—real enough to wake him, gasping, trembling, unable to escape the phantom pain that followed.

Now, three years later, at eighteen, he still woke up every morning with the remnants of death clinging to him like a second skin. The nightmares were unrelenting, and no matter how many times he told himself they were just dreams, the terror remained. And now, with college looming just around the corner, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up slowly, trying to ignore the lingering ache in his chest. His body felt heavy, like it was still fighting against something.

He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, his gaze falling on the clock. 7:05 AM.

Another day. Another chance to feel the weight of it all.

He stood up, stretching out his stiff muscles, and shuffled into the bathroom.

His reflection in the mirror was pale, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. He looked like someone who hadn’t truly rested in years.

After a quick shower and a few minutes of brushing his teeth, he slipped into his usual college clothes—nothing too fancy, just a simple hoodie and jeans. He grabbed his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and headed out the door.

The campus was bustling with activity as usual.

Students huddled in groups, discussing classes, plans for the weekend, or the latest gossip. The chatter buzzed around him, but Julian barely noticed. He had his mind on something else: the same question he always asked himself when he stepped into the daylight.

What if today is the day I die for real?

He shoved the thought away, focusing on finding his way to the cafeteria for breakfast. As he walked, his mind wandered back to the nightmares. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was getting closer.

The dreams were changing, shifting, like there was a pattern he couldn’t decipher.

Just as he rounded the corner by the old oak tree on the quad, a voice stopped him.

“Julian McRain?”

He turned sharply, blinking in surprise. A girl—no older than him, with striking dark hair and pale skin—stood before him.

She was dressed in a long, flowing black jacket, her expression unreadable but intense.

She was small, almost delicate, yet there was something in the way she carried herself—like she knew something he didn’t.

He opened his mouth to respond, but she spoke again before he could.

“I’m Camella Syn,” she said, her voice soft but laced with an eerie confidence.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Julian felt a chill run down his spine, but he forced himself to remain calm.

“I… I don’t think I know you.”

Camella’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

“You don’t. But I know you, Julian. I’ve been sent to find you.”

Julian frowned, confusion clouding his thoughts.

“What are you talking about? How do you know my name?”

Camella took a step closer, her gaze unwavering, as though she could see right through him.

“I’ve been tracking you. I know what’s been happening to you. The dreams, the deaths.”

He felt his heart skip a beat. How could she know about the nightmares?

“I’m not crazy,” he said quickly, his voice tight with a mix of irritation and fear.

“I don’t know who you are, but this—this has nothing to do with you.”

Her eyes softened, and she shook her head.

“It has everything to do with me. And everything to do with you. You’ve been living with this for years, Julian. But the time has come for you to understand. You’re not just dreaming. Something is coming for you. And I can help you stop it.

”

Julian stared at her, unable to respond. He had heard voices in his dreams, but this felt… different.

This wasn’t a coincidence. She’s not just some random transfer student.

“You… You know what’s happening to me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Camella nodded. “I do. And I’m here to help you survive.”

Julian’s chest tightened, the lingering pain of his most recent death still fresh in his mind.

Why does she sound so sure?

“But why you?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Why me?”

His mind was a mess, he had too many questions.

Why is this all happening? what's do I have to experience dying each time: the pain, the brutal murder they did to him! Why only him!?

Camella’s expression darkened, her eyes distant for a moment.

“That’s something you’ll have to discover for yourself, Julian. But time is running out.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her black jacket flowing behind her like a shadow. Julian stood there, staring after her, the weight of her words sinking into him.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew something he didn’t—a terrifying truth about his nightmares, about the deaths, and about what was hunting him.

And for the first time in years, Julian McRain didn’t know whether he was afraid of the dream... or the girl who had just walked into his life.