The Pattern Behind the Pain
The next morning came silently, but he didn’t feel like he had slept at all.
His body was still heavy, still warm from the strange fever-like energy inside him. His mind kept replaying the moment when everything around him flickered — when noon suddenly turned into night. It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real.
Too real.
He sat up slowly, holding his head between his hands.
“What’s happening…?” he whispered again.
He tried remembering every detail from the jungle.
The meditation.
The silence.
The storms.
The lightning.
The pain.
The strange heat in his chest.
And then the moment he came home —
when everything started falling apart.
His heartbeat suddenly sped up again at the thought.
Not as violently as before…
but enough to make him feel that same spark crawling under his skin.
He shook his head and stood up.
His legs trembled slightly, like he had run a marathon in his sleep.
He needed fresh air.
He walked out to the backyard and sat on the old cement bench. Morning sunlight warmed his skin, but something else warmed him from inside — something unnatural.
He stared at the trees and tried to breathe slowly.
Just relax.
Calm down.
No lightning.
No hallucinations.
But as he calmed his breathing…
he felt something else.
A pattern.
A rhythm.
As if the energy moving inside him wasn’t random.
As if it had a pulse.
He placed his hand on his chest.
Thump—thump.
Regular heartbeat.
But beneath it…
a second rhythm.
A faint vibration.
A quiet humming sound deep in his body.
Not normal.
Not human.
He closed his eyes, trying to feel it more clearly.
For a moment, it felt like his entire body was syncing with that strange pulse — like something hidden in his genes was trying to match his heartbeat, trying to wake up completely.
The sensation scared him enough to open his eyes instantly.
He looked at his hands.
Nothing.
No glow.
No shaking.
But inside…
the vibration was getting clearer.
Like a machine powering up slowly.
He stood up, anxious.
He didn’t want to lose control again like he did in his room last night.
He didn’t want the world to flicker.
He didn’t want to collapse on the floor again.
His instinct was telling him one thing:
Stay calm.
Don’t push it.
Not yet.
He walked back inside the house.
His parents were in the kitchen, talking softly.
He didn’t want them to see his shaking hands or hear his unsteady breathing.
He quietly went back to his room and closed the door.
He sat in front of the mirror again.
He stared at his own eyes — waiting.
Not forcing anything.
Just observing.
A long minute passed.
Nothing.
Another minute.
Still nothing.
He sighed with relief…
and then regretted it instantly.
Because the moment he let his guard down—
The blue glow flickered once.
A sharp, small flash.
Then again.
Stronger.
Clearer.
He stepped back in fear.
“No… no… stop—”
His breath quickened.
His chest tightened.
He clenched his fists and forced his breathing to slow down.
“In…”
“Out…”
“In…
Out…”
The glow flickered weaker.
Then weaker.
Then vanished completely.
Silence.
He stood there breathing hard, sweat on his forehead, chest rising and falling like he had just run a race.
But this time, something was different.
He had stopped it.
Not fully…
but enough.
He sat on the floor, exhausted but focused.
This wasn’t random.
This wasn’t a sickness.
This wasn’t hallucination.
It was a response.
To stress.
To emotion.
To danger.
To memories.
Something in his genes was reacting —
not breaking him,
not destroying him,
but awakening slowly…
and waiting for the right trigger.
He didn’t know when it would fully appear.
But he could feel it now:
The day it awakens completely…
his life will never be the same.
