The Room Without Sound

Dence awoke in a room that did not remember itself.

The walls, pale with forgetting, held no pictures. No clocks. No sound. Only a window that looked out onto fog―thick, unmoving, and strangely familiar.

He sat upright on the cot, bare feet brushing laminated wood flooring. His head ached―seems from injury, but from his understanding? ― dreams. Dreams that bled into memory. Memories that curdled into doubt.

There were no signs of Raiju. No growl of wolves. No purple hoodies in the dark. No whisper from a small blue elephant. Only stillness, as if the world itself was in mourning.

A mirror hung on the far side of the room. Not a magic portal this time, but something more ordinary. Glass and wood. Slightly cracked. Dence stood and faced it.

His reflection blinked.

Not just blinked―hesitated. As though the man inside the mirror was not ready to speak.

He whispered:
"Was it all real?"

And the silence answered like a hymn.

He searched the pockets of his faded coat. No katana. No bridge pins. No black calling cards. Only a folded scrap of notebook paper, damp from sweat or tears.

"The fantasy was necessary. The wound was too deep to touch. But healing never hides. It sings."

The handwriting was his. But he didn't remember writing it.

He walks. Slowly went out from the room. 

In the hallway beyond the door, voices stirred. One of them, unmistakable―Ptr. Isagani, gentle and deliberate, reciting scripture in morning devotion.

"Zechariah 10. Again."

Dence remembered the passage from the Bible in an instant. The sound grounded him gravity. Not fantasy. Not illusion. This was the real world. But what if it, too, was part of the storm?

He continued to walk along the corridor. Light flickered down the long hallway of the AGM Church's old dormitory wing. The scent of coffee drifted through, warm and nostalgic. Somewhere, children were laughing.

At the right side of the corridor, a guitar leaned against the wall beside a worn bench.

It was his black guitar on top of the hard case. Dusty. Seems out of tune.

He sat beside it, strumming a chord that had no name. It rang hollow at first... then fuller, with a strange resonance. Like a forgotten door was opening―slowly, gently, inward.

From behind, Ptr. Isagani approached.

"Good morning, Bro. Dence," the pastor greeted with a soft smile. "Or maybe... good awakening."

Dence looked up. Eyes tired, but no longer clouded.

"Was it all just dream?" he asked.

Ptr. Isagani didn't answer. Not directly.

Instead, he handed him a CD. Plain white. A silver cross hand-drawn in the center. Inside the case: a microSD card tucked beneath the disc.

"For the album," Ptr. Isagani said. "For the battle ahead." 

Dence's hand trembled as he accepted it. He looked past Ptr. Isagani toward the chapel door. A faint sound―chalk against board, crayons on paper, the rustle of paper crowns.

"My children?" he asked suddenly.

Ptr. Isagani's eyes lit up. "Sunday school room. Safe. They've been asking about you."

A quiet breath escaped Dence's chest. Not relief. Not yet. But release.

Another church member approached―Emerson, the quiet usher with tired eyes. He carried a black velvet box, which he presented without a word. Dence opened it slowly.

Inside: a pair of fancy fashion eyeglasses with a little scratched at the temple, a slightly bent car key, an apartment key with it's chain still holding a tiny, worn blue elephant, five lyric notebooks―each stamped with a silver wolf crest on the cover, and a small glowing green cube resting atop a stack of unused memo pads.

Dence didn't know whether to cry or laugh.

Before he could speak, another member arrived. A quiet woman named Kim―she held out a black umbrella. It clicked open. Its handle... not a handle at all, but the hilt of a katana.

Dence stared at it, his heart thudding.

"This was found near the riverbank," she said softly. "We thought it might be yours."

Was it real? Was any of it? Or was he still dreaming in a realm that had folded back into itself? Dence was so hesitant to receive it or not.

The children's laughter echoed again. This time louder. Closer. One voice called out:
"Daddy! At last! You're awake already!"

He smiled, slowly, unsure of himself, but warmer this time.

Still unsure. Still broken. But found.

[Next: Terazawa Light]