Shifter Deathbound Curse

“Absolutely not, Mom! I’m not going back to that temple!”Siron leaned his back against the wall of his quiet apartment, trying to make his voice sound firm even though his heart was pounding. The phone conversation with his parents had been going on for twenty minutes, and the core message was always the same: a protective ritual at the family temple.“Don’t be stubborn, Ron! You know this is important” his mother’s voice trembled with worry on the other end.“What’s important? Doing strange things to ward off a ‘curse’ from a ‘shifter’ who died thousands of years ago?” Siron cut in, his voice filled with his typical sarcastic drawl. “Morat? That’s just a character from a bedtime story. I’m an adult; I don’t believe in that stuff.”He let out a long sigh, his eyes gazing at the blank ceiling of his apartment. “Besides, I’m busy. College has started. I need to prepare.”“I don’t want you staying alone overnight in that apartment” this time, his father’s voice took over, heavy with a p

"LITTLE...SIAN..."The whisper echoed inside his head, cold and foreign, yet feeling incredibly personal. Siron let out a small yelp and buried his face in his hands, trying to block out the horrific sound and vision. When he dared to look back at the mirror, there was nothing left. Only his pale, wild-eyed face remained, the strange handprints on the shower glass having vanished.That night was a living nightmare. He couldn't sleep; every ordinary sound, the creak of a pipe, the hum of the refrigerator, the night wind, made him jump in terror. He turned on every light in the apartment, sitting on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around him, his eyes glued to the bathroom door. The word "Sian" spun in his mind. It was his childhood nickname, something only his family knew. Something his own hallucination shouldn't possibly know.The next morning, Siron went to Aethifolt campus with a weak body and dark circles under his eyes. The bright, bustling outside world felt like a blessing, yet

The elevator door finally closed completely, cutting off the view of the peeking black horn tip. Siron slid to the elevator floor, his breath ragged, his body trembling uncontrollably. The lift smoothly continued its journey down to the lobby, as if it had never paused on the dark 3rd floor.He didn't remember how he got to the lobby, walked past the security guard with a blank stare, or reached the bustling street. His mind contained only one thing: escape. He walked aimlessly, finally stopping at a brightly lit 24-hour café filled with a few people. He ordered the strongest coffee and sat at the furthest table from the window, facing the door.The cold touch on the back of his neck still felt like an icy residue. He continuously rubbed the area, trying to get rid of the terrifying sensation that lingered. It was not his imagination. Something, or someone, had touched him.He spent hours in the café, staring at the door whenever someone entered, terrified of seeing a tall figure with

The red eye stared at him unblinking, filled with an ancient intelligence and intent that made Siron's soul tremble. He shrieked in terror and stumbled backward from the door, his back hitting the opposite wall. His breath came in gasps, unable to fill his frightened lungs."Go away!" he screamed, his voice fractured and desperate.A pitch-black shadow suddenly seeped from beneath the door, like a thick fog rapidly filling the corridor floor, blocking the path back to the living room. The smell of damp earth and rusted iron became overwhelmingly strong, making him dizzy.The only way out was the bedroom. He turned and ran, fear lending him strength.But as he crossed the kitchen doorway, his foot landed on something wet and slick. A puddle. The water from the glass he had dropped earlier.His feet flew out from under him. His body was thrown backward. The world spun.His back and head hit the wooden floor with a heavy thump. Stars flashed in his vision. A dull, piercing pain spread fr

Siron woke up with a strange sensation. Not the crippling fear of previous days, but an emptiness. The cold pressure on his shoulder was gone, leaving a vacant space that felt more noticeable than its presence. He shifted, checking the clock. It was only 5 a.m. The first light was just beginning to creep through the gap in the curtains.Kit was still sound asleep beside him, her breathing even and quiet. Normal. A stark contrast to the chaos within Siron.He reached out, touching his left shoulder through the fabric of his t-shirt. His skin felt normal. No mark, no lingering chill. But the memory of the touch was distinctly imprinted, a firm pressure, a possessiveness that was both terrifying and comforting."He's protecting me," he whispered to himself, and guilt immediately seized him. It was insane. Morat was a vengeful spirit who haunted him, made him fall, almost drove him mad. But... he was also the only one who had truly been there for him in that terror. Kit slept, unaware of