The Nihilos: Trash Player Who Rewrote Reality

Raven jolted upright.

The ceiling fan spun slowly above him. The soft rhythm of Ava's breathing echoed beside him. Morning light filtered in lazily through half-closed blinds. Blankets tangled. His shirt soaked in sweat.

He placed a hand on his chest. The dream still clung to him — that horrifying maze, those eyes in the dark, the looping screams…

He glanced beside him.

Ava was still asleep, curled up peacefully. No sign of terror. No sign of the chaos he remembered.

> "Just a dream…" he whispered. "A really bad dream."

He slid out of bed, careful not to wake her. The floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked into the bathroom.

Cold water. Toothbrush. Mirror.

His reflection looked… ordinary. But something behind the eyes felt cracked. He couldn't place it.

> "Sol, you awake?" he called out, instinctively, like it was routine.

Silence.

No answer.

He poked his head into the hallway. Nothing. Shrugging, he moved to the kitchen, cracking eggs, warming toast, brewing tea — muscle memory taking over.

A few minutes later, Ava shuffled into the room, still in her sleepwear, hair messy.

> "Morning," she mumbled.

> "Morning. Sit. It's ready."

She dropped into a chair and sniffed the air. "Mmm. Smells like normal."

> "It is normal," Raven said with a small smile, setting plates in front of her. Then he turned again, calling out:

> "Sol! You're seriously gonna sleep through breakfast again?"

Ava froze mid-bite.

> "Wait… who?"

Raven turned.

> "Sol."

Ava blinked. "Who's Sol?"

Raven stared at her like she was joking.

> "Very funny."

> "No, seriously," she said, now frowning. "Who's Sol?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

His mind searched — and nothing came up. No face. No voice. Just the name. A familiar weight… with no memory to anchor it.

> "He was just… I mean, he lived here. He… helped with…" His voice faded.

> "Raven?" Ava's voice was softer now. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He gripped the edge of the counter.

A chill ran down his spine.

He couldn't remember what Sol looked like.

Or sounded like.

But something deep inside whispered:

> "You weren't supposed to forget."

He looked toward the hallway again.

Just for a second — just a blink — he saw a tall figure standing in the shadows.

Then it vanished.

The figure was gone.

No footsteps. No sound. Just the heavy silence of a house that suddenly felt far too large for two people.

Raven didn't move.

Neither did Ava.

She sat frozen at the table, her fork still halfway to her mouth, eyes locked on the hallway.

> "You saw it too, right?" he finally asked.

Ava swallowed hard. "Saw what?"

> "Don't do that," Raven said, voice shaking now. "Don't act like it didn't happen. He was there. Tall. The shadows… shifted."

She stood up slowly. "Raven. You called out a name I've never heard before. Then you saw something I didn't. Are you sure you're awake?"

His hands trembled.

He walked to the hallway, heart pounding, and opened the closet.

Nothing.

Bedroom?

Empty.

He ran his hand over the wall. Solid.

> "Sol…" he whispered to himself again, like the name might unlock something.

But every time he said it, it felt less real. Like it was fading the more he tried to grasp it.

Ava crept closer. "Did you dream him?"

> "No. I know I didn't."

He turned to her, desperate. "You… you don't remember him at all? The water fight? The terrible curry? The time he made you cry by accident, and you forgave him in like three seconds?"

Ava shook her head slowly, her face pale.

> "None of that ever happened."

Raven backed up, suddenly dizzy. The room shimmered slightly — not visibly, but spatially. Like it wanted to move. To rewrite itself.

> "It wasn't a dream," he said. "It's the world. Something's wrong. Something's missing."

Then his system pinged.

A quiet, unobtrusive notification.

>

His finger hovered.

Ava's voice broke the silence.

> "Raven, if you press yes… what if I forget something instead?"

He looked at her.

Then back at the flickering prompt.

The air grew colder.

The hallway lights dimmed again.

His thumb moved—

> To Be Continued.