Capítulo 7: Nightmare
The cold was the first thing that hit Fraihn. Even as the special force dragged him through the blood-soaked fields outside Lenon, his body felt like ice.
His thoughts were muddled, every movement sluggish. Blood loss was setting in, pulling him in and out of consciousness.
Seven kilometers. Just seven more.
But Fraihn was slipping.
His eyelids fluttered shut again as darkness began to envelop him. The pain in his chest, the numbness in his limbs, it all faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of weightlessness. His mind drifted toward the cold embrace of unconsciousness.
When Fraihn opened his eyes again, the chaos of the battlefield was gone.
He was home.
The transformation was so sudden, so vivid, that for a moment, he couldn't believe it. He blinked, expecting the blood and mud to return, but no.
He was standing in his family's living room. The familiar scent of his mother's cooking wafted through the air, bringing with it a wave of warmth that washed over him.
His mother had always been an excellent cook, he remembered the hours she'd spend in the kitchen, turning even the simplest ingredients into something that felt like love itself. The smell of roasted meat and fresh herbs filled his nose, and for a moment, he felt... safe.
His hands instinctively moved to touch the back of the old sofa, the fabric worn but still sturdy. It had been in the family for as long as he could remember, his mother's favorite spot to read during quiet afternoons, the place where he and his sister, Hannah, would curl up to listen to stories. He could almost hear their giggles echo in the walls.
Fraihn turned, and there they were, his mother, bustling about in the kitchen, her back turned to him, apron tied around her waist, her movements graceful in their familiarity. Hannah, his younger sister, was sitting at the table, scribbling something in one of her schoolbooks, her legs swinging as she hummed a tune to herself.
For a moment, Fraihn couldn't breathe. The sight of them, so vivid, so alive made his chest tighten. His throat felt thick with emotion. He had missed them more than words could ever express.
During the long nights on the battlefield, when death seemed closer than life, it had been the thought of coming home to them that kept him going. The thought of his mother's warm embrace, of Hannah's teasing laughter.
He stepped forward, the feeling of the wooden floor beneath his boots familiar. "Mom?" he called out softly, his voice trembling as if he feared they'd vanish if he spoke too loud.
His mother turned, her face lighting up with a smile that reached her eyes. "There you are, Fraihn. You're just in time. Dinner's almost ready."
Her voice was warm, gentle, the same voice that had comforted him through countless nightmares when he was a boy. It wrapped around him like a blanket, soothing the weariness in his bones.
Hannah looked up from her book, her face breaking into a mischievous grin. "About time you showed up, dummy." She stuck out her tongue, the way she always did when she wanted to tease him.
Fraihn laughed, really laughed. He had forgotten what it felt like to laugh so freely. The weight of the world seemed to lift, just for a moment, as he moved toward them, his heart swelling with love and relief.
His mother set down a pot on the stove, wiping her hands on her apron. "You should wash up, Fraihn. I made your favorite, roast lamb. Just like when you were a boy."
It felt so real. Too real. The warmth, the smells, the sounds it was all exactly as he remembered. But somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered that something was wrong.
He glanced down at his hands.
The blood was still there. Thick, dark, and dripping from his fingers. His heart lurched in his chest. Why was it still there? Why hadn't it gone away?
"Mom…?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. He stared at his bloodstained hands, trembling as his blood dripped onto the floor, staining the clean wooden planks. "Mom, what's happening?"
His mother's smile faded. Slowly, her eyes moved to his hands, her face shifting from calm to horror. Her expression twisted into one of shock, her eyes widening as she backed away.
"Fraihn… why are you covered in blood?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear.
His chest tightened. He couldn't answer. The blood it wouldn't stop. It was pouring from him now, faster and faster, staining the floor, creeping toward his mother and sister. "No… no, this isn't right…" He took a step back, but the blood followed, flowing like a river, unstoppable.
Hannah screamed. It was a sound Fraihn would never forget, the high-pitched, terrified wail of a child seeing something too horrible to comprehend.
The house shook.
Before Fraihn could react, the ceiling collapsed. A deafening explosion rocked the room as the walls crumbled in on themselves. Wood splintered, glass shattered, and dust filled the air. Fraihn was thrown to the ground, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
He looked up, disoriented, his vision blurry. Through the dust and debris, he saw them, his mother and Hannah, their bodies trapped beneath the rubble.
"Hannah! Mom!" Fraihn tried to crawl toward them, but his legs wouldn't move. He was paralyzed, his body refusing to respond. He watched in helpless horror as his mother reached out, her hand shaking, her eyes wide with terror.
Another explosion hit, and the entire world went black.
The warmth of home was gone. The destruction had vanished. He found himself standing in an endless white void vast, empty, and cold. There was no floor beneath him, no ceiling above, no walls to contain the space. Just... nothing.
He was alone.
At least, that's what he thought.
From the mist, figures began to emerge. Ghostly shapes at first, barely visible in the distance. As they drew closer, Fraihn's heart sank. His mother. His sister. Their bodies bloodied and broken, just as they had been beneath the rubble. Their eyes, once filled with warmth, now stared at him with empty, haunting gazes.
And behind them, his comrades. His brothers and sisters in arms, the soldiers who had died under his command. Their faces were gaunt, pale, their uniforms stained with blood and mud, their wounds still fresh. They stood in silence, watching him with accusing eyes.
Fraihn's breath hitched in his throat. He took a step back, his pulse racing. "No… no, this isn't real. This can't be real…"
But the figures didn't move. They just stood there, watching. Waiting.
His mother's voice broke the silence, soft and distant. "It's time to let go, Fraihn."
Fraihn shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "No... please... I can't." His voice cracked, his hands trembling. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
His comrades, his fallen soldiers, began to whisper. Their voices were like wind through dead leaves, soft and cold, carrying the weight of a thousand regrets. "You couldn't save us." "Why did you leave us behind?" "Why are you still alive when we're not?"
The words cut into him like knives. Fraihn fell to his knees, sobbing, his hands covering his face. "I didn't want this! I didn't want any of this!"
The white room began to fade, the figures slipping back into the mist. "I'm sorry…" Fraihn whispered, reaching out toward them. "I'm sorry for everything..."
The beeping of machines pulled him from the nightmare.
Fraihn gasped, his eyes snapping open. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. He was no longer in the white void. No longer surrounded by ghosts.
He was in a hospital, still alive.
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