Boundless

Being a fresh secondary school graduate had its perks, and at the top of the list was the holy grail of absolute freedom: Victor no longer had any business getting out of bed early. At least, not for a while. The brutal morning rush of schedules, uniform checks, and dawn studying was finally behind him.

Yet, like clockwork, the chaotic din of his younger brothers preparing for school always shattered the early silence. Footsteps thudded through the corridor, school bags slammed onto wooden tables, and the relentless clatter of cutlery invariably dragged Victor awake at the exact same time every morning. Despite the noise, he had sworn a solemn, unbreakable vow to himself: he would never, under any circumstances, lift his head from the pillow until the front door clicked shut and his brothers left the house. It was a matter of principle.

This morning, however, the vow broke before it even had a chance to settle.

Sleep had abandoned him long before the sun peaked over the horizon. The restless phantom weight of the nightmare hung heavy in the room, suffocating and sharp. Victor tossed the light blanket aside, swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, and stood up. He walked toward the full-length mirror hanging on the back of his bedroom door, running a hand over his face to rub away the lingering fog of exhaustion.

He pulled up his worn undershirt, catching his reflection in the pale morning light filtering through the curtains.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, turning slightly to inspect his torso. "When did my abs get this shredded?"

The definition was striking. Every core muscle was defined, stark, and taut—far more sculpted than a recent high school graduate had any right to be. He traced a hand over his ribs, feeling the dense, hard muscle beneath his skin. "My diet must really be working overtime with those night workouts," he mumbled, though a quiet, uncomfortable voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he hadn't lifted a single weight in nearly two weeks.

Shaking off the strange sensation, he grabbed his toothbrush, smeared a dollop of toothpaste across the bristles, and padded toward the adjoining bathroom. The cool porcelain tiles under his bare feet grounded him slightly as he began to brush.

"Yo, Victor," a voice called out, heavy with youth and early-morning energy.

Isaac, his youngest brother, leaned against the doorframe, his school uniform slightly rumpled, his backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder.

Victor didn't stop brushing. He gave Isaac a tired, sideways glance through the mirror, his mouth full of white foam. "What is it again, Isaac?" he called out, his voice muffled. He braced himself, fully expecting another elaborate prank, a fake panic about missing homework, or some childish taunt meant to get a rise out of him. He was in no mood for it today.

"I had a dream," Isaac said plainly.

The casual sentence hit Victor like a physical blow. He froze mid-stroke. The quiet nonchalance in Isaac’s tone sent a sudden spike of ice directly into Victor's chest. He spat into the sink, rinsed his mouth hurriedly with a splash of cold water, and spun around. Toothbrush still clutched tightly in his hand, his eyes wide and searching, he stepped fully out of the bathroom.

"I’d call it more of a nightmare, honestly," Isaac added, shifting his weight.

"What did you see?" Victor asked. The urgency in his voice was sharp, cutting through the casual atmosphere of the hallway.

Isaac blinked, surprised by the intensity radiating off his older brother, but he didn't pull back. "You."

Victor’s eyebrows pulled together in a tight, suspicious squint. He scrutinized Isaac’s face, searching for the micro-expressions that usually gave his younger brother away—the twitch of the lip, the mischievous flicker in the eyes that always heralded a joke. But there was nothing. Isaac looked unnaturally serious, his posture rigid.

"Me?" Victor repeated softly. "What do you mean, you saw me? What did you see?"

"I saw you," Isaac began, taking a step closer into the room. "At first, I didn't even think it was you. I mean, I’ve imagined you as a lot of absurd things in this life—and no, not whatever weird thing you’re probably thinking," he chipped in defensively, flashing a quick, nervous smile when he noticed Victor’s jaw tighten.

Isaac cleared his throat and continued, his voice dropping an octave as the memory came back to him. "I saw this total badass soldier. He was dressed like a G.I. Joe, completely decked out in all-black gear. Stiff, stretchy material. Tactical stuff. He was sprinting through the dark after this massive, shadow-like figure. I couldn't place its exact size, Victor, but believe me when I say it was monstrously big."

Isaac stopped, taking a deep, heavy breath, visibly swallowing as if the memory carried a physical weight.

"Well, this warrior—you—was moving at mad speed," Isaac stressed, lingering on the word with genuine awe. "It wasn't humanly possible. That was what caught my attention first. The sheer velocity. The ground was just blurring beneath your feet. Or you were blurring above the ground, anyone."

Victor stood paralyzed, the plastic of his toothbrush bending slightly under the white-knuckle grip of his fingers. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even interrupt.

"Did I mention that I saw myself, too?" Isaac asked, glancing up at Victor, who remained completely dumbstruck and silent. Isaac took the silence as a prompt to push forward.

"Yeah, it was insane. I was dressed in the exact same black tactical gear. But to cut straight to it, I started running after the both of you. And I was at least half-surprised to find out that my legs could actually keep up—I was matching your speed, Victor. Moving like a ghost. But when I rounded the last sharp corner in this dark alleyway, I saw the monster pinned right on top of the G.I. Joe. On top of you."

Isaac pointed a finger directly at Victor’s chest to emphasize the point.

"My heart completely dropped," Isaac continued, his eyes widening as he relived the moment. "I wanted to jump in immediately and pull it off you, but something stopped me cold. A feeling. It was this weird, overwhelming instinct telling me that even though the monster was on top, it was actually the one getting its ass thoroughly handed to it. And I was right. A few seconds later, the thing just went—-poof!"

Isaac spread his fingers wide into the air, mimicking an explosion of smoke.

"It dissolved into nothing," Isaac breathed. "Then the soldier got up to his feet, turned around, and wiped his face to reveal... well, you." He gestured toward Victor like he was some sort of fake version. "And right as you looked at me, Ezekiel ruined everything by barging into my room and screaming at me to wake up for school."

Isaac finished his story, standing tall and letting out a long breath. He waited patiently, expecting a laugh, an insult, or a punch on the shoulder. When Victor merely stared at him, motionless and pale, Isaac let out a self-conscious chuckle.

"My storytelling skills are pretty sick, aren't they?" Isaac asked, trying to break the heavy silence hanging in the air.

The words seemed to slap Victor back into reality. He blinked rapidly, his mind racing at a terrifying velocity as the pieces fell into place. His father. His own nights of cold sweat. And now Isaac.

"Yeah," Victor managed to say, his voice surprisingly steady despite the violent storm in his chest. "I’ve noticed."

He took a step toward his younger brother, his expression dropping into a deadly serious glare. "Listen to me, Isaac. You can’t tell anyone about this dream. Not a single soul."

Isaac frowned, clearly thrown off by the command. "Why? It was just a weird dream."

"Because," Victor said, leaning in closer, "if you actually pay attention to what you just described, your 'weird dream' is the exact same perpetual nightmare I’ve been having for weeks. You just saw it from another point of view, or dream, or whatever. Point is, you have to keep this between us, aight?."

The casual demeanor drained out of Isaac’s face in a split second. A sudden, cold realization hit him hard. Victor watched as Isaac slowly nodded his head, over and over, his internal logic frantically syncing the two accounts together with every nod. The black gear. The unnatural speed. The monstrous entity. It was an exact match.

"Wait..." Isaac whispered, his eyes searching Victor's face for any sign of a joke. "If it's real... why can't we tell Mom and Dad?"

Victor sighed, his posture slumping slightly. "Have you not noticed the dark bags under Dad and Mom’s eyes lately?" he asked rhetorically. "They look like they haven't slept a full night in a month. They don't need to be stressed any more than they already are. Let’s keep this strictly between us for now. Promise me."

Before Isaac could answer, a loud, impatient voice echoed from the front room.

"Isaac!" Ezekiel’s voice rang sharply across the house, bouncing off the walls. "Get your bag and get out here right now! We are going to be late!"

Isaac rolled his eyes, the heavy tension breaking just enough for his usual teenage annoyance to resurface. "Man, he is really developing a solid track record of ruining moments," he muttered. He turned on his heel to head down the hallway, giving Victor a quick, mock salute over his shoulder. "Catch you later, soldier."

"Don't call me that!" Victor managed to call out, though his voice lacked any real bite.

For a long time after the front door slammed shut, signaling his brothers' departure, Victor remained rooted to the spot. The house settled into a heavy, suffocating quiet. He couldn't decide whether to go back to the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth or simply collapse back onto his bed.