The silence was worse than the sounds had ever been. No footsteps. No scratching. No humming seeping through the cracks of her door. It was as if the entire house had sunk into a deep, endless breath—one it would never release. Aika Mori sat against her bedroom door, knees drawn tight to her chest, the heavy dresser pressed firm against the frame. Her heart hammered loud in her ears, each beat reminding her that she was still here, still alive, still fighting.
But she couldn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him.
At first, she thought it was another hallucination—another demon born of terror and exhaustion—but the longer she stared, the more certain she became. This figure, this gaunt shape stitched out of mist and memory, was not like the others. It wasn't a tentacle creeping from the vent, or the grotesque mockery that her mother had become, or the hollowed husk of what used to be Hana.
No. This was different.
Aika didn't know how to describe him, not properly. His face wasn't truly a face—just stretched, grey skin with hollows where eyes should be. Yet from within those empty sockets pulsed a steady light. Not a comforting glow, not a chilling beam—but something that simply was, beating in time with her own frantic heart.
Whenever she started to drift, when sleep's claws dug deepest into her mind, the flickering light would blaze behind her eyelids, yanking her back to wakefulness.
At first, she recoiled from him, from the sheer alienness of it. But after the third time—after the fourth creeping tendril tried to slither into her sanctuary—she understood:
He was saving her.
Each pulse, each glimpse, was a warning. A lifeline.
Without thinking, she had given him a name:
ΔLight.
(Delta Light. The change in light.)
The name felt right, even if she didn't understand why.
Sitting there in the dead hush of 4 AM, Aika realized something deeper. ΔLight hadn't just arrived tonight. He had been there before, hidden behind childhood dreams, stitched into half-forgotten nightmares. She remembered flashes now—waking up to cold windows, to mirrors misting over, to whispers she thought were only the house settling. No. It had been him. Watching. Waiting.
Maybe even protecting.
And now he was warning her of the final truth:
If she fell asleep… she wouldn't wake up.
The thought twisted like a knife in her gut. She had to move. She had to act before exhaustion betrayed her. Before Mother—or whatever Mother had become—finished the ritual.
Somewhere deep inside her, she remembered something else:
Father.
The night he left, his voice shaking: "I won't stay in a demonic house. That woman isn't human anymore."
Maybe Father had tried to fight once. Maybe he had left something behind.
Maybe the attic held answers.
It was a terrible idea. Climbing into the creaking bowels of this cursed house was practically suicide. But staying here—paralyzed and waiting—was death of another kind.
Aika wiped the sweat from her brow, gritted her teeth, and grabbed her diary.
If she didn't make it back, if this was the last night of Aika Mori, then at least her words would survive.
[Date: 7/12/20XX]
[Time: Just past 4AM, I think]
[Still locked in my room]
It's… quiet now.
No footsteps. No singing. No whispering. Just silence—thick and heavy, like the house itself is holding its breath.
But I can't sleep. I can't even blink without seeing him.
The man.
Or… thing.
He's not like the others. Not like the tentacle, or Mother, or whatever used to be Hana. He's something else. Every time I closed my eyes tonight, he appeared—just for a moment—like he was pressed up against the inside of my skull. A face I've never seen before, but somehow… I trust him.
His face is gaunt. Grey, almost stretched, with hollow pits where eyes should be—but light pulses from them in a rhythm, like a heartbeat. Not warm light. Not cold either. Just… change. Every time he appears, my mind snaps awake, seconds before the shadow tentacle creeps through the vent or the door rattles just a little.
He's not scaring me to scare me.
He's waking me up to protect me.
I can feel it. In my soul. In my blood.
So I gave him a name.
ΔLight.
(Delta Light. The Change in light.)
He's the only thing keeping me awake. Keeping me alive.
And it's strange, but I think he's been here longer than tonight. There were dreams when I was little—too little to write down—of this presence. This flicker in the corner of my room, always watching from behind my mirror or just outside the window when Mother thought I was asleep.
Now I think he was always here. Waiting. For this night.
There's one thing that terrifies me though.
What happens if I do fall asleep?
What if ΔLight can't reach me then?
Maybe that's when she finishes it. Maybe that's when the ritual completes.
But now I'm wondering…
If ΔLight is real… maybe he's why Father left.
Maybe he tried to protect me once and failed.
Maybe it's time I listen.
I'm going to look through Father's old stuff in the attic. Maybe there's something up there—some clue, some weapon, some truth.
I'll write again if I make it back.
If not, then this is the last page of me.
– Aika Mori