The Armstrongs (1)

The room was dark, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner, and Sultan could still feel his pulse racing from the nightmare.

He muttered under his breath, "Damn it…"

Sultan shifted in bed, the sheets rustling as he pushed himself up to sit at the edge. His hand ran through his hair, now damp with sweat. He could still feel the weight of the dream, the shadows of the four figures lingering in his mind.

Their accusations, the way they chased him, it all felt too real. It was as if they were trying to pull him back into something he desperately wanted to escape from.

"Forgotten... forsaken… what the hell does it even mean?" He muttered, rubbing his face with his palms.

The clock on the nightstand showed 6:15 AM. He hadn’t planned on waking up this early, but after that dream, there was no chance of going back to sleep.

He got up, his feet making soft thuds on the carpet as he moved to the window. Pulling the curtains apart, he was met with the dull light of dawn.

The