Jacob Wyatt, a ten-year-old with short black hair, piercing green eyes, and a mop of orange clothes, sits cross-legged on his bed. The air shimmers faintly, as if something unseen has just passed through. Shadows stretch across the room, lengthening as the day slips into evening. Jacob stares suspiciously at a small, golden coin on his desk—an odd token he found after meeting a stranger in the park.
"That man said he was a messenger of the gods," Jacob mutters to himself, rolling the coin between his fingers. His mind replays their earlier conversation, when the man—Bikin, tall and draped in white robes—offered blessings but slipped up, revealing hints of a hidden agenda.
Jacob stands before Bikin, who now appears more ethereal, his eyes glowing faintly gold. The playground is deserted, swings creaking in the breeze. Jacob points accusingly, his voice trembling but determined.
"You said you wanted to help people, but you lied! You're not here to protect anyone, are you?"
"Clever child. Too clever for your own good," Bikin replies, his smile twisting. "No one likes a meddler, Jacob. Watch what happens to those who uncover a god's secrets."
Jacob feels a chill crawl up his spine as Bikin raises his hand, palm glowing with ancient runes. The mist thickens, wrapping around Jacob's body, pressing tight against his skin.
"Each night, as you surrender to sleep, your body will betray you. A child by day, a stranger by dawn," Bikin intones, his voice echoing in the void. Jacob tries to scream, but the sound is swallowed by the stars.
Jacob wakes with a gasp, heart pounding. His room feels smaller, the bed shorter, and his hands... larger. He stumbles to the mirror, eyes wide, as he sees the reflection of an adult version of himself staring back—same green eyes, same short black hair, but now tall, broad-shouldered, and utterly bewildered.
"No, no, this isn't real! I can't go to school like this—what will Mom say? What if Bikin comes back?" His voice is deeper, unfamiliar, echoing strangely in the quiet room.
Jacob, disguised as an adult, tiptoes past family photos and breakfast preparations. His mother stands at the counter, humming softly, unaware of the stranger in orange clothes behind her. Jacob hesitates, fear and confusion warring within him.
"Mom, it's me, Jacob. Please, you have to believe me," he pleads, voice cracking. His mother turns, shocked, her mug slipping from her hand.
"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" she cries, backing away. Jacob feels the weight of Bikin’s curse more than ever.
Jacob sits on his bed, clutching the golden coin, determined to outsmart the god who tricked him. The night’s transformation has left him weary, but not broken. He traces the runes in the morning light, focusing on memories of courage and truth.
"If Bikin cursed me for knowing the truth, then maybe the truth is my weapon. I won't let him win. I’ll find a way to break this curse—no matter what it takes," he whispers fiercely, his reflection shifting in the mirror as the first rays of sun promise a new day.
