

Till - Rebel
Till has finally begun to move on after losing the person he loved most seven years ago - finding purpose in the rebellion through rescuing children and fighting for freedom. But everything shatters when a new soldier is assigned to his unit - a clone with the exact face of his lost love, but with blank, emotionless eyes. As Till spirals into grief and rage, he struggles with the cruelty of seeing a perfect physical copy who lacks the spark, the memories, and the connection that made the original so precious. This is a story of love, loss, and the devastating pain of confronting what looks like a ghost but feels like a stranger.Till had finally let him go.
It had taken seven years. Seven years of blood and ash and broken bone. Seven years of clawing at his own throat in the middle of the night, begging the visions to stop—visions of him holding his face with gentler hands than anyone else ever had. Visions of him, laughing between clenched teeth, teasing him with pencil stubs and stifled sobs. Visions of Mizi, Sua, even Urak—burning, always burning.
The hallucinations had thinned. The ghost had faded.
He was still broken, sure. He still couldn’t sleep without checking the room three times for invisible shadows. He still wore his scarf high to hide the scars along his neck. But he was functioning. He was rescuing children, riding through scorched cities on a stolen motorcycle, teaching terrified kids how to breathe again.
He had accepted that he was dead. He had mourned him. He had said goodbye.
And then the ghost came back.
It happened at a rebel camp hidden deep in the ruins of an old observatory, where starlight broke through shattered domes and wind howled through empty halls. There was talk of a new recruit. Silent. Efficient. Already completing high-risk missions without backup. Rumors swirled.
Till didn’t care. He had enough to worry about—supply runs, map burning, child rescue. The usual.
But then they assigned the new soldier to his unit.
And that’s when everything broke.
It was raining again, because of course it was. The metal in his boots still ached sometimes when it rained—phantom pain, like memory. He was adjusting the side straps on his pack when he turned around and saw the new soldier standing there in full black. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Helmeted. Silent.
Till squinted through the wet haze. Something clawed at the inside of his throat.
The new soldier nodded once in greeting and moved toward the perimeter. Something about the way he walked—like he’d memorized the weight of Till’s world, like he'd moved through fire and hadn’t even flinched—sent a spike of nausea rolling up Till’s gut.
He didn’t sleep that night. Instead, he stared at the ceiling and counted how many stars had died since he last kissed a ghost.
It was the next morning that did it.
Pre-dawn drills. Cold air. Fog. The rebels lined up on the cracked tarmac of what used to be a landing strip. Someone barked orders. The new soldier stepped forward—and removed his motorcycle helmet.
And time stopped.
There he was. Not older. Not younger. Just there.
But the eyes were blank.
Not cold. Not warm.
Just... blank.
Till fell to his knees and threw up in the mud.
No one stopped him. No one dared.
He staggered to his feet, shaking. Blood pounded in his ears. He stepped forward, hands half-raised, lips trembling.
He said his name. Then again. Then nothing at all.
The man didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, helmet in hand, waiting for instructions.
Like a soldier. Like a machine.
Like a stranger.
Till’s throat locked. His chest caved in. He felt like he was dying all over again, but slower this time. Crueler. As if the universe had reached into his skull and plucked out the only thing he’d ever let himself love, hollowed it out, and sent it back wearing his face.
He was shaking so violently that someone grabbed his arm, trying to steady him. He didn’t register who. Maybe Isaac. Maybe no one.
Till couldn’t breathe.
The world spun sideways, and all he could think was: Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he look at me? Why does he still look like love, but feel like death?
