CHAPTER 1: Shelter in the Storm

The night had fallen silently, without warning, as if the day had disappeared without meaning to.

The wind howled fiercely, shaking the branches of the trees and making the windows of the houses tremble. The rain fell in a fine curtain, soaking the empty streets, while the streetlights barely illuminated the path.

In a lonely corner of the city, Chiquilín walked through the wet streets, wandering without direction, searching for shelter.

Chiquilín had no home to return to, no bed to sleep in. He was a white cat with soft fur, but at that moment, his fur was the least important thing. His large, bright eyes observed everything around him with curiosity, as if always searching for something more.

He had been born on the streets, between the walls of old buildings, and had learned to survive on his own. Sometimes, people looked at him with disdain, as if he were just another stray cat, but Chiquilín paid them no mind. He knew his place wasn’t in anyone’s home but out on the streets, where he could be free.

But that night, the cold and the storm had pushed him to seek something different. Something warmer. Something that made him feel less alone.

He walked unhurriedly, but with his gaze fixed on a destination he didn’t yet understand. The storm didn’t let up, and his fur became wetter with each step, yet something in the air urged him forward. He didn’t know what it was, but he could feel it.

It was a strange sensation, a pressure in the atmosphere, something that pushed him to move, to venture deeper into a part of the city he had always avoided. The streets seemed darker, emptier, as if no one else was there.

Then, he saw the house.

It stood just ahead, on the corner of the street, surrounded by a low stone wall that was partially crumbled. It didn’t look like a well-kept home—quite the opposite. Its moss-covered walls rose in shadows, with broken windows and doors that swayed with the wind.

But something about it caught his attention. Something made him stop.

The cat approached cautiously. The rain continued to fall heavily, and the wind blew stronger than before, yet he didn’t feel the urge to run. Something—an invisible force—was inviting him to enter.

In the house’s yard, he found a collar with barely visible letters on one side. "JXXIXN." The name was indistinct. On the other side, another name could be seen, but it wasn’t clear. It started with a "C." He paid it no mind.

When he reached the door, he pushed it gently with his nose. At first, it didn’t budge, but on the second try, the door creaked open.

Without hesitation, Chiquilín stepped inside.

The air inside was warmer than outside, though stale from the passage of time. It didn’t smell like food or home, but like something older—something that had been there for years.

Inside, the house was eerily silent. The only sounds were the pattering of rain on the roof and the wind slipping through the cracks in the windows.

The dim light filtering through the broken glass cast long, distorted shadows along the empty hallways, making everything seem even larger and lonelier.

Chiquilín walked forward with steady steps, his tail raised, ears alert to any sound.

But he heard nothing.

The house, despite being empty, seemed to be waiting for something.

A strange feeling crept over him, as if the walls had something to tell him—something he didn’t yet understand.

As he moved through the dark corridors, he noticed that everything was covered in dust.

The worn-out rugs, the broken furniture draped in cobwebs… it all seemed frozen in time.

But he wasn’t alone.

He could feel it.

A soft, almost imperceptible noise reached his ears.

Something creaked in the distance.

Chiquilín stopped, ears perked.

The sound came from somewhere deeper inside—from a place where a faint light shimmered, a weak glow breaking through the shadows.

Curious, he advanced slowly toward the source of the noise.

With each step, he drew closer to the light, and with each step, the feeling of being watched grew stronger, as if someone—or something—was lurking.

When he reached the entrance to the main hall, Chiquilín hesitated.

The door was slightly ajar.

He pushed it gently with his paw, and the wood creaked softly.

The room was empty, but in the moonlight, he saw something in the center of the hall.

A large mirror covered an entire wall, reflecting a distorted image of the room.

Chiquilín approached cautiously.

He stopped in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection.

A small white cat, with large, bright eyes—that had always been his defining feature.

But as he leaned closer to the mirror, he noticed something strange.

Something in the reflection moved.

Chiquilín observed the mirror, his body completely tense, his eyes locked onto the image staring back at him.

The white cat in the reflection didn’t look exactly like him.

Something was… different.

A strange glow in its eyes, as if something else lurked behind his own image.

As if the mirror’s reflection was watching him rather than the other way around.

Tension coiled in his body.

His tail bristled, the muscles in his legs tensing.

The cat in the reflection began to move.

Not with the same movements Chiquilín was making.

No.

This cat moved on its own, almost like a shadow, gliding smoothly across the mirror’s surface while Chiquilín’s eyes remained fixed on it.

The image in the mirror became more and more unsettling.

Although the cat in the mirror looked nearly identical to him, there was something in its expression that seemed… sad.

A chill ran down Chiquilín’s spine.