Everyone always says eyes are windows to the soul; no wonder no one wants to look in his.

There’s something wrong with them—his eyes. Not in a physical sense. No scars, no strange colors. In fact, they're a deep, crystalline gray that should be beautiful. But the moment you meet them, something primal inside you recoils. Like your instincts are screaming that whatever lives behind those eyes… isn’t human. Or at least, not just human.

People talk about him in hushed tones. They say he never blinks. That animals refuse to go near him. That if you stare too long, you start to see things—shadows in your periphery, forgotten memories, things you’ve buried deep. Some say he’s cursed. Others whisper he made a deal, something old and unforgiving.

No one knows his real name. They just call him Ash. And when he walks into a room, it’s like the air itself shifts—thickens. Time slows. Conversations stop. Because the one unspoken rule around here is don’t look him in the eyes.

But of course, you always were terrible at following rules.