Sploshie – Part 2: The Stillroom (Redesigned)

He never ran. Not anymore.

Sploshie walked at his own pace, letting the silence guide him through the shadowed places where others rarely looked. His powers were quieter now—less flash, more feel. He could still blend into the dark when he needed to… but only when the dark allowed it.

There was a room.

It wasn’t a real room, not exactly.

They called it the Stillroom, though no one could remember who named it first. It moved. Changed. Sometimes, it was behind the oldest tree. Other times, behind a dream Sploshie almost forgot.

It welcomed him. Every time.

Inside, he sat where the floor dipped into a soft circle, a quiet nest surrounded by echoes. The air always smelled faintly of charcoal and something sweet—maybe memories burned too long ago.

He didn't speak. But the room whispered.

On one wall, etched symbols flickered—barely visible unless you tilted your head just right.

He once traced them with his finger, and the chill stayed in his skin for the rest of the day.

There was an old box in the corner. Locked.

He had seen it before, in a different version of the room. It was always there…

…even when he tried to forget it.

Sploshie placed a stone on top of it. He didn’t know why. It just felt right.

He drew something in the fogged-up glass: a symbol, or maybe a face. He wiped it away before he could finish.

And then, without a sound, he stood and left.

But not before the Stillroom gave a quiet hum—like it remembered something Sploshie didn’t.

---

But that’s a story for later.