The knock came again — three slow raps that seemed to echo through the bones of the house.Michael froze where he stood. Clara’s fingers tightened around the letter, the edges creasing under her trembling grip. The room was dimly lit, with the glow of a single lamp flickering against the curtained windows. Outside, the wind carried whispers through the trees, as though the world itself was holding its breath.Michael exchanged a glance with Clara — half fear, half curiosity. “Are you expecting anyone?” he whispered.Clara shook her head. “No one knows we’re here.”Another knock. Louder this time. Measured. Certain.Michael moved toward the door, each step cautious, his senses sharpening with the awareness that something unseen was unfolding. When he reached for the handle, he felt an odd resistance — the kind that comes not from the door but from something deep inside, a warning whisper urging him to wait.Clara stood behind him now, the mysterious letter still in her hand. “Maybe we

The storm broke just before dawn.Rain slashed across the narrow road as Clara and Michael pressed onward, their coats heavy with water, the night alive with wind and distant thunder. Every mile seemed to pull them deeper into the unknown — away from safety, away from certainty, toward something that felt like fate.By the time they reached the old railway station, the storm had eased to a steady drizzle. The building stood abandoned, its windows boarded, its roof half-collapsed. Yet a faint glow leaked through one of the cracks — a single lantern burning somewhere inside.Michael slowed, his hand instinctively reaching for the concealed revolver beneath his coat. “Stay close,” he murmured.Clara nodded, tightening her grip on her satchel. Her mind raced with fragments of the letter — ‘If the gatekeeper has fallen…’ — and the voice on the radio that sounded too much like Jonathan to dismiss.They crept through the doorway. The scent of dust, rust, and wet stone filled the air. Somewhe

The first light of morning crept timidly through the cracks of the curtains, spilling faint streaks of gold across the wooden floor. The old house was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock and the restless rustle of leaves outside. Michael hadn’t slept. He sat in the same chair where he had been since midnight, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the letter lying on the table like a sleeping serpent.Every word of the night replayed in his mind: the knock at the door, the stranger’s cold voice, the sudden flash of light, and the single black feather left behind. Even now, he could still feel the faint warmth of that insignia’s glow in his palms — a light that seemed to come from nowhere yet burned with meaning.Across the room, Clara sat by the window, knees drawn to her chest. The faint glow of dawn painted her face in soft gold, but her expression was distant, almost fragile. She hadn’t said much since her shocking revelation, and Michael didn’t dare to push. Silence had b

When Michael opened his eyes, the world was no longer the same.A white haze pressed around him—soft, weightless, infinite. For a moment, he thought he was floating. The ground beneath him shimmered like liquid glass, reflecting fragments of light that shifted with every breath. He turned his head slowly, half expecting to see the familiar wooden beams of their cabin ceiling. Instead, he saw nothing but sky—endless, silver-gray, streaked with faint lines of gold that moved like veins of light.“Clara?” His voice cracked against the emptiness.He sat up sharply, disoriented. The air hummed faintly, like a thousand whispered thoughts overlapping. He spotted her a few feet away, lying still on the glass-like ground, her hair spread like ink over the shimmering surface. He stumbled toward her, his steps echoing faintly as if he were walking inside a dream.When he reached her, he knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. “Clara—wake up. Please.”She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, daz

The dawn came quietly, as if reluctant to touch what the night had scarred.Soft strands of light slid over the horizon, brushing against the ruins where the last of the fires had died hours before. The wind was gentle, almost reverent, carrying the faint scent of rain and stone dust.Michael awoke to the distant call of a bird, its cry echoing across the hollow valley. His body ached from exhaustion, his mind heavier still from the things he could not yet explain. For a long moment, he simply sat there, listening—to the silence, to the whispering wind, to his own heartbeat reminding him he was still here.Clara was already awake, sitting at the base of the broken archway that once framed the portal. The remnants of the sigil still shimmered faintly, etched into the stone like veins of dying fire. She didn’t turn when Michael approached. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon where the light was fighting through the mist, as though it held the answers she longed for.“You didn’t sleep,” h