The first step beyond
"Every step forward closes a door behind you."
The wind changed the moment he stepped through.
It wasn't the cold that struck him first—it was the weight.
The kind of pressure that settles in your bones, like standing in a cathedral carved from stars.
Caelan stumbled slightly as the shimmer of the Mirror Arch dimmed behind him. The veil closed with a soft, final hum—like the world sighing as it sealed the door shut. He turned back, but the gateway was already fading, its mirrored frame dissolving into curling mist.
The emissaries were gone. Just like they said they would be.
> "This is not our realm," one of them had whispered before he crossed.
"We were only meant to bring you to the threshold. From here… it is not our place to guide."
And now, he was alone.
Truly alone.
He stood on a high stone platform, old and cracked, as if the very land remembered a time before he was born. Surrounding him was an endless twilight—neither day nor night. A vast plain stretched out ahead, dotted with dark hills, glowing trees, and ruins too ancient to name. A thin silver mist hung low to the ground, curling around the edges of stone like it was alive.
Above, the sky was alien.
Two moons hovered overhead—one pale and cracked, the other red and low, like an eye half-lidded in sleep. Stars shimmered like frozen embers in a sky of bruised violet. The silence was not empty. It was listening.
Caelan tightened his fingers around the pendant on his chest.
Still. Cold again.
> "What the hell did I just do…" he breathed.
The thrill of the unknown—the strange pull that had led him here—was starting to give way to nervousness.
No… to fear.
This wasn't like the dreams.
This wasn't like the visions.
This was real—and he had no idea what came next.
> You should've stayed.
You should've asked more questions.
You shouldn't have stepped through alone.
Regret clawed at him, fast and sharp. What if they had been wrong? What if the kings didn't want him here? What if there was no prophecy—just delusion?
He stepped forward slowly, every bootfall echoing on the ancient stone. Around him, strange flora pulsed with dim light. The air smelled different—thicker, charged with something like storm and memory.
He reached the edge of the platform. A narrow path of black stone stretched ahead into the mist. He took a breath.
> "Alright… just walk. You've made it this far."
The wind shifted.
He froze.
From the fog ahead, something was approaching.
Slow. Silent. Deliberate.
He strained his eyes, heart pounding in his chest.
A figure emerged.
Tall. Armored. Gliding across the stone as if the ground bowed beneath her steps.
He couldn't see her face yet—only the silhouette: long cloak trailing behind her, silver gleaming from intricate pauldrons and bracers, and a presence that froze the world around her.
She did not speak. She only walked, calm and controlled, like she already knew everything about him.
Caelan's breath caught.
He didn't know who she was.
But something in him whispered—
> She is not here by chance.
And then, her violet eyes caught the light.