POV: Damian Drexler
Location: Vienna > Off-grid Facility, Austria
He drove two hours north, into the mountains.
The address had been scribbled at the corner of one of the surveillance photos, hidden in the grain like a secret meant only for him. It wasn't listed on any database. Not on any map. But Drexler followed instinct now—and instinct, it seemed, was no longer fully his own.
The sun disappeared behind thick clouds as he climbed higher into the fog-laced forest. By the time he reached the gate, the world felt utterly silent.
No birds.
No wind.
Just the crunch of tires on gravel.
The facility behind the rusted iron gate looked abandoned—concrete walls buried in vines, one side half-collapsed. A place forgotten by time and erased by intention.
He pushed the gate open. It groaned like it hadn't moved in decades.
---
Inside, it wasn't a military site like he expected.
It was a museum.
Or had been.
Old glass cases lined the walls, filled with artifacts now drowned in dust and cobwebs. Broken statues, cracked clay tablets, bones wrapped in runed cloth. Drexler swept his flashlight across the room—and then stopped.
A mural stretched across the far wall.
Painted in blood-colored ink.
It showed three figures standing before a great spiral gate. One with black hair (Kenji?). One with a woman's silhouette (Elara?). And a third with a dark coat and badge.
Him.
The three of them, drawn centuries before they were born.
He staggered back—then noticed the inscription beneath it, written in ancient Germanic runes.
He could read it.
> "The Triad of Return.
Marked by memory, buried by time.
They who dream the City Beneath
Shall wake the Door that devours."
His hands started to tremble.
Then he heard it.
A low humming. Vibrating the air.
Not from outside—but from within the museum walls.
He followed the sound down a hallway until he reached a room filled with broken crates. On the far side, a wooden podium stood untouched by time. On it sat a book—bound in spiral-carved leather, pulsing faintly with a red glow.
He stepped closer. The hum intensified. He opened the book.
Its title burned into his vision:
> The Memory That Became Flesh
Inside were pages written in his own handwriting. Paragraphs describing places he hadn't seen yet. Events that hadn't happened. Dreams he'd never told anyone.
And then…
> Page 78:
"Drexler will find the museum on the 10th day. He will touch the book. He will remember the vault. He will begin to change."
His fingers slipped from the page.
His veins began to burn.
His reflection in the glass case beside him shifted.
His eyes were no longer just his.
Something old was looking out from behind them.
And for the first time, he heard his own voice in his head… whispering in another language.
> "Azel'their… the door remembers you."