The next morning felt quieter than usual.
David stood in front of the bathroom mirror, toothbrush in hand, staring at his reflection as if it might retreat. He hadn't slept well. Something about Lucas's visit the night before still lingered — a strange tension beneath the invitation.
— It's just a Halloween thing — he mumbled to himself, mouth full of foam. — Like the old times.
But it didn't feel like the old times. It felt like a farewell disguised as a party.
---
Lucas, on the other hand, hadn't said a word to anyone all morning. He was still caught in the dream. The hallway. The mirror. Clara's silent mouth.
And that voice.
> — "The veil can no longer hold…"
He didn't tell David. Didn't even know if he should. Part of him wanted to cancel everything, back out, stay home, pretend the whole idea was just a joke.
But another part — quieter, older — knew it had already begun.
They weren't going to perform a ritual that night.
They were going to step into one.
---
Clara spent the day gathering candles, notebooks, and half-burnt incense from her college days. Her curiosity had always danced between playfulness and obsession. But lately, even she could feel it.
The world had become... thin.
She couldn't explain it. But sometimes, when she looked at her own shadow, she swore it looked back.
At the bottom of her backpack, she carried something even more important than the objects: an old book, bought weeks earlier at a secondhand shop downtown. The cover was dark leather, untitled. But inside, between yellowed pages and handwritten notes, she had found what seemed to be a ritual of spiritual transition — a bridge between worlds. The kind of thing she normally wouldn't believe in.
But something about that book felt… real. As if it had been waiting to be found.
She remembered that day clearly.
The shop was small, squeezed between two abandoned buildings in the city's old district. A bell jingled as she entered, and the scent of aged paper wrapped around her like mist. The owner, a pale man with thick glasses, merely nodded before vanishing into the narrow aisles.
Clara wandered aimlessly, fingers brushing over crooked spines, until she felt compelled to turn left — into an unmarked section, half-hidden by a tilted shelf.
There, on a dusty row, the book waited.
No title on the cover, no author. Just worn leather and a broken metal clasp. When she opened it, a rush of cold air escaped the pages, as if time had been trapped inside.
On one of the first pages, a symbol appeared: an eye turned inward.
She brought it to the counter.
— This wasn't here yesterday — the owner muttered, frowning. — But if you found it… maybe you're meant to have it.
---
At that same moment, across the city, David stared out his bedroom window, lost in thought.
The day was gray, but not rainy. There was a sense of waiting in the air, like time itself was holding its breath. He slowly turned the coffee mug in his hands, eyes drifting beyond the rooftops.
He thought about Lucas. The way he had spoken the night before. There was something strange in his gaze — a weight he couldn't quite name.
David knew that kind of silence. He had learned to read it young, like someone who listens to a song without lyrics.
— You're not telling me everything, are you? — he whispered, as if Lucas could hear him.
It wasn't just Halloween. It wasn't just a game. David felt something was about to begin. Something none of them would truly understand… until it was too late.
---
That night, the three met at Lucas's house. The apartment was quiet. Strangely quiet. The kind of silence that makes it seem like someone muted the world.
The lights were dim. The table in the center of the room was cleared. Candles flickered in the corners. A mirror — cracked at one edge — rested right in the middle.
Clara placed the book beside the mirror.
— Here it is — she said, opening to a page marked with a red ribbon. — The ritual of the "Inverted Eye." That's what they call it.
David raised an eyebrow. — Sounds comforting.
Lucas didn't reply. He just sat down.
They sat in a triangle. One hand on the floor. The other on the mirror.
Clara began to recite the text in a low voice. The words were strange, nearly archaic. As if they were older than language itself.
In the middle of the reading, her voice faltered. For a moment, she wondered if this was too dangerous — if playing with the unknown was the same as waking it. But it was too late to stop. She took a deep breath and went on.
> — "Let the veil stretch. Let the eyes turn. Let the reflection reveal. And may the one who listens… listen as well."
A candle's flame bent — didn't flicker, bent, as if drawn by a breath.
The air grew dense. The temperature dropped.
And the mirror began to fog.
---
Somewhere, far beyond what they could comprehend…
A root of Kaelyndra stirred.
A fracture opened.
And something… noticed their presence.
---
His name was Ezren, and he wasn't there by accident.
Tall, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to have seen more than time should allow, Ezren wore an amulet beneath his cloak — a living rune pulsing with the symbol of the Myndar Clan.
He had felt the tremor the night before. The crack. And he knew what it meant.
He was there to contain, to prevent, or at least to witness.
Because something long studied in the shadows was now moving beneath the waking world.
The secret society that guarded the Veil and the knowledge of the ancient clans had the duty to mend the fractures that appeared.
Invisible fissures between worlds.
And he knew this was no longer just a game.