Every door is a passage, another boundary we're meant to cross.
Two hundred years ago, that phrase might've meant anything.
A job opportunity.
A new stage in life.
Even something as mundane as leveling up in a game.
But now?
There's only one meaning left.
Dread.
***
Rian sat curled up in a dusty attic, surrounded by cracked decorations and half-collapsed cardboard boxes. The air smelled of mildew and forgotten years. His gangly frame and shaggy black hair gave him the look of a half-starved stray, wild-eyed and worn thin.
He rested his chin on his knees, breathing slow and deep like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling.
After a long pause, he stirred.
The wooden hatch creaked open as he lifted it, revealing the ladder down. He climbed slowly, and the moment his feet hit the floor below, he was met with the usual contrast.
Luxury.
Velvet curtains hung heavy along the walls. Gold-trimmed decor glimmered on every surface. Polished mahogany stretched beneath his feet, so spotless it reflected the chandelier light like water.
"Ahh... another day, another struggle,"
With practiced precision, he slipped through the corridors of the mansion like a ghost who'd done this dance a hundred times before. He dodged the servants, avoided creaky floorboards, and made his way toward his destination.
The kitchen.
"Hmm... what should I eat today?" he whispered to himself. "Maybe I'll treat myself. Cereal? Or even better, a granola bar!"
He grabbed a small handful and began the return journey, creeping back toward the attic like a raccoon with stolen treasure.
But halfway there, it hit him.
A wave of lightheadedness.
His vision swam. The world tilted.
He stumbled, crashing into a side table. A vase of flowers toppled, shattering against the floor with a sharp crack.
"Ah... shit."
He tried to stand, clutching the wall to steady himself, but it was too late.
A voice shrieked from around the corner.
"Dirty rat! What do you think you're doing?!"
Rian turned his head slowly. A man stood there in a crisp butler uniform, face twisted in disgust.
Rian gave him a tired shrug.
"Just get it over with. I'm not in the mood to talk."
The butler wasted no time. He seized Rian by the ears, dragging him across the floor like trash.
Rian didn't resist.
The beating came fast and brutal, each strike from the baton landing with a sick thud. He didn't cry out. He didn't flinch. Just waited for it to end.
When the butler finally stepped back, breathing hard, he spat:
"As punishment, live outside today."
Rian was dragged to the front entrance and was kicked out without remorse.
Rian winced as he looked back towards the lavish mansion.
"Man, for being in the same family as the most famous group of ingressors, even if adopted, I'm not really treated that well huh" said Rian with a small chuckle.
***
Ingressors.
To some, they were humanity's last hope.
To others, they were apostles of God.
But two hundred years ago, they were nothing more than ordinary people, before Earth changed forever.
It started with the deaths.
Massive, inexplicable waves of disappearances and corpses. Entire families vanished. Bodies were found twisted, frozen in agony, or burned to ash without fire. Panic consumed the globe. Was it a plague? A secret war? A cult hiding in the shadows?
No one knew.
Not until the first Door was conquered.
The Doors, as they would come to be called, appeared without warning, shimmering into existence like cracks in reality. They materialized in cities, forests, oceans, even underground. No two looked alike. Some were ornate and ancient. Others were jagged, broken things that oozed with menace.
But all of them shared a terrible promise:
Enter, and be changed. Or die.
Each Door is a pocket reality. A sealed, self-contained world with its own laws. Time flows differently. Space loops in on itself. Inside, a person might face a thousand enemies, a haunting riddle, or even a reflection of their deepest fears.
Some Doors test your strength.
Others test your will.
And some… strip you bare, soul first.
Once entered, there is no turning back.
You cannot leave until you clear the challenge within.
Those who succeed return... altered. Touched by the Door's aether.
Their bodies may move faster, hit harder, heal quicker.
Their minds may expand, granting perfect memory, uncanny instincts, or even glimpses of the future.
Some develop unique talents, abilities that bend the world around them:
manipulating flame, walking through walls, commanding beasts, or reshaping metal with a thought.
They are no longer ordinary.
They become Ingressors, those who pass through the impossible.
But those who fail?
They never come back.
And worse, if a Door remains uncleared for too long, it starts to open on its own.
Slowly.
Audibly.
Creaking like a rusted gate that's forgotten how to be shut.
And from that widening crack spills everything the Door held in.
Some say the Door is trying to expand its domain. Others believe the nightmare inside simply wants out. Sometimes it's a single creature, a monster too warped for nature. Sometimes it's worse. A curse. A phenomenon. A storm that folds reality in on itself. There have been times when entire districts disappeared overnight, swallowed by the bleed.
This is why Doors are treated like ticking time bombs.
Why governments and factions alike monitor them closely.
Because if no one enters, the world outside pays the price.
***
Rian stumbled through the neighborhood like a delinquent middle schooler who'd downed three bottles of cheap soju. His oversized hoodie hung off one shoulder, and his hair stuck out at odd angles like he'd just rolled out of a fight with an enraged beast, which ironically enough isn't that far from the truth.
"Why'd they even adopt me if they were gonna treat me like shit, huh?" he muttered to himself, kicking a loose rock. "At least give me some money or something so I can live the life."
His voice trailed off as he wandered past the mansion gates and down a trail winding through a nearby park. It was quiet here, sunlight cutting through the trees, the smell of wet grass clinging to the air.
"Maybe I can find some geese or something," he mumbled, eyes scanning the grassy fields. "I heard they taste like well-seasoned beef… not that I know what beef tastes like."
Quack. Quack.
His head snapped up.
"No way. Are those actually—? Oh my god, dinner!"
A cluster of fat white geese waddled across the clearing, completely unaware of the hungry boy now sprinting toward them with the coordination of a sleep-deprived scarecrow.
"Come here you little turkeys!"
"Wait… no, you're not turkeys. Whatever!"
He charged, arms flailing, half-running, half-limping as he gave chase. The geese honked indignantly and scattered, leading him deeper into the woods.
One ducked under a bush. Another hopped over a fallen log. Rian followed like a man possessed, ignoring the branches slapping his face and the mud dragging at his shoes.
"Just one of you! Just one crispy, soy-sauce-marinated dinner is all I ask!"
He ran. And ran.
Filled with delirium in his less than perfect mental state he kept running without real thought until the park trail was long behind him, and the sun filtered only faintly through the thickening canopy.
Eventually, his breath began to burn in his chest. The trees grew denser, ancient and tall, crowding around him like silent sentinels. When he finally stopped, panting, he realized he had stepped into a perfect circle of trees; the bark of each one smooth, twisted, and unnaturally pale.
And the geese?
Gone.
Not a feather.
Not a sound.
Not even footprints in the dirt.
"...Huh?"
Rian stepped closer, scanning the clearing. Something wasn't right.
That's when he saw it.
"What the hell is that...?"
Floating in the center of the glade were splotches of black, as if someone had flung ink into the air and gravity had forgotten what to do. They hovered midair, unmoving, pulsing faintly like oil on water.
Rian stared in disbelief.
It wasn't just what he was seeing, it was what he was feeling. A strange pull, like every cell in his body was magnetized, drawn toward the impossible inkblots as if they were calling to something buried deep inside him.
"Should I touch it?" he muttered. "I mean… do I really have a choice? I'm already halfway there."
The pull intensified.
"Whatever. How bad could it really be?"
He took a breath and stepped forward, letting the unseen force guide him. When his fingers brushed the black splotch, the world exploded.
His vision warped. His stomach flipped. It felt like his entire body was being yanked through the narrow mouth of a vacuum cleaner.
When he came to, he was on his knees.
Breathing hard.
"Where... am I?"
There was only one word for it:
Ethereal.
Wisps of soft purple cloud floated through the air like silk underwater. Jagged yet soft mountains rose and fell in the distance, glowing faintly in the haze. The shrubs scattered across the landscape pulsed with impossible color, iridescent, shifting hues that defied logic and language.
For a moment, Rian just stared, basking in the surreal beauty of it all.
Then something snapped in his mind.
Alarm bells.
"Oh holy shit, is that a Door?"
He turned sharply, his senses sharpening in an instant. Standing just ahead was a single door.
Plain, yet undeniably monumental.
A slab of polished white marble, framed in twisting silver, half-shrouded in violet mist. It radiated elegance, but also unease. Because splattered across its surface were jagged streaks of pitch black, like shadow itself had been thrown at it with violent intent.
It was beautiful.
And menacing.
Rian stepped closer, cautiously circling the door.
That's when he noticed it.
A slight opening.
Barely more than a sliver, just wide enough to suggest the Door hadn't been fully sealed. Faint purple mist drifted out from the gap like breath from a sleeping beast.
He leaned in, squinting.
"Is this door opening? I can hear a weird creaking sound"
The mist thickened around the base of the Door, curling unnaturally like it was watching.
He took a cautious step back, lips twitching.
"Okay, okay, jokes aside, maybe I should—"
Too late.
Something moved.
A hand, pitch black, with too many joints and fingers like hooked claws, shot from the gap, seizing his wrist with a grip colder than death.
Rian flinched hard.
"Whoa… what the hell?!"
He tried to pull away. Nope.
The hand tugged harder. His feet left the ground.
"Nope! Nope! I'm too young to die… AYY SOMEONE HELP"
He slammed into the marble slab. The door wasn't hard anymore, it bent, sank, swallowed, like liquid glass turning solid behind him.
His free hand thrashed wildly, trying to grab anything be it air or mist.
The mist screamed.
Not aloud.
Inside.
Like something ancient and wrong was clawing through his thoughts, peeling them apart like wallpaper in a burning room.
"Let me go—!" he choked out, the words barely more than a rasp.
His body twisted, pulled inward as if the world had turned inside out.
The last thing he saw was the sliver of light collapsing into a single, suffocating point.
Then…
Silence.
The Door sealed shut.