Lucien dreamed of rain.
It wasn't the strange paper rain of the Deep Layer, but real — cold, heavy, filled with the smell of earth and steel.He looked up and saw a city skyline, gray and endless. Neon lights blurred through the downpour, each sign flickering like a heartbeat trying not to die.
He didn't recognize the place.And yet, every step he took felt remembered.
"Where am I?" he whispered.
The sound of his voice echoed down an empty street. Somewhere far away, thunder rolled — soft, delayed, like someone sighing after crying too long.
Lucien turned a corner and stopped.
Sera stood there.Not as an echo, not as light, but solid — her hair soaked, her uniform clinging to her shoulders, her eyes bright and wet.
He froze.
"Sera…"
She smiled faintly. "You still say my name like it hurts."
He couldn't move. Part of him was terrified that if he touched her, she'd vanish again.But she didn't. She just walked closer, water rippling around her steps.
"Is this real?" he asked.
"Does it matter?" she replied. "Dreams are just doors too. You're walking through one right now."
Her hand brushed his cheek. It was warm. Real. He felt her pulse against his skin.
"You're… alive," he whispered.
Sera shook her head. "No. I'm memory pretending to breathe."
He swallowed hard. "Then why—"
"Because you needed to remember how I smiled," she said softly. "Before you see what comes next."
Lucien's heart twisted. "I don't understand. Why can't you just tell me?"
"Because you're not ready," she said. "And because if I tell you now, you'll break before you finish your story."
He reached for her hand. She let him hold it this time. Her fingers trembled slightly, as if even this connection strained the rules of their world.
The city flickered around them — sometimes dissolving into the white of the Deep Layer, sometimes solid and alive again.
Lucien could feel it: the border between story and truth thinning.
He looked at her. "You're not supposed to be here."
Sera smiled faintly. "Neither are you."
He wanted to laugh, but it caught in his throat. "You know what's behind that door, don't you?"
She hesitated. Rain slid down her face like tears.
"Yes," she said quietly. "And it will hurt."
Lucien closed his eyes. "How much?"
Her voice trembled. "Enough to change what you are."
He opened his eyes again. She was staring at him — not angry, not scared, just sad.
"Why are you still trying to save me?" he asked.
"Because I still love you," she said.
He almost didn't breathe.
The words hit harder than any wound. For a second, he forgot about the Deep Layer, about Evan, about everything that had brought him here.
He just saw her — standing in the rain, fragile and bright, still choosing him despite everything.
He pulled her close. "If this is a dream," he whispered, "don't wake me up."
Sera didn't pull away. "You have to wake up, Lucien. Someone is rewriting the ending while you sleep."
He frowned. "Evan?"
"No. Something older. Something watching both of you."
Before he could ask what she meant, the world around them shuddered — like someone tearing a page out of a book.
The rain froze midair. The lights went dark.
Sera looked up sharply. "He's close."
"Who?"
She shook her head, backing away as cracks began to open in the air behind her. "I don't have time. Listen to me—when you reach the door again, don't open it alone."
Lucien stepped forward, panic rising. "Sera!"
"Find me before you face it," she said, her voice fading. "Because what waits there… isn't just your past."
"Sera!"
The city shattered.
Lucien woke with a start, gasping. The ground beneath him was solid stone again. The sky was pale gray, lines of unfinished sentences stretching upward like veins.
He pressed his hand to his chest. His heart was racing.
Her warmth was gone. But her voice still echoed: Don't open it alone.
Lucien sat up slowly. His palms were trembling. He didn't know if the dream was real, but when he looked down at his hand, something gleamed faintly between his fingers.
A single drop of rainwater — impossibly real — shone like glass.
He closed his hand around it. "Then I'll find you," he whispered. "Before the door does."
The horizon flickered ahead. Pages began turning themselves, whispering faint words of prophecy:
One truth, two hearts, and a door that waits for both.
Lucien stood, gripping his blade, and walked toward the light.
Behind him, unnoticed, the shadow of a quill traced his path — writing his steps as if someone else were still telling his story.