The corridor swallowed sound.
Each step forward felt like walking deeper into rain that never quite touched the skin—pressure without wetness, weight without impact. The walls were dark, veined with faint silver lines that pulsed slowly, as if counting something only the tower understood.
I clutched the pearl tightly.
It responded with a weak glow, the fractures inside it shimmering in uneven patterns. With every step, the pull in my chest grew stronger—not painful, but insistent. Directional.
She's closer.
I didn't know how I knew that.
"You can still turn back," the man said behind me.
I didn't look at him. "You already know I won't."
A pause. Then his footsteps stopped.
"I can't follow you past this point," he said quietly.
That made me stop.
I turned. The corridor behind me had already begun to narrow, the silver lines rearranging themselves, sealing the space he stood in just a fraction out of reach.
"Why?" I asked.
His expression was unreadable. "Because this path wasn't built for witnesses."
The corridor shifted again.
Cutting him off completely.
I swallowed and turned forward.
The rain sound intensified—not louder, but closer. As if it were falling just on the other side of my thoughts.
Lena
Lena locked the door behind her with shaking hands.
The building was old—concrete walls, buzzing fluorescent lights, the smell of damp paper and dust. Safe. Normal. Except for the way the air felt too thick, like the room was holding its breath.
She leaned against the wall, pressing her marked palm to her chest.
The mark burned faintly now, no longer sharp pain but a constant, unsettling warmth.
"This isn't real," she whispered. "I'm overtired. That's all."
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
She straightened immediately.
"No," she said firmly. "Absolutely not."
Rain began to fall.
Inside the room.
Not from the ceiling—not visibly at all—but she could hear it, soft and rhythmic, echoing just behind her ears. Each drop felt synchronized with her heartbeat.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Stop.
The word didn't stay inside her head.
It echoed outward.
And somewhere else, someone answered.
You
The word hit me like a sudden gust of wind.
Stop.
I staggered, one hand slamming into the corridor wall. Silver light surged beneath my palm, reacting instantly.
She can feel me.
The realization sent a shock of awe and fear through me in equal measure.
"I'm not here to hurt you," I whispered, not knowing if she could hear me—or if this was only for myself.
The corridor opened suddenly into a circular chamber.
Unlike the others, this room was unfinished. Stone gave way to something translucent, like frozen rain suspended mid-fall. At the center hovered a thin, vertical fracture in the air itself.
Not a door.
A seam.
The pearl vibrated violently, almost slipping from my grasp.
This is it.
Lena
Her knees buckled.
Lena caught herself on a desk, breath coming fast as the room seemed to stretch and compress around her. The rain sound grew louder, closer—until it felt like it was falling through her.
Then she felt it.
Not fear.
Not pain.
A presence.
Steady. Focused.
I'm not here to hurt you.
The thought wasn't hers.
She froze.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
The mark on her palm flared bright silver.
The lights went out.
You
The seam widened.
Just slightly.
Enough to let something through.
Or someone.
I stepped closer, heart hammering, the pearl burning hot now—dangerously so.
"Please," I said softly. "Don't run."
The air rippled.
On the other side of the seam, I felt her hesitation—sharp, fragile, human.
And behind it…
Something else.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hungry.
The tower groaned.
The pearl cracked.
A thin line split across its surface, light leaking out like rain finally breaking through cloud cover.
I knew, then, with terrifying certainty—
The connection had reached its limit.
And whatever crossed next would decide whether this meeting became a bridge…
Or a breach.