Chapter 9: Broken Mirrors: They closed the door

Evan:

It quickly became clear that when Alexa asked if they were ready and Peter answered without hesitation, he might have been, but Evan definitely wasn’t.

Still, there was no way he was backing out now. Not after coming this far. Not with Alexa standing in front of that glowing mural, a confident smile playing at the corners of her lips, her hand outstretched like a gateway into a dream—or a dare.

Peter stepped forward first. He stowed his bat in his backpack with practiced ease, then took Alexa’s hand firmly. With his free hand, he reached back toward Evan without even looking, trusting him to follow.

And Evan did. He grabbed Peter’s hand—and instantly regretted not asking more questions.

As Alexa touched the wall with her other hand, the world shifted.

It wasn’t falling, exactly. Nor flying. It was as if some invisible divine force had plucked him from the ground like a chess piece and flung him headlong into a spiraling vortex of soundless thunder and painted light. Creation and chaos swirled around him in impossible colors, and just when he thought he might black out—he was standing again.

Or at least, he thought he was. The spot looked the same for a heartbeat, until it didn’t.

The grass beneath their feet was brittle and grey, long dead. The shed was still there, but here it looked like a forgotten hut from a dark fairytale—rotted wood and creeping vines curling up its sides like fingers trying to claim it. The trees were taller, denser, and their branches clawed the sky like cathedral spires. Evan glanced up…

And gasped.

The sky… the sky.

It was magnificent. A sweeping canvas of darkness scattered with a million glittering stars. The Milky Way shone bright and vivid like a river of diamonds overhead. And the moons—so many moons—hung there in phases like stills from a timelapse stitched together across the heavens. Alexa hadn’t just imagined this sky in her mural… she had painted from memory.

Evan dropped to his knees, overwhelmed.

Peter stepped beside him, just as transfixed, eyes wide with wonder. “I gotta admit,” he said softly, motioning upward with a faint grin, “it really is something else over here, huh, Lex?”

Alexa, calm as ever, stood a few feet away, already at work. “Yes,” she replied, her voice almost reverent. “The sky here is grandiose.”

With steady hands, she began to paint again—this time on the wall of this world's version of the shed. The brushwork of her spray paint was swift and deliberate. She painted a twin mural of the one from their world, depicting the portal home. But here, there was only a single moon illuminating it—like a beacon pointing the way back.

As she worked, the familiar rainbow-hued ribbons of light began to dance once more around her arms, swirling with quiet brilliance. When the portal painting was complete, she turned toward the boys.

“Your bats, please.”

Peter took Evan’s without a word and handed both over, placing them gently near her feet.

Alexa picked up Evan’s bat first and coated it in shimmering silver paint, layer by layer, the bat absorbing it like a sponge. Then she did the same with Peter’s. When she handed them back, they almost looked ceremonial.

Peter gave Evan his with a short nod. “Feels… heavier,” Evan said quietly.

“Will they work without you touching them?” Peter asked, examining his own bat.

“Probably not for long,” Alexa replied. “Most likely just until they fulfill the purpose I poured into them. If it comes to that… well, we’ll test it when we need to. Until then, they’re still solid bats. Metal and physics still work, at least here.”

“I hope,” she added, only half joking.

Peter grinned. Evan tried to match the mood, gripping his silver bat tighter for reassurance.

Somewhere beyond the trees, in the night that wasn’t their own, something called out in the dark—low and distant. None of them spoke, but all three heard it.

Alexa slung her bag over her shoulder again, painted fingers still faintly glowing.

“All right,” Alexa said, her voice calm but laced with purpose. “Let’s check your houses first, like we planned.”

Evan tilted his head, curiosity flickering behind his eyes. “Can you remind me why, again? Something about our powers being there?”

Alexa nodded, her silver-painted features glowing faintly in the light of the many moons. “My abilities were born from devotion. I poured my soul into art—again and again—always in the quiet sanctuary of my room. That passion didn’t go unnoticed by this world. It manifested here into something tangible—a crystal nestled in the heart of my room. It’s what gives me dominion over form, over beauty, over creation. I believe you might find the same—something that reflects who you truly are, hidden in the place where your truest self has always lived.”

Evan’s usual bounce quieted, a rare moment of reverence overtaking his restless energy. He gave a slow nod, as if absorbing a truth that had been waiting to be heard.

Peter, however, walked a little slower. His shoulders had stiffened, and a shadow passed over his face. Evan noticed the change immediately.

“You good, Stark?” he asked, trying to keep it light.

Peter gave a small, dry chuckle. “Yeah… I’m just thinking, that’s all. I hope Lex is right about all of it.”

“You don’t think she is?” Evan asked, brows drawing together.

Peter exhaled, long and low. “It’s not that I doubt her. I trust her. It’s just… this world, this magic—it feels like it makes sense untill it doesn’t.”

The three of them continued on, stepping beyond the bounds of the school. The iron gate creaked faintly behind them, swallowed by the hush of the autumn night. Around them, the landscape shifted with quiet surrealism—trees casting shadows too tall for their trunks, the air just a bit too still, too watchful.

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As they moved through the familiar neighborhood—now cloaked in a veil of eerie unfamiliarity—they heard it: a long, guttural howl that rose above the quiet of the strange night. It echoed off the houses like a warning.

Then came the creatures.

At first glance, they looked like dogs—huge, ragged things loping through the shadows. But as they drew closer, their twisted shapes came into focus: thick, matted fur stretched over taut muscle, their movements unnaturally fluid. Most unsettling were their tails—long and sinuous, lashing through the air like whips.

“What weird dogs…” Evan said, his voice tinged with nervous laughter.

“I’m pretty sure those are rats,” Alexa replied coolly, her tone now sharp and commanding. “Come here. Bats—now.”

Peter was beside her in an instant, and Evan, momentarily frozen, snapped into motion and joined them. Alexa placed her silver-painted hands on the wooden handles, her eyes glowing with focus, her touch reverent yet precise. The bats responded with a silver gleam, shimmering with barely-contained magic. This was not just art—it was intent made weapon.

There were at least a dozen of the creatures converging on them, long claws scraping against pavement, teeth bared in manic hunger. Alexa didn’t hesitate.

She sprang forward like a coiled wire released, slicing the air with a blur of motion. As she leapt, her hands reached beneath her coat and drew two long, glinting knives that seemed to hum with purpose. She landed among the beasts with a low thud that scattered them momentarily—but not for long.

Her first strike was merciless: a clean jab right through the skull of the largest rat. The next attacker was already mid-air behind her, but she dropped low in a sweeping slide, spun, and carved into its neck with a single stroke. The head lolled sideways, nearly severed, as arterial spray misted the cracked sidewalk.

Behind her, Evan doubled over and vomited into a hedge.

When he dared to look up, Peter had already charged into the fray. His bat swung with raw force, connecting with wet cracks as ribs and skulls collapsed under the blessed wood. There was no hesitation in him now—only fury and rhythm.

Alexa, meanwhile, ascended again—vaulting into the air and landing on top of a lamppost, silhouetted by the impossible sky above. She surveyed the battlefield like a predator from a perch, owl-like in her stillness. Her eyes caught motion: one of the creatures creeping low, preparing to leap onto Peter’s back.

She dropped.

The lamppost splintered under her descent with a wrenching metallic cry. The rat beneath her became nothing more than pulp, smeared across the pavement in a splash of red, like spilled paint on a ruined canvas.

Evan remained frozen, stunned between awe and sheer terror. His hands trembled around the handle of his bat, his breath shallow and rapid. He didn’t even see the rat closing in on him—until it was nearly at his leg.

With a choked yell, Evan swung wildly, just before the thing's fangs could sink into him. The enchanted bat struck it squarely in the jaw. The force of it—the magic, the fear, the adrenaline—launched the creature through the air and sent Evan stumbling backward, landing on the grass with a thud.

He watched the beast twitch and convulse, its body mangled by the blow. His arms shook. His legs refused to move.

But his bat was still in his hand. And it was glowing.

Evan’s chest heaved, his heart pounding like a drumline in a thunderstorm. His fingers were clenched so tightly around the bat that his knuckles had gone white beneath the silver sheen. He stared at the twitching corpse in front of him—its face half-caved in, blood oozing from its slack jaws.

Something inside him shifted.

Maybe it was the weight of the bat in his hands, still glowing faintly from Alexa’s touch. Maybe it was the rush of surviving a near mauling. Or maybe it was the way Peter fought like a man who refused to be anything less than a shield—and Alexa, leaping and striking like art given motion and rage.

Whatever it was, it snapped his fear clean in half.

He rose.

His grip steadied, his breath leveled. He looked up just in time to see another rat hurtling toward Peter from the side. Without thinking, Evan lunged. His feet pounded the ground as he met the beast mid-air, swinging with all his might. The bat cracked against its side with a sickening crunch, sending it sprawling across the pavement like a sack of wet stones.

Peter glanced at him, surprised—and then grinned, proud.

“There he is,” he shouted. “Welcome to the party!”

Alexa landed beside them again, knives flashing as she gutted another rat that had tried to sneak around. “Good timing,” she said coolly, eyes gleaming like polished steel. “Now let’s finish this.”

The three of them moved as one.

Peter’s bat was relentless, cleaving arcs through the air like the hammer of a war god. Every swing ended in a thud or a snap, sending vermin tumbling or crushed flat. He moved with purpose—solid, unshakable.

Evan stayed just off his flank, more precise now, eyes sharp, instincts quick. When one of the beasts tried to dart past Peter’s side, Evan was already there, meeting it with a heavy blow that threw it into a tree trunk with a splatter.

Alexa was fire and fluid, blades dancing in her hands, legs vaulting and twisting with almost supernatural grace. She weaved between them, striking with elegance and deadly purpose, her coat flaring like wings of smoke. Her knives moved like brushstrokes—sharp, deliberate, masterful.

Together, they were untouchable.

When the last creature fell—a long-tailed monstrosity trying to slink away with a limp—Peter stepped forward and ended it with a clean, final swing. The silence afterward rang louder than the fight itself, broken only by their heavy breathing.

Evan lowered his bat slowly, its glow fading as the enchantment settled. His arms trembled—not with fear, but adrenaline.

They stood in the quiet aftermath, surrounded by a dozen broken bodies, not one scratch between them.

Alexa was the first to speak, softly but with certainty.

“We painted the street with their corpses.”

Peter gave a nod.

Evan looked at his bat, then to them, a shaky laugh escaping his throat. “I thought I’d pee myself.”

“You still might,” Alexa said, smirking. “But you held your ground. That’s what matters.”

Evan beamed. For the first time since they crossed over, he felt like he belonged in this strange, terrible, beautiful place.

Like he was meant to be here too.

“You fought those things before?” Evan asked as they slowed down for a brief moment of rest, breath still ragged from the chaos they’d just survived.

“No. Not those,” Alexa replied, brushing a streak of dried blood from her cheek, her voice calm but firm.

“We fought spiders,” Peter added, his tone more casual, like he was talking about a weird science project. “Big ones. Dog-sized. Made of what looked like jagged glass.”

“I remember you telling me,” Evan said, eyes wide. “I just thought there’d be more.”

“There is now.” Peter gave him a toothy grin. “And hey—we make a damn good team, man.”

“Wait till I get my powers,” Evan said, energy still buzzing in his limbs, adrenaline refusing to settle. “I want to move like Alexa. That whole landing-on-a-lamppost-and-smashing-a-rat thing? That was awesome.”

Alexa shot him a look somewhere between amused and thoughtful. “Evan, I don’t know what your abilities will be. They reflect who you are. What you need. I once met an elf who could slow time—just objects, not people—until they practically stopped moving.”

“That’s insane,” Evan whispered, eyes wide with wonder. “I want to meet elves. Can we come here every night?”

“I’ll explore as often as I can,” Alexa replied, her voice softening with something close to affection. “But for now, I don’t think you two can cross without me. The portal in the abandoned house? It probably stopped working after I shattered the crystal. And the ones I make—well, they require my touch. That’s why I created a new portal near the school—so we can hop in and out together more easily."

Evan nodded, though a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. Peter clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“One step at a time, man,” he said. “Let’s just focus on finding your domain first.”

They moved again, feet crunching over the brittle leaves scattered across the deserted street. The wind carried the smell of old wood and moss, tinged faintly with something sweeter—stranger. The silence of the alien sky pressed down on them, broken only by the soft rustle of the trees whispering secrets above.

Evan’s house was just ahead.

And whatever waited inside—it might just be the next step toward discovering who he really was in this world.

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Peter:

Peter kept walking, his boots brushing through the dry leaves, but his thoughts were loud and heavy, stomping through his mind with far more noise than his footsteps.

He didn’t want to say it out loud—didn’t even want to admit it to himself—but deep down, the fear was real. When they eventually reached his house… he knew what they would find.

Nothing.

Just a normal home. A regular room. Maybe some posters on the wall, some books stacked by the bed, the smell of laundry and floor polish in the air. There wouldn’t be any strange crystal humming with hidden potential. No spark of power buried beneath his floorboards. Nothing that screamed this is who you are.

He read books. He liked people. He tried to be brave when it counted.

But were those defining traits? Not really. Not like Alexa’s love for art—something she poured herself into until the magic had no choice but to answer back. Not even like Evan, who overflowed with energy, ideas, and the stubborn heart of someone who refused to sit still.

Peter didn’t have that. He had no obsession to anchor him, no craft that could become sacred. And now, standing at the threshold of Evan’s house, watching his friend buzz with anticipation, Peter felt a slow ache begin to bloom in his chest.

What if Evan got his powers too? What if they both became something more?

And he was left behind.

In contrast to Alexa’s house Evan’s was closed, fortunately, his regular-world keys slid into the lock with a familiar click, as if some part of this place still recognized him.

“My parents never lock our house,” Alexa said casually, stepping in behind him.

“That’s not very safe, Lex,” Peter replied, a skeptical brow raised.

“I’ll be sure to bring it up at our next biweekly home defense meeting,” she quipped, her voice as dry as dusk.

“You have those?” Evan asked, wide-eyed and completely missing the sarcasm.

“You don’t?” she teased with a smirk.

They stepped into the entryway. At first glance, everything seemed surprisingly normal—perhaps too normal. The furniture sat where it always had, the worn rug still curled at one corner. But as they moved deeper, they noticed oddities. Some framed family photos had grown larger than life, the colors heightened as if freshly painted. Faces in the frames seemed to glow with a reverent warmth, almost sacred. It was subtle, but enough to feel the difference. The house held onto something... just not Evan’s.

“Maybe your mom’s sentimentality is what shaped this space,” Alexa offered thoughtfully, glancing at the oversized portrait of Evan as a toddler in a sunflower costume.

They climbed the staircase in silence, the wooden steps groaning underfoot in the hush of this strange version of home. Evan didn’t hesitate when they reached his door. With a breath held in hope, he turned the knob and stepped inside—only to find... exactly what he had left that morning.

The room was still his—but only in the most mundane, literal sense.

“That is… disappointing,” he muttered, crestfallen. His shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what I expected, but definitely something. Not nothing.” He stared into the familiar mess like it had betrayed him. “Maybe something’s broken?”

“Broken?” Alexa echoed, stepping forward, her eyes scanning the room with quiet interest.

“I don’t know. Maybe I have to touch something, or meditate, or… something. I’m out of my depth when it comes to magical powers,” Evan admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I met a shadow,” Alexa said softly, her voice carrying a quiet weight, “who told me that not all Domains manifest the same way. Maybe yours is just… different. It might not appear how you expect.”

Peter, standing slightly apart, felt a complicated blend of emotions twist in his chest. Disappointment at what they hadn’t found, and a reluctant sense of relief—because deep down, he feared the same silence waiting in his own home.

“I know that elves, for example,” she continued, “duel for control over Domains. They can take them from each other—steal them, in a way.”

“What?” Evan blinked. “You’re telling me I could grab someone’s Domain? Like… yours?”

“I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands off mine,” she said, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “But yes, I think so. I don’t know all the rules, but from what I’ve heard, it’s possible to seize someone else’s Domain.”

“Is there a catch to that?” Peter asked, his tone more serious now.

“Well,” Alexa said, her voice darkening, “the elves fight to the death over their Domains. That’s one catch. Phillip was worried, actually—he said the winner of the duel I saw wasn’t fit for the Domain he claimed.” Together, they headed back out into the open air.

“You mean like… if I somehow ended up ruling the Domain of Femininity?” Evan asked, half-joking, half-curious.

“That’s… extreme,” Alexa replied, amused. “But yeah, it’s a good example. The Domain should reflect something true about you. Something earned.”

Evan nodded slowly. Then, with renewed energy, he clapped his hands together. “Okay. Let’s go check Peter’s place.”

Peter stiffened. “Guys, I really don’t think we need to. I’m pretty sure we’ll find it in the same state as Evan’s. Maybe even less.”

“Don’t give up on yourself, Pete,” Alexa said, moving close to him. Her hazel eyes caught the shifting light from the strange moons above, and for a heartbeat they shimmered green—alive with unspoken energy.

“I’m not giving up,” Peter said with a faint smile. “I just don’t feel any real connection to that room. I sleep there. I read there. That’s all. It’d be a waste of time.”

“Let’s go anyway, Stark,” Evan said, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Might be a bust. Might be something incredible. Either way—we’re exploring.”

Peter looked at them both—Alexa standing confidently, her silver-lined figure glowing subtly in the night, and Evan, beaming with reckless hope—and exhaled.

“Alright,” he said at last, his voice quiet but steady. “Let’s go. If you want.”

They moved out together, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by leaves rustling under an otherworldly sky.

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Alexa:

This wasn’t how Alexa imagined things would unfold.

When she first mapped out the night’s exploration, she had envisioned a grand unveiling—each of her friends discovering a Domain as vivid and personal as her own. But that certainty, once solid and reassuring, had begun to dissolve like morning mist touched by sunlight. Was she missing something essential? Were their Domains locked behind some untriggered event—or, worse, was Phillip right? That most people simply don’t manifest anything at all?

She hated the thought. She refused to believe that would be the case for Evan and Peter.

Their footsteps whispered over fallen leaves as they made their way down Pond Street toward Arcadia Road, where Peter lived. The world around them was bathed in a dim, silver glow from the strange sky above, quiet and otherworldly. Then, as they neared the pond—large, dark, and familiar in daylight but now touched by something other—they stopped in unison.

“Are you guys seeing what I’m seeing?” Evan said, halting mid-step.

“Yeah. I do,” Peter replied, his voice low, cautious.

Alexa stared, eyes wide.

From the center of the pond, water had begun to spiral upward in a smooth, hypnotic vortex. It twisted silently from the surface, narrowing like a thread before blossoming into a massive sphere of swirling liquid suspended above the waterline. All around it, the rest of the pond’s surface looked like it was reverse-raining—droplets lifting into the air in delicate columns, only to stop a few feet up and dissolve into glistening mist.

“It’s… beautiful,” Alexa breathed.

“Beautiful?” Peter said, stepping back instinctively. “It scares the shit out of me.”

“Yeah,” Evan added, wide-eyed. “Same. I’m not going anywhere near that thing.”

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“You two basically live in the water, and you’re scared of this?” Alexa asked, tilting her head, half-joking.

“That’s not how water normally behaves, Alexa,” Evan said, his awe mingling clearly with fear.

“Yeah, I can feel it,” Peter said, rubbing his arms as if to shake off a chill. “The pull. It’s like it’s sucking at us even from here.”

Alexa narrowed her eyes, feeling nothing but a gentle breeze and a serene hum in the air. “Hmm. My powers must be shielding me… No sucking for me.”

Both boys turned toward her at once.

“Oh my god—you dogs,” she said with a groan as their expressions twisted into shared grins.

They all laughed, the tension cracking just enough to let in some lightness, even here, under alien moons.

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They took the long way around.

Carefully and quietly, the trio slipped into the backstreets, avoiding the lake and its floating vortex of water that pulsed and shimmered behind them like a silent eye. They walked with hushed steps, the sounds of the night pressing in—leaves whispering underfoot, wind rustling like a breath through sleeping trees, and every now and then, the distant ripple of water where it shouldn't be.

“Do you think there were monsters in there too?” Evan finally asked, breaking the eerie quiet.

“They’re called Shadows,” Alexa said, her voice low but steady. “Phillip told me that most of them are manifestations—of people, animals, plants, even thoughts or feelings. Sometimes even ideas. But he also said the intelligent ones, the more aware ones, have their own communities.” She paused, letting that unsettling truth settle over them like a shroud. “So… I guess we can call some of them monsters.”

“I’m pretty sure the entire lake was a monster,” Peter muttered, his eyes scanning the houses they passed. “Or at least something in it was.”

Then—a noise. A soft shuffling sound. Not wind, not leaves. Something moving.

All three froze, turning slowly toward a shadowed yard just off the sidewalk. Somewhere in the darkness, something was there.

“Something’s in there,” Peter whispered. “Quiet again.”

Alexa nodded, her body already tense and ready. Evan didn’t say a word—just kept moving, slower now, but focused. They were close to Peter’s house. Only a few doors away.

Alexa’s mind wandered despite the tension. There did seem to be fewer things in this version of the world during the night. Were manifestations tied to waking thoughts? Did dreams shape other forms—more abstract, more dangerous perhaps? If only Phillip were here to answer her questions. But he wasn’t. So she’d find those answers herself, or maybe with Peter and Evan beside her.

Finally, they reached Peter’s house.

He pulled out his key and, like Evan’s before him, it worked without resistance. The door creaked open into warmth—real, comforting warmth that felt like coming in from a storm. The inside of Peter’s home glowed softly, not from lamps but from the feeling embedded in every corner: love.

You could feel it here.

Family portraits hung in frames that shimmered faintly, some larger than they should have been. Artifacts of memory and time spent together—game nights, birthdays, summer vacations—were all amplified in subtle but noticeable ways. The very air felt full of kindness.

Alexa didn’t comment. She caught Evan glancing around quietly, unreadable. She knew better than to speak just then.

Peter, however, was caught by a photo. One of his family, all of them laughing, mid-motion. His favorite. He lifted it gently, holding the golden frame in both hands like it might vanish if he let go. He stared at it, then slowly set it back down and turned toward the stairs.

His feet were heavy now.

Alexa followed him as he climbed. When he reached the door to his room, he paused—one hand on the knob. He looked back at Evan, then at her. His eyes were full of hesitation, flickering with doubt and something else. Something more vulnerable.

She stepped up beside him, their gazes locking for a moment.

She nodded.

He opened the door, still looking at her.

She saw the room before he did.

She knew.

Her hand found his, and she squeezed gently. His fingers curled around hers, and he offered her a faint, hollow smile before finally turning his attention to what lay beyond the threshold.

The room was… normal.

Bookshelves lined one wall, a little taller, perhaps, than usual. His desk—sturdier, more refined. But otherwise? It was just a room. No glow, no crystal, no stirring of power humming beneath the surface.

Nothing that said this is who you are.

Peter stepped forward into the room anyway and she went after him.

He glanced around the quiet room. There was no disappointment in his expression, not exactly—but Alexa couldn’t be sure. She knew him too well to take his surface at face value. Peter had a way of braving his darkest feelings in silence, hiding behind quiet nods and thoughtful frowns. She could still remember how fiercely he’d fought the spiders and rats—so alive, so full of fury.

She wanted him to find his Domain more than anything.

“I don’t even know what could be here,” he muttered.

Alexa and Evan turned toward him.

“I’m not passionate about anything the way you two are, I think.”

“That’s not true, Pete,” Alexa said, stepping closer. “Honestly… I’m surprised we didn’t find something in either of your houses.”

“What do you mean?” Evan asked, curious.

Alexa hesitated. She hadn’t planned on saying anything, worried it might shape how they saw themselves. But maybe now was the time.

“I didn’t want to say anything before,” she began, taking a deep breath, “because I didn’t want to influence you. But earlier, when I was watching you swim… I thought to myself—these guys, they’re like water.”

Peter blinked, and Evan tilted his head.

“You, Peter,” she continued, “you’re adaptable. Like water poured into a glass, you take the shape of what you’re given. You wrestle with your emotions like there’s a whirlpool inside you, but you keep flowing, always. You like change. You embrace it more than anyone I know. And you’re… pure. Crystal clear in your intentions, even if you don’t always say what you feel out loud.”

Peter stood motionless, her words soaking in. His eyes flicked down, thoughtful.

Then Alexa turned to Evan. “And you—I don’t know you as well as Peter, but I see it. You’re always moving, fidgeting, never still. You connect with people like streams connect lakes—always finding a way. And like water, you’re honest. You show your feelings. Like when you froze during the rat fight or how badly you want powers—you didn’t hide it. You were vulnerable, but you didn’t let it stop you.”

Evan gave a half-laugh, half-sigh, looking touched. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said so many nice things about me. Ever.” He smirked. “Wanna be my girlfriend?”

Alexa rolled her eyes with a laugh. “What is with those questions lately?”

“You know it was a joke, right?” Evan grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She smiled.

“And then there’s the pool,” she added, her voice softening. “Both of you are the fastest on the team. You spend more time in the water than out of it. When you swim, it’s like you become part of it. I was sure your rooms would be... flooded or something. I just knew it.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “But nothing. Not even a drop.”

Peter finally spoke, his voice quiet. “You might be right, Lex… Sometimes when I’m in the pool, I feel like I’m home. It’s like... everything else disappears, and it’s just me. Like even the world doesn’t exist—only me in the moment.”

Evan nodded. “Yeah. Same.”

“Maybe…” Evan looked at both of them, thoughtful. “Maybe we’re just not ready yet?”

“Or maybe,” Peter added slowly, “maybe it’s the place that’s wrong.”

Alexa perked up. “What do you mean?”

Peter met her eyes. “You do a lot of your art in your room, right? That’s part of why it manifested there. But I don’t swim in my room. Neither does Evan. We connect with water… in water.”

“The pool!” Evan shouted, practically bouncing with excitement. “Of course!”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, the idea solidifying. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Sounds like it’s worth checking out,” Alexa agreed. “We’re heading back to school anyway, on our way back to the other side. A detour to the Aquatic Center might be just what we need.” Then she turned toward the window in Peter’s room—and saw it.

Like the shadow of a tree given form, the thing stood just beyond the glass, twitching gently in the wind. It was tall—unnaturally tall—its limbs long and knotted like the broken arms of forgotten branches. Its face was round and smooth, featureless except for a jagged maw filled with too many teeth. No eyes. No nose. No ears. Just that smile—wide, thorny, and wrong.

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It smiled at her.

Paralyzing.

Before she could move, its branch-arm lashed forward. The window shattered in an explosion of glass and wind, and in one horrifying motion, it snatched her by the waist.

She screamed—but the sound was stolen by the air as she was ripped out of the house, flung like a rag doll into the sky.

Sky. Ground. Sky. Ground.

She was spinning.

Then—impact.

She slammed into the pavement of the neighboring yard, dry leaves bursting up around her in a rust-colored halo. The force knocked the wind from her lungs, and she lay there for a second, dazed and aching.

“Uhh…” she groaned, her whole body screaming.

If not for the protection of her magically-infused body paint, she would’ve shattered like a dropped vase. Even now, it felt like her bones were humming from the blow.

She rolled onto all fours, chest heaving, eyes wide—and looked up.

It was still coming.

The creature stepped into view, tall as an oak, and twice as nightmarish. Its silhouette wavered like shadow in the wind, impossible to focus on fully. Its joints bent at wrong angles. Its limbs stretched and recoiled like they had no bones at all.

She heard shouting behind her—the boys. They were coming.

Relief mixed with fresh terror.

Was she glad? Or did it make her more afraid?

The thing paused for a second, as if surprised she was still moving. Then it resumed its slow, deliberate strides, each step cracking the ground beneath it.

It was coming for her and it was not finished.

She stood, breath ragged but steadying, and drew her paper knives—thin, delicate-looking things, folded with impossible precision.

With a whisper of intent, she infused them with her Authority.

Tonight, she thought, origami will cut shadow-bark.

Light slipped into the blades, refracting across their edges in glimmers of hardened color. They grew heavier in her hands, no longer paper-thin but forged by her will—sharp, unforgiving. Her eyes flared with rainbow fire, soft pastels giving way to searing hues.

Her legs tensed, rabbit-like and powerful, and then—she jumped.

Air screamed past her as she shot into the sky, landing with a thud and rustle on the thick branch of a gnarled oak in one of the neighboring yards. From this height, she could face it—if it even had a face to face.

It did not.

Still, it turned toward her, reacting to her sudden ascent like a predator spotting prey on a new perch. A limb recoiled with a crack and then launched—a whip of living bark, arcing toward her like lightning.

She didn’t flinch. She timed it.

At the last possible moment, she leapt—higher, just over the attacking branch—and twisted midair, her body turning in a half-flip. Her knives flashed.

She hit the ground hard, rolled once, and skidded away on one knee. Her breath puffed in the cool air as she turned, gaze flicking to the thing, then behind it—Peter and Evan had just burst out of the house, eyes wide, frozen mid-shout.

Too close.

She didn’t wait. She moved—quick, sure, cutting away from the house, drawing the creature’s gaze and steps with her. She needed space. She needed it away from them. She needed to see what kind of wound it could suffer—and whether it could suffer at all.

The shadow staggered. Its arm unharmed. A moment's pause. Then, it followed.

She watched the boys disappear into the backyard. Maybe they had a plan—she sure hoped so. Either way, she had to buy them time. And fast.

Alexa cursed under her breath. She should’ve brought the backpack full of baseballs she’d prepped earlier. That would’ve been really useful right now. But maybe the idea itself could still help, if the creature would just stay still long enough for her to pull something off.

Of course, as if reading her mind, the monster struck. A whip-crack of a branch sliced through the air toward her.

She flipped back, legs catching a nearby tree vertically like a rabbit on a wall. Then she pushed off, launching herself across the street like a missile, parallel to the ground.

The creature followed. It moved slow, but its massive size devoured distance in every step. It didn’t need to be fast.

Then came the sound.

It wasn’t a roar. It was the groan of a forest dying—wood splintering, dry leaves scattering in the air like ash. The sound struck something deep in her spine. For a moment, she froze. The sound stunned her—just long enough to see something out the corner of her eye.

The boys.

Peter, charging down the sidewalk, garden hose still attached to its wheeled stand. Evan was right behind him, matching pace, wild grin on his face.

“Let’s make a Star Wars maneuver!” Evan shouted.

What? Alexa blinked, confused—then it clicked.

The legs. The rope.

Long legs + tripwire = victory.

She grinned, the plan snapping into place. “Okay!” she called. “Hey, big guy—I’m gonna make paper out of you!”

The shadow-treant responded with fury. She tucked and rolled, skidding under the sweeping attack, her boots scraping sparks off the pavement. She kept low, weaving between fence posts and parked cars, forcing the creature to adjust, to keep moving. It snarled—if that ragged crunch of tree limbs grinding could be called a snarl.

A branch struck a nearby stop sign. It folded like paper.

She darted across the street, leaping over a hedge, ducking under a shattered swing set. Her lungs burned. Sweat mixed with body paint, her magic pulsing with every heartbeat. She glanced back—it was still with her, relentless, branches dragging across asphalt like claws.

She was bait now. And she was good at it.

“Hold it just a bit longer,” she muttered to herself, pushing off a tree trunk and vaulting into the air. She flipped over the monster’s reaching arms, twisting her body to avoid being grazed. She landed in a crouch on the hood of a car, just as another limb came crashing down. She dove off it, tumbling in the grass.

“You want me? Try harder!” she shouted, eyes narrowing, fists clenched.

She ducked beneath another blow, then another, forcing it to lash wildly, wasting motion. She turned into her next leap, grabbing the branch of a low tree and swinging upward.

She kept its attention fixed on her, dancing dangerously close until she saw it—the trap was set. The hose was strung between two lampposts, taut and waiting.

She jumped high—flipping in the air—and landed on the creature’s head, using it as a springboard. Her legs pushed off hard, and the impact rocked the thing just enough for it to stumble backward.

Right into the trap.

Its legs hit the hose. It stumbled. For one agonizing second, it hovered in that moment before gravity claims you.

Then—it fell.

With a crashing thud that made the pavement shudder, it hit the ground, flailing, massive limbs thrashing through hedges and fences.

The boys were shouting, but Alexa had no time. Her plan was only just beginning.

She landed on its chest, spray cans already in her hands as she hit the black bark. Red. Yellow. Orange. White. Her hands moved in blurs, each streak of paint precise, loaded with meaning. A symbol. A sigil. A threat.

She crouched low, fingers pressed to the paint—and pushed her intent into it.

Then she leapt away.

Behind her, the painting ignited. Fire erupted, raw and ravenous, crawling up the creature’s chest like wildfire born from a dream.

It shrieked—not just with sound, but with the kind of howl that cracked into your bones. A forest falling, a world ending.

It thrashed, flailed—then stilled.

The street fell into silence, smoke rising in curls.

Alexa let herself breathe. Just once. Then she looked around—and her breath caught in her throat.

Peter.

He lay crumpled near a fence, Evan crouched over him, shaking.

“No…” she whispered, leaping from the tree, landing hard beside them. She pushed Evan aside, heart pounding.

“Peter. Pete. Please no.” she choked, tears already spilling.

“That fucker hit him,” Evan said, voice shaking. “To the chest. Like he was a ragdoll. Threw him across the street…”

“To the chest?” Alexa snapped, and her fingers were already unzipping Peter’s black hoodie. She pulled it open—

—and froze.

Underneath, gleaming faintly, was Lucas’s baseball hoodie. Not just fabric—magically reinforced. Peter had prepped himself.

“C’mon… wake up,” she whispered, shaking him. Once. Twice. Harder. “Don’t do this. Don’t you dare—”

SLAP.

“That hurts, Lex…” Peter groaned, eyes fluttering open. “You trying to finish me off?”

Alexa laughed, cried, and hugged him all at once. “You stupid boy… I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“You were awesome, Lex,” he murmured, eyes drifting to the smoldering shadow. “You killed my childhood nightmare.”

“What?” Evan blinked.

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, dazed. “That thing… when I was a kid, I’d see shadows outside my window. Looked just like that. I knew it was just a tree—but I imagined something horrible living there. Something with too many teeth.”

Alexa looked back at the dying fire in the middle of the street. Smoke curling like ghosts into the sky.

“Well,” she whispered, still hugging him, “you just faced it. And you won.”

Peter coughed, a thin line of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it was you who did all the actual facing,” he said with a strained smirk, coughing again.

“Please, just lie still for a moment,” Alexa murmured, her voice sharp with worry—but Peter kept talking anyway.

“…me and Evan—we mostly saw his back. And his damn legs. Scary fucker, though.”

Evan gave a short nod, his voice low. “Yeah. Scariest thing I’ve ever seen. You weren’t afraid?” Evan asked quietly.

“I was,” Alexa said. “I was scared when we fought the spiders, and when the rats swarmed us. I’m still scared, every time. I just don’t let it stop me.”

She looked down at Peter, then back at Evan.

“The first time we got here… I froze. Completely. Couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Peter had to throw me over his shoulder and carry me to safety.” Peter nodded. “I made a promise to myself after that,” Alexa continued, voice steady now. “That I wouldn’t be a burden to anyone ever again. I don’t know if it’s my crystal-heart, or my powers, or just stubbornness—but I started pretending I wasn’t afraid. Even when I’m terrified. And somehow… pretending works.”

“You were never a burden to me, Lex,” Peter said, starting to rise. He moved slowly at first, leaning on both Alexa and Evan as they helped him up. “Even back then, with your stubborn refusal to give up on that abandoned house quest… you were the one who kept me moving forward.”

Alexa blinked, her eyes misting over at the words.

Peter straightened fully now, standing on his own as he looked her in the eyes.

“As you said—I’m adaptable. But the truth is… I rarely make my own path. I go where others have already walked. Like water, I flow only when there’s already a riverbed.”

“It’s not like that, Pete…” Alexa tried to reach him, her voice soft.

“But it is,” he said gently, with no bitterness. “And that’s okay. Because you—” he looked at her, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth “—you pretended not to be afraid, and you became someone braver than fear. I think it’s time I tried that too. I’ll stop waiting for roads to be paved. I’ll choose where I go.”

Then, as if the moment itself confirmed it, Alexa saw it in his eyes—he already had.

“Do you already have something in mind?” Alexa asked, watching Peter closely.

“Yes, I do. We need to go back to the Pond.”

“The vortex?” Evan blinked. “You crazy?”

“I can feel its pull on me—now more than ever.”

“That’s exactly why we don’t go,” Evan shot back. “I said that shadow tree thing was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen, but I completely forgot about that fucking whirlpool from the same night. This place is nightmare fuel.”

“I think the vortex might be my Domain,” Peter said, quietly but with conviction.

“What?” Alexa and Evan said at once.

“I was scared of it, yeah. But also drawn to it. Like you, Lex, when you first saw your room. You weren’t ready then. I wasn’t either. But maybe now… I am. The vortex—it’s hollow, like it’s waiting for a crystal-heart. I think that heart’s mine.”

Alexa tilted her head. “You really think that’s your Domain? Why there?”

“I used to sit by that pond and question everything about my life. I swam there every summer. My thoughts, my memories—they’re tied to that place. Maybe not just mine. Maybe everyone who ever sat by that water poured something of themselves into it. But I’m the one who needs to claim it.”

Peter glanced at Evan. “And maybe there’s something waiting for you at the Aquatic Center. Another piece of the same current, just meant for you.”

“So if you claim the vortex,” Evan asked, “does that mean it’s locked off for anyone else?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. If I claim it, it’s mine. If you do, it’s yours. But only one of us gets it.”

“Well, that sucks…” Evan muttered. “But I’m definitely not ready. That place still gives me chills.”

“You sure?” Alexa asked Peter again.

“No,” he admitted, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m terrified. But I want to try. Sounds familiar?”

Alexa smiled back. “Yeah. Real familiar.”

She turned to Evan. “You good to go?”

Evan exhaled sharply. “Oh my god, guys. I asked to come here, didn’t I? I’m not backing off now. I wanna see what I’ll have to go through when it’s my turn.”

Alexa looked at the smoldering remains of the shadow-tree. Its strange, shadowlight still lingered, brushing against her soul, and with it came a pull—faint but unmistakable—deepening her bond to the crystal-heart. Her Domain was growing stronger, slowly but steadily, with every kill, with every time she trusted her instincts and let her talents shine. She could feel the change building.

But it wasn’t time yet. Not quite.

She turned her gaze toward the pond and stepped forward, leading the way. Still the strongest among them here, maybe—and hopefully—for the last time.

She could really use a super-powered partner.

----------------------------------------

Peter:

Peter was terrified.

With every step toward the hovering vortex above the pond, the air grew heavier—dense with unseen pressure. It was like walking into the eye of a storm that had no sound, only gravity. The spinning column of water moved high into the night sky, pulling not just liquid, but breath, warmth, certainty. Peter felt like he was drowning with his feet still dry.

Each step forward was earned in sweat and resolve.

Alexa walked steadily beside Evan, her form cutting through the storm with ease. She didn’t flinch—this wasn’t her trial. Peter glanced back. Evan looked pale, his breath shallow, hands trembling.

When their eyes met, Evan finally broke.

“I can’t go any closer, Pete,” he said, his voice cracking as he dropped to his knees. “I’ve never been this scared in my life. Can we stay here, Alexa?”

Alexa looked at Peter.

He nodded. This was his.

She stayed with Evan, grounding him with a steady hand on his shoulder. But her eyes never left Peter as he moved forward alone.

When he reached the bank, the vortex loomed just twenty feet ahead, spinning like a rift in reality. Water streamed upward in ribbons. Inside, Peter saw flickers of light—blue and white—pulsing like a heartbeat.

He felt it before it spoke:

Come.

He stepped forward.

And the world cracked.

He was inside.

Not physically, but entirely. The vortex pulled him into a space that was not space—light and memory swirling like currents. The real world vanished. He stood suspended in a torrent of thought and emotion, each one crashing over him like a wave.

The Domain tested him.

“You have to be strong.”

A vision surged before him:

He stood on a shoreline as waves the size of buildings rose before him, the sky cracking with lightning. Behind him, people he cared about—Alexa, Zoe, Evan, others—called his name, but the wind stole their voices. A massive wave began to fall toward them all.

He stepped forward, arms wide, ready to be the shield.

“You have to be a protector.”

The wave froze—and the vision shifted again.

Now he stood at the edge of a still, moonlit lake. The surface was perfectly flat, like glass. Across the water, a small wooden boat floated silently. In it sat a younger version of himself, maybe six or seven, knees to chest, arms wrapped around them.

The boy looked lost—adrift.

Peter stepped to the water's edge. The lake reflected stars, but not his own face.

A single ripple moved across the surface. Peter didn’t speak—he simply stepped into the water, and it welcomed him. He waded forward, the cold biting but bearable. Step by step, until he reached the boat.

The boy didn’t look up at first, just whispered, “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

Peter climbed in beside him, silent. The boat didn’t tip. He put an arm around the boy, not to shield him—but to be there.

The boat began to move, slowly, as if guided by unseen currents beneath the surface. They drifted forward, together, toward a faint glowing horizon.

That was enough.

“You have to be a destroyer.”

The scene shifted again—

Before him stood a massive dam, blocking a river that had begun to rot behind it. The waters were black, churning. He placed his hand against the concrete. It cracked. The flood burst forth, wild and purifying.

He watched everything break… and bloom.

“You have to be willing to change.”

A watery mirror formed in the air before him. He saw versions of himself: cowardly, angry, passive, reckless. Each one stepped forward—he let them go. They peeled off like old skin and dissolved into light.

He stepped forward naked of ego.

“You have to be sure you deserve it.”

The light dimmed.

He stood across the street from the abandoned house, watching. Inside, a younger version of himself gazed up at the broken mirror—terrified of the potential, fearful of the unknown. Alexa wasn’t.

He remembered that fear. He lived in it.

Could someone who followed more than he led… deserve it?

He looked up at the vortex above and whispered, “I don’t know.”

And the vortex responded—

“You have to be ready.”

The light flared. The test ended.

Pain lanced through his chest as the connection snapped. The vortex turned violent. Winds screamed. A wave of pure force hurled him backward through the air.

He was thrown from the trial, crashing toward the shore.

Alexa was already in motion. She leapt, catching him midair, her arms wrapping around him as the force of the wind tossed water like rain. All three of them soaked now. She helped him down gently. Evan pulled him up.

Peter coughed, shivering.

When Evan finally found his voice, he asked, “It wasn’t your Domain after all?”

Peter was silent for a moment, still staring at the vortex—now still, now watching.

“It was,” he said, voice low and filled with new weight. “And it tested me.”

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t broken.

He was clarified.

“I wasn’t ready… but I will be soon.”

“It looked like a light swallowed you whole for a second and spat you out in a wave of force,” Evan said, still catching his breath. “Now I feel even less ready than before. Maybe water’s not my thing after all.”

“I feel like we’ll learn everything soon enough,” Peter replied. “Let’s head back to the school’s portal. Back home?”

“Yes, I think we’ve done enough for today,” Alexa agreed. “Unless one of you wants to check out Aquatic while we’re still warm?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Evan said quickly, brushing damp hair out of his face.

“Same,” Peter echoed. Then a grin crept onto his face, a spark of playful thought flickering behind his eyes. “You know, if we’re explorers, we should start acting like it.”

Alexa glanced at him, catching the tone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Peter said, drawing the moment out, “discoverers name the places they find. Don’t they?”

Alexa raised a brow. “You want to start naming places in Ideworld?”

“Exactly.” Peter’s grin widened. “I hereby declare Buckmaster Pond will be known as Vortex Pond from now on.”

“Okay, that actually sounds kinda cool,” Alexa admitted with a nod. “Then I’ll name the portal I created earlier. ‘Backtrack’s Gate.’ That good with you guys?”

“Approved,” Evan said, and Peter gave a thumbs-up.

----------------------------------------

The trio began their quiet trek back toward the portal, careful not to rouse any more shadow-creatures. Their pace was cautious, alert—just beyond the tree line, vague shapes moved in the darkness, hulking things like the treant they had fought. It seemed Peter’s nightmare had been more than personal. Whatever had been stirred here, it was spreading.

Then, somewhere near the halfway point, Alexa suddenly froze, eyes locked on the sky. She pointed, and the others turned in unison.

“What is that?” she whispered.

At first it looked like strange cloud formations or perhaps distant planes drifting in slow procession. But as the shapes grew clearer, they realized what they were seeing was far more surreal. Enormous creatures—flying whales, vast as houses—glided effortlessly through the night sky. Their many fins, more like sails than wings, unfurled along their sides, catching invisible winds. They swam through the air with a grace that defied physics, trailing bioluminescent ripples in their wake.

They glowed softly with radiant hues of silver, teal, and moonlit blue, casting light across the canopy below as if pulling stardust behind them. They didn’t flap or fight the air—they flowed through it. Like tides given wings.

Peter stood frozen, his breath caught. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.

The world was quiet for a moment. Not silent—but reverent. Even the wind seemed to hush in their presence.

One of the whales, a luminous silver giant, passed directly overhead. Its shadow washed over them like a soft eclipse. Its underside shimmered with shifting, glowing patterns—runes or memories or dreams.

They reached the school grounds with a newfound reverence—for this place, for its endless nightmares and hidden wonders, and for the strange truths waiting in its shadows. Peter walked in silence, his mind adrift, but not aimless. He was thinking about his journey, about the question that had haunted him longer than he cared to admit—was he anything more than a hollow man? A drifting vessel, flowing through life without direction, without purpose, without home. A boy who passed through the world without making even a ripple.

But today had changed something.

The Vortex had tested him—and though it had cast him back, it hadn’t broken him. It had shown him what he could be. He could be strong—like a current pulling others forward. He could be gentle and life-giving, like water in a desert. He could be fierce and unstoppable, like a rising tide or a storm unleashed. He could be all of it.

He just had to be ready. Ready to accept it. Ready to become someone real. To make his own waves. To stop flowing with the world and start shaping it.

To be his own person.

----------------------------------------

Alexa:

It was Alexa who noticed it first when they stepped onto the school grounds.

The grass was dead—brittle and grey beneath their feet. The once-pristine walls of the building were cracked and crumbling in places, blackened like old bone. Faint tendrils of greenish mist drifted through the air, curling along the ground like something searching.

“Isn’t school supposed to be a happy place?” Alexa asked, voice distant.

Both boys turned to her, confused—until they followed her gaze and saw what she meant.

“Maybe—and that’s a very strong maybe,” Evan said slowly, “it’s not so happy for everyone.”

Peter frowned. “It looks... borderline evil. What the hell is going on?”

Alexa didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were still on the mist. “Let’s get to Backtrack’s Gate before we get tangled in something we weren’t meant to see yet.”

“Agreed. We can check this out more tomorrow,” Evan said, already turning toward the path.

Peter nodded but said “I will not be joining you in Ideworld tomorrow,” Peter said, adjusting his tone. “Because I have a date with Zoe.” However his curiosity lingered. “Maybe we should look around the real school building tomorrow—see if anything there is bleeding through to this side.”

“Good idea,” Alexa agreed, her tone thoughtful.

And with that, they made their way home— Backtrack’s Gate humming faintly behind them like a quiet heartbeat. No more shadows followed, and no voices called out from the ruins.

That night, they all slept soundly.

And they all dreamed of whales gliding through the sky—slow, silent, and luminous—carving graceful paths through the stars.

----------------------------------------

Phillip:

Principal Penrose stormed into the reading chambers nestled within the upper tiers of the Tower of Knowledge, his boots striking the marble floor with impatient, echoing purpose. The golden hem of his deep purple robe fluttered behind him like the tail of an agitated comet, and the usual pristine sharpness of his appearance was marred—his carefully trimmed beard now wild with angry fingers of disarray, like he'd tried to rip each hair out in a fit of unvoiced fury.

Phillip looked up from his tome, the reading lamp casting lines across his face. He hadn’t needed to ask—Penrose’s rage filled the entire chamber like smoke before flame.

“Phillip,” the Principal began, his voice trying and failing to maintain composure. “We will have to postpone the plan.”

Phillip raised a brow, the parchment under his fingers crinkling slightly. “Why, Professor?”

Penrose’s eyes blazed with restrained disdain. “Those imbeciles from the Choir of Dreamflame,” he spat, “and those abominable mutants from the Pale Crown have decided—together, no less—that now is a time for observation.”

Phillip blinked. “The Choir and the Crown… collaborating?”

Penrose threw his arms in the air, as if the very notion offended the tower’s stone walls. “Imagine my disgust. The Choir, with their airy prophecies and eternal sighing, and the Crown, cold-blooded relic-lickers clinging to stillness like it's a religion. A union born of mutual indifference,” he scoffed, pacing now, hands twitching as though they missed the feel of chalk and sigils. “They’ve decided to watch. Watch! While the world twists under its own reflection!”

Phillip closed his tome, the leathery thud quiet but grounding. “That’s…unprecedented. What happens now?”

“We thread carefully,” Penrose said, finally stilling. His tone softened, shaped more by calculation than rage. “We must form ties with the Threadkeepers. They're eccentric, yes, but they understand the implications better than most. I’m sending emissaries before the day ends.”

Phillip tilted his head slightly, interest glimmering behind his calm demeanor. “May I join the expedition, Professor? I’ve always wanted to see the Nest with my own eyes.”

Penrose considered him, rubbing a thumb along his jaw where the beard was thinnest now. “I don’t think that’s wise. They’ll be traveling mostly by Earthly ways—trains, roads, the dull crawl of the mundane. It’s...easier to remain unnoticed.”

Phillip offered a nod, but his voice held the thread of longing that Penrose didn’t miss. “I see. Another time, then.”

The chamber grew quiet for a breath. The flickering of the enchanted chandeliers hummed overhead.

“And what was the reasoning?” Phillip asked, returning to the issue that loomed larger than the politics of travel.

Penrose sighed deeply, as if the very logic of it pained him. “The Choir believes this...thing, whatever it is, may alter the dreams and intuitions of Earthlings. That the longer it lingers, the more the veil thins. That minds will open to what they once denied. A spiritual contagion, if you will.”

“And the Crown?”

“They don’t care. Or they care in their own silent, calculated way.” He gave a bitter half-smile. “Their motto hasn't changed: ‘Perfection is silence. Emotion is a flaw.’ They believe watching is purer than action.”

Phillip leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the narrow, stained-glass windows as thoughts unfolded in quiet spirals. “I see…”

Outside, the wind turned a page on the world, and far beyond the Tower’s walls, something watched them back.