Morning.

Soren didn’t sleep.

The house was normal when he woke.

His mother moved through the kitchen, the scent of tea and bread filling the air. Tia was gone.

But no one said anything.

Soren watched his mother closely. Waited for her to acknowledge that Tia wasn’t there.

She didn’t.

She set out three plates, one for each of them.

And then, she poured tea into an empty cup.

Soren’s hands curled into fists beneath the table.

The tea sat there, steam curling in the air.

Waiting for someone who wasn’t there.

His mother hummed softly, as if everything were normal.

As if she didn’t notice that her daughter was missing.

Soren exhaled slowly. He said nothing.

He finished his breakfast.

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And then, he left.

The Wall That Shouldn’t Be.

The city was cold today.

Fog curled around the streets, muffling the sounds of carriages and hurried footsteps. The sky above Luthathel was gray and endless, stretching far beyond what it should.

Soren walked quickly, hands shoved into his coat pockets.

The door had been real.

He had seen it. He had touched it.

But now—

The wall was there.

Just brick and stone, old and undisturbed, as if the door had never existed.

Soren ran his hands over the surface, feeling for anything.

A crack. A marking. A sign that reality had twisted here.

Nothing.

His breath came faster.

His fingers brushed against the exact spot where the sigil had been carved.

The moment he touched it—

The air turned wrong.

The City Notices Him.

A deep pressure settled over the street.

The gaslamps dimmed all at once.

The fog thickened.

And then—

Soren felt eyes on him.

Slowly, stiffly, he turned.

People stood on the street. More than before.

Too many.

They weren’t doing anything.

They weren’t walking.

They weren’t speaking.

They were just standing.

All facing him.

A chill crawled up his spine.

His fingers trembled as he stepped away from the wall.

The moment his back left the bricks—

The gaslamps flickered back to life.

The people moved again, as if nothing had happened.

Soren stood there, breath sharp and unsteady.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

The city had seen him.

And it had warned him.

The Scholar Who Knew Too Much.

Soren needed answers.

The library sat at the edge of the Scholar’s District, nestled in an alley that didn’t always exist.

The old scholar was where he always was. Waiting.

The moment Soren stepped inside, the man lifted his gaze.

A flicker of recognition passed through his clouded eyes.

“…You again.”

Soren sat across from him.

His hands were still shaking.

The scholar studied him for a long moment. Then, without prompting, he spoke.

"You touched something, didn't you?"

Soren inhaled sharply. "There was a door."

The scholar nodded, as if he already knew. "And now it's gone."

A pause.

Soren swallowed. "Where did it lead?"

The scholar leaned back, exhaling softly.

Then, he said something Soren did not expect.

"It does not lead."

Soren frowned. "What?"

The scholar tapped his fingers against the wooden desk.

"It is not a door to a place," he murmured. "It is a door to a memory."

Soren’s blood ran cold.

A long silence stretched between them.

Then—

The scholar spoke again.

"It is not the first time you have seen it, Rowan."

Soren’s stomach turned.

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor.

The scholar did not move.

Only watched.

His next words were soft.

"You must not look too soon."

Soren turned and left.

But the words followed him.