Kael Evenhart wakes up to the sound he's heard a thousand times before—an almost inaudible creak, like the breath of the old door at the end of the hall. His heart hammers, but he stays frozen beneath the thin blanket, staring into the shadows.
The house is heavy with silence, but that door, locked tight with iron bars and ancient runes carved into its wood, hums faintly with a secret. No one in Eldren Hollow dares to open it anymore. Not since the fire ten years ago, when Kael was barely eight, when the screams echoed through the village, and the strange shadow slipped inside.
Kael doesn't know what lies beyond the door. Nobody does. The adults say it's cursed, that it's a prison for things better left forgotten. But Kael has always felt drawn to it, like a magnet pulling him closer every time.
This morning, the air smells of rain, damp and electric. The candle flickers weakly in the cracked windowsill. Kael sits up, muscles tight, and slips quietly from the bed. His bare feet touch the cold wooden floor, every creak a risk.
He reaches the door. His fingers tremble as he traces the worn symbols on the wood—ancient glyphs that pulse faintly with a blue glow only he can see. The door isn't just a door. It's a barrier between worlds, between the past and the present, between him and a truth he's not ready to face.
"Kael," a soft voice calls from downstairs.
His foster mother's voice, tired but kind. "Breakfast's ready."
He pulls his hand back as if burned. "Coming," he whispers, though the words feel like lies.
In the kitchen, the scent of stale bread and weak tea is thick. The house feels smaller in daylight, less haunted. Miriam, the woman who took him in after the fire, busies herself with the stove, her face worn but gentle.
"Did you sleep well?" she asks without looking up.
Kael shrugs, poking at the dry bread. "Fine."
Miriam sighs and sits opposite him. "Kael, you know you don't have to stay cooped up all day. The village is waking, the market's opening soon."
He nods but says nothing. Outside, through the grimy window, the village stirs. Smoke rises from chimneys, and children's laughter cuts through the mist. Life goes on, indifferent to the boy who listens to a door no one else hears.
Later, he wanders outside, the heavy wooden staff in his hand—a gift from the village elder before he left. The elder's eyes were sharp, almost knowing, as if he saw something hidden beneath Kael's quiet exterior.
Kael's footsteps carry him past crooked houses and fields just beginning to green with spring. His destination is always the same: the old chapel ruin on the hill overlooking Eldren Hollow. There, the wind howls like a living thing, and the trees seem to lean closer, whispering secrets only he can decipher.
He sits on the crumbling stone altar, his fingers tracing the faded engravings. His thoughts whirl. The fire, the screams, the door… everything he's tried to bury deep.
A sudden rustle breaks his reverie. Kael snaps his head up. A girl stands at the edge of the clearing, her dark eyes sharp and searching. She steps forward, brushing leaves from her cloak.
"You're Kael Evenhart," she says, voice low but firm.
He nods cautiously. "Who wants to know?"
"I'm Lyra," she says, extending a hand. "I've been sent to find you."
Kael's heart skips. Sent? By whom?
Lyra's gaze is steady. "You have a gift. The elder told me. You speak to things others cannot."
He pulls back, wary. "I don't know what you mean."
She steps closer, eyes flickering with something fierce. "The door. The fire. The shadow that came through. You hold the key, Kael, whether you like it or not."
His breath catches. For years, he has tried to forget, but now the past claws its way forward.
"What do you want from me?" he asks, voice barely a whisper.
"To train you. To prepare you."
Kael's mind reels. Prepare for what? For who?
Lyra's expression softens, but urgency remains. "Darkness stirs beyond the veil, Kael. The door is not just a prison. It's a gateway. And you are the only one who can close it."
For the first time, Kael feels the weight of his hidden power, the ancient legacy buried deep inside him. The door may have kept others out — but it never kept him safe.
He stands, gripping his staff tightly. His path is no longer a secret.
"Show me," he says.
Lyra nods, a shadow of a smile playing on her lips. "Then the training begins."