They used to call it "Grandpa's Dungeon."
Not because it was scary.
But because no one but he went inside.
Not Dad. Not Mom. Not even me—at least, not until now.
The basement door had stayed shut for years.
Sealed with a rusted padlock, buried behind stacks of cardboard boxes like an afterthought.
But I remembered.
That voice. That warmth.
> "Whenever the world feels too cruel… go to my room."
---
That night, after another meal I didn't touch and another conversation I wasn't part of, I waited.
Listened for the sounds of the TV shutting off.
For the creak of my father's room door.
For my mother's soft sigh through the walls.
And then I moved.
---
The key was still where Grandpa said it would be—hidden inside an old photo frame behind the drawer in his wardrobe.
I hadn't touched that frame in years.
It was a picture of the two of us at a festival.
I had cotton candy in my hair and tears in my eyes.
He was laughing, his hands gently brushing the sugar off my head.
No one else took a photo like that with me.
---
The padlock clicked open.
The door creaked like it hadn't been touched in centuries.
The air that escaped was cold—not from temperature, but memory.
It smelled like dust, paper, and something older… like regret.
---
The stairs creaked under my weight.
It was darker than I expected.
I used my phone's flashlight, the soft LED cutting through years of untouched silence.
Shelves lined the walls. Full of old books. Wooden boxes. Wartime medals. Strange ornaments wrapped in silk cloth.
In the center of the room was Grandpa's desk.
Covered in loose sheets of parchment.
---
I reached for one and read aloud:
> "Convergence Theory: When the soul fractures under despair, it calls out across dimensions."
What?
I flipped another page.
> "In the depths of the living shadow, a threshold appears only to the broken."
I kept reading.
> "One must bleed in silence to hear the door whisper back."
These weren't just notes.
They were instructions.
---
I walked around the room, gently touching objects I didn't recognize.
A cracked compass that spun wildly.
A brass coin inscribed with runes I couldn't read.
A mirror covered in black cloth.
---
Then I saw it.
At the far end of the basement—partially hidden behind a curtain of shelves—stood a door.
Not the trap door I had seen before in Grandpa's room upstairs.
This was different.
Taller.
Wider.
Made of black wood with glowing red veins running through the grain.
There was no knob.
No keyhole.
Just a handprint.
Burned into the center.
My heart began to race. Not from fear.
From recognition.
---
This was what he meant.
"You'll find something just for you."
---
I approached it slowly.
It pulsed—yes, pulsed—with a warmth that reached for my skin like phantom breath.
I touched the handprint.
My palm fit perfectly.
The glow intensified.
The red veins surged outward, twisting like roots—like veins—like something alive.
The door groaned. A low, thunderous moan that echoed in my chest.
Then—
Click.
The door opened.
Not outward.
Not inward.
It folded—like pages of a book being turned.
---
Behind it was nothing.
No room.
No tunnel.
Just… void.
Black and deep and endless.
But not cold.
Somehow, it felt warmer than home.
It felt like choice.
Like a way out.
---
I should've hesitated.
But I didn't.
Because when you've already died in every way that matters…
What's left to fear?
---
As I stood before it, one last memory flickered.
Grandpa, sitting in the garden with me.
I was maybe nine.
I'd failed a math test.
Cried harder than I should've.
He'd pulled me into a hug—tight and unashamed.
> "The world doesn't give people like us easy paths, Yuuya. But it gives us hidden ones. And those… are worth more."
No one ever hugged me like that again.
Not even once.
---
I took one breath.
One step.
And the door swallowed me.
---
Silence.
Then…
Light.
Burning red and gold.
Heat across my arms.
Electricity in my veins.
Wind on my skin.
But something was different.
My chest didn't hurt.
My limbs didn't feel heavy.
My heart… beat evenly.
My body was—lighter.
No. Not lighter.
Stronger.
---
I opened my eyes.
I wasn't in the basement anymore.
I was standing on a stone platform, suspended in a sky of endless crimson clouds.
Floating runes orbited around me.
A voice echoed in my mind—not loud, not robotic.
Clear.
Cool.
Almost human.
> [ Welcome, Yuuya Shinohara. ]
> [ The Convergence recognizes your fracture. ]
> [ Synchronizing system: ARK CODE_913. ]
> [ You have been chosen. ]
> [ Now—will you rise, or return? ]
---
For the first time in my life…
I didn't feel like a mistake.
I felt like something that mattered.
---
To be continued.