Time didn't pass.
It just… shifted.
Vorn blinked and realized he was still in the same chair. Same room. Same kettle in the kitchen, long silent. But something had changed again.
The shadows had weight now. Like they were watching him from corners he hadn't seen before.
The air wasn't cold, but he could see his breath.
He stood slowly.
The jar still sat on the table. Empty.
The mirror across the room had uncovered itself.
But something else…
There was a shape.
A doorway—not one he recognized—just past the edge of sight. When he looked directly at it, it wasn't there. But the moment he looked away, he could feel it. Like a breath behind his ear.
Like an invitation.
---
He hadn't left the apartment since Mira.
He didn't know how long it had been. The calendar said Tuesday. Again.
The tap had run black one morning, just for a few seconds.
The elevator no longer stopped on his floor unless he pressed the button twice.
There were scratches on his bedroom door. Inside.
Sometimes he heard humming from the sink. A child's voice. Too low to follow.
And the dreams…
He saw the Door again every night. A black outline floating in a space without color. No handle. Just a narrow crack running down the middle.
It waited.
Not like it was expecting him—but like it had already won.
---
That morning, the mirror moved first.
He didn't touch it.
It didn't fall.
It bent.
The glass bent inward, like something on the other side was leaning forward.
Vorn stepped closer. His reflection looked back.
Then—his reflection moved.
On its own.
Not a trick of the eyes. The reflection didn't match him.
It tilted its head. Then smiled.
He didn't.
It raised a hand. His stayed still.
Then it whispered:
"This is how you begin to break."
The glass cracked, from the inside.
Not shattered. Not sharp. Just split, quietly, like old ice.
---
A knock came.
Sharp. Normal.
The front door.
He opened it.
A child stood there.
A boy, maybe nine. Hair flat from rain that wasn't falling. Clothes too clean. Holding a letter.
The boy's smile was too calm. His eyes too quiet.
He didn't speak. Just handed Vorn the envelope.
Then turned… and walked into the hallway wall.
Not through a door.
Into the wall.
Gone.
---
The envelope was dark grey.
No seal. No name.
Just one folded note inside:
"The second seal waits in reflection."
"You've always known where to find it."
His fingers trembled slightly.
The letters on the page felt… too still. Like they were holding their breath.
He closed his eyes.
And the door appeared again. In his mind. Closer now.
And the mirror whispered again.
He turned to it.
This time, he didn't wait.
---
He stepped toward the mirror.
The surface bent again.
He didn't push it.
He remembered the feeling from the jar. The silence. The pressure behind the world.
The mirror surface rippled.
Like water.
Like soft fabric.
Like it was waiting.
He reached out—
And stepped through.
---
He didn't fall.
He arrived.
A long corridor stretched ahead, made of dark stone and soft echoes. There was no ceiling. No floor. Just a path.
Floating mirrors drifted slowly through the air, glowing faintly from within.
Each showed something.
A different memory. A different possibility.
Some were his.
Some weren't.
He passed one.
It showed a woman crying, holding a cracked bowl of soup.
Mira.
Another showed him. Standing on a rooftop. Eyes glowing with black symbols.
A third showed… nothing. Just darkness. And a name being erased from a book.
He didn't stop.
Until the mirrors stopped for him.
One floated closer. Its surface was clouded.
When it cleared—
He saw Mira again.
Smiling.
Then coughing.
Then falling.
Then—
Gone.
The mirror cracked. Not loudly. Just enough.
It hovered there. Then drifted forward.
And entered him.
Not with force. Like permission.
Pain followed.
Deep, cold pain. Like something peeling away from his bones.
His knees hit the ground. His breath caught.
He opened his eyes—
And saw it.
In both irises.
二
Seal Two.
The black number burned quietly in the center of his eyes, glowing behind the colors.
And in the center of his chest—he felt something shift.
A second weight.
Not the heart.
A door.
Opening.
---
He woke back in his apartment.
The mirror was whole again. The jar still empty.
But on the table—there was something new.
A stone key.
Small. Black. Warm to the touch.
Smooth edges. No grooves.
Just one carved symbol on top:
> Two squares overlapping slightly. Like two windows trying to become one.
He picked it up.
His hand felt heavier.
Then the voice came again.
Familiar. But not his.
"Two Seals opened. A thousand more. The world has begun to unravel."
He didn't reply.
He sat down, still holding the key.
Somewhere outside, the elevator stopped on his floor.
But no one came.