The rain had been falling since dawn. Not the heavy, violent kind that rattled rooftops and turned streets into rivers, but a quiet, persistent drizzle that clung to the air and painted the world in silver. It left the windows of my apartment blurred with beads of water, distorting the outside world into shifting fragments of color gray skies, wet concrete, the occasional flash of a passing umbrella.
I had been sitting at the kitchen table for nearly an hour, a half-empty mug of coffee cooling beside me, my mind wandering the way it always did when the day felt too still.
It was Sunday. Which meant silence. No footsteps from the neighbors upstairs, no chatter from the street vendors outside. Just the steady whisper of rain.
That was when I heard the knock.
Three short raps. Firm, deliberate. The kind of knock that doesn't ask for entry, but announces itself.
I froze, my fingers curling slightly against the table. I wasn't expecting anyone. No deliveries. No friends visiting.
Another knock followed, exactly the same rhythm.
When I finally stood and crossed the narrow hallway to the door, my bare feet silent against the wooden floor, I found no one waiting outside.
Only the rain. And an envelope.
It lay in the center of the doormat as if someone had placed it there with the precision of a ritual. The paper was thick, the kind that didn't belong in the cheap stationery aisle. Dark red. Almost crimson. And stamped into the front, in deep black ink, was a single initial: M.
My breath hitched. I didn't know why. It was just an envelope, yet my fingertips tingled the moment I touched it, as though the rain had turned to static electricity.
I turned it over. No return address. Just a black wax seal pressed into the flap another "M," but this one surrounded by a circle of tiny symbols I couldn't recognize.
It looked like something out of an old novel. The kind you'd expect to find in a locked drawer, not your doorstep.
I brought it inside, closing the door behind me. The rain's soft patter became muted. My apartment was dim except for the faint amber light spilling from the lamp on my desk, casting elongated shadows across the walls.
My hands hesitated over the seal. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe some quiet dread. Either way, I broke it.
Inside was a single sheet of parchment, folded once.
——————
Silfira Soigné,
You are cordially invited to the Magìo. A place where those touched by misfortune may find a new beginning.
Our records indicate your eligibility. You have been identified as an individual who has accessed more than the ordinary bounds of human potential.
Attendance is not mandatory. But it is… highly recommended.
Should you accept, be prepared to depart tomorrow. Report to the Southern Rail Junction, Platform 6, 9:00 a.m. You will be met.
The Magìo is not a school. It is a threshold.
— The Council of Magìo
—————-
The letter wasn't signed by a person. Just that strange title—The Council of Magìo.
I read it twice, my pulse steady but heavy, as though my body had decided it should be nervous even if my mind hadn't caught up yet.
"A new beginning." The words clawed at something in me.
I didn't want to remember. But the images came anyway, unbidden: glass shattering, a sharp metallic screech, and the violent jolt of impact. The same nightmare I'd had for months. The same event that had left me standing in the middle of a street, heart hammering, while a shimmering sphere of light curved around me—an impossible barrier that had kept the wreckage from touching my skin.
No one else had seen it. At least… they pretended they hadn't.
Since then, I had avoided thinking about it. About that. About the fact that sometimes, when panic rose in my chest, I felt the world push back against me in a way that didn't belong in reality.
I had no explanation.
And yet—this letter seemed to.
I set it on the table, but the apartment suddenly felt smaller. The rain louder. As though the outside world was pressing against the glass.
Magìo. I had never heard the name before. But "eligibility" made it sound like they had been… watching me. Tracking me.
There was something else, too. That final line It is a threshold. It didn't sound like an ordinary invitation. More like a warning. Or a promise.
I didn't open the blinds until late afternoon. By then, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets wet and reflective. My coffee was long gone, replaced by the restless pacing of someone who had too many unanswered questions.
What kind of "records" did they mean? And how did they know about me?
That barrier those shimmering force fields wasn't something I had ever told anyone about. I barely understood it myself. But if the letter was real, if this Institution was real, then maybe they had answers.
Or maybe they had plans.
My eyes flicked back to the wax seal lying beside the letter. The circle of symbols around the "M" seemed less like decoration now, and more like… a key. I didn't know to what.
Outside, the street was empty. But I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was still there, watching from just beyond the corner of my vision.
Night came quickly.
I didn't sleep right away. Instead, I sat by the window, knees drawn to my chest, the letter resting on the table behind me.
The world outside was quiet. Too quiet for the city.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew if I accepted, there would be no going back.
Not to my old life. Not to the version of myself who didn't question why she could make walls of invisible energy appear between herself and the world.
By the time I finally lay down, the rain had started again. Soft. Relentless.
And on my nightstand, the crimson envelope sat like a heartbeat I could hear but not see