The mirror shattered without sound.
Shards hung in the air like frozen raindrops, each piece still reflecting his face—only twisted, bloodied, and grinning back at him. Riven staggered backward, but the room dissolved around him before he could breathe.
In its place stood the door.
It was alive. Veins of black pulsed beneath its shifting surface, expanding and contracting like a lung. Every beat was in rhythm with his heart, as if the door had crawled out of his chest to stand before him.
The whispers he'd heard in the mirror now bled from the door's cracks—voices layered upon voices, chanting in languages no human tongue should know. Their tones slid between lullabies and screams, pulling him forward like a tide.
Riven tried to resist. He told himself to turn back, to leave this place before it consumed him, but something deeper whispered the truth: You have no choice.
He reached out. The surface was cold, wet, almost skin-like. The instant his fingers touched it, a flood of images ripped through his mind—
Aarav's face, pale and lifeless.
The diary, pages burning in his own hands.
A girl's voice screaming his name in agony.
He yanked his hand back, gasping, but the damage was done. The door pulsed harder, as if recognizing him, claiming him.
And then it opened.
Not with a creak, but with a wet tearing sound, as though flesh had been split apart. Darkness spilled out—not an empty void, but a crawling mass of shadows that writhed and breathed. The smell of iron hit him, sharp and metallic. Blood.
Riven's chest tightened. Every instinct screamed run, but his feet moved forward. Each step sank into the abyss as though he was walking on liquid shadow. Behind him, the door sealed with a final, suffocating thud.
The world around him changed. The air grew thick, pressing down on his lungs. Shapes flickered at the edges of his vision—faces of people he once knew, their mouths sewn shut, their eyes weeping ink.
And then he saw her.
The girl. She stood ahead, clutching the diary, her figure glowing faintly in the suffocating dark. Relief flashed across his mind for a heartbeat. But when she raised her head, that relief died.
Her face was hollow. Black tears ran from empty sockets. Her smile split unnaturally wide, stretching skin until it cracked. The diary in her arms bled like a wounded creature, crimson dripping into the abyss and spreading in ripples.
"Riven…" Her voice was not sound—it slid straight into his thoughts, cold and invasive. "Why did you come here?"
The shadows around her surged, forming bodies strung upside down, faces melting, hands clawing at their own throats. All of them turned toward him.
Riven tightened his grip on the dagger, though his hand shook. "This isn't real," he whispered, but the words came out weak, like a lie even he didn't believe.
The girl stepped closer. The void bent with her movement. "You opened the door. You belong to us now."
The abyss screamed. Thousands of voices shrieked in unison, drowning out his thoughts. His knees buckled. The dagger slipped from his grip and dissolved before it struck the ground.
The last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him whole was her smile, wide and endless.
"Welcome home, Riven."