The evening air was heavier than usual, thick with the scent of rain yet untouched by any drizzle. Sera stepped back from the railing, shivering despite the faint warmth radiating from her apartment. Her fingers brushed against the snowflake mark, and the tingling pulse had grown sharper, insistent, as if trying to speak through her veins.
She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. It's nothing, she told herself. It's just the wind, just stress. Just imagination.
But even as she spoke the words aloud, a flicker of movement caught her peripheral vision. Across the street, the reflection of glass panels seemed to warp unnaturally. Shadows moved where there should have been none. A low hum threaded through the city's usual chorus of traffic and voices. She stiffened, and her breath caught in her throat.
For a long moment, she watched, unsure if she was seeing clearly. Then, a tiny flake of snow drifted past her window. Snow? She muttered. The calendar on her wall clearly read mid-June. Sunlight had vanished, leaving an early evening sky of gold and purple. Yet there it was — a single crystal of ice, hovering in the air as if suspended by invisible hands.
Her pulse quickened. This isn't normal.
Sera stepped back inside, closing the window, but the tingling at her wrist intensified, spreading up her arm. She rubbed it, pressing her palm against the mark. A faint warmth mingled with the cold, a sensation that both comforted and alarmed her. Her thoughts drifted back to the stories her parents had told her — Glacielle, the queen of snow, the chosen ones, the hidden world. She had always believed it was a story meant to instill wonder, maybe even courage. But now, eight years later, it felt like a warning.
Shaking, she moved to the couch, her fingers brushing over her laptop. Perhaps she could distract herself. Research. Anything to anchor herself to reality. She opened a new document, typed a few lines, and deleted them immediately. The words felt hollow, empty against the rising tide of unease.
A soft creak echoed through the apartment. Not the building settling — something deliberate. Sera froze, eyes darting toward the source. The air near the corner of the room shimmered slightly, like heat waves over asphalt, but colder. She held her breath, heart hammering. No one is here.
Yet she wasn't alone.
The snowflake mark flared faintly, almost imperceptibly, and a whisper brushed against her consciousness. Sera…
Her jaw tightened, and she pressed her hands against her face. I'm not imagining this. I can't be. She opened her eyes slowly, peering around the apartment. Everything seemed normal — her coffee mug on the counter, the faint hum of the refrigerator, the stack of unopened letters on the table. Yet the pulse at her wrist, the faint tingling, the whisper… all insisted otherwise.
Sera sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Why now?" she whispered. The words barely left her lips before a shadow passed across the wall. A flicker of movement, fluid and swift, unlike anything human. Her stomach dropped.
The air shimmered again, and suddenly, the room felt impossibly vast. Her familiar apartment — walls, ceiling, furniture — stretched outward, distant yet close, as if the room itself had expanded to reveal a hidden layer. Shapes emerged in the corners, faint outlines of figures that should not exist. Wind whispered through them, carrying voices she could not quite hear.
Her breath hitched. The Veil…
She stumbled backward, tripping over the rug. The room snapped back to normal, lights unchanged, shadows gone. Her heart raced, and she clutched her wrist. The snowflake glimmered faintly, as if it had witnessed something only she could see. She sank to the floor, her head spinning with questions she had no answers for.
Outside, the city continued its rhythm. Car horns blared in the distance, a dog barked, footsteps echoed on the street. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed.
Sera felt a sudden pull — not from the city, not from the room, but from somewhere else entirely. Her chest tightened. The pulse in her wrist quickened until it was nearly painful. Her vision blurred, and the hum of life faded into a deep, resonant sound, like a song she had forgotten she knew. It called to her, tugging at her very core.
She closed her eyes, surrendering to it for a moment. And then, she saw it.
Not in the room. Not in the city. But somewhere far away, somewhere impossible. A city of spires and towers, shimmering with colors that had no name. Rivers of light wound through streets paved with crystal. Floating islands drifted above, suspended in air as if defying gravity. And in the center, five figures stood — one of fire, one of water, one of wind, one of earth, one of snow.
Sera gasped, clutching her wrist. The snowflake pulsed in answer, and a warmth spread through her, anchoring her amidst the overwhelming vision. She could feel the presence of Glacielle, strong yet gentle, like a hand resting on her shoulder from across time.
A sudden rush of wind slammed against her apartment windows. Papers scattered, and the lights flickered. The pulse at her wrist flared violently. Sera stumbled back, nearly losing her balance, and heard the voice again — clearer this time, urgent, insistent.
Sera… come…
The whisper lingered in her mind as the city noises slowly returned, grounding her once more. Her hands shook as she pressed them against her chest. She wasn't dreaming. She hadn't imagined the city, the figures, the pull. Something was reaching for her. Something that had waited for years.
Her eyes fell on the mark. The snowflake glimmered faintly, a promise and a warning intertwined. Sera's thoughts raced. She had lived twenty-three years in a world of order and routine, dismissing the bedtime stories as childhood fantasy. But now, with her heart pounding and the air around her humming with impossible energy, she knew better.
The veil between worlds had stirred.
And she could feel it calling her name.