The school day dragged on until the final bell, but Jael hardly heard a second of it. Even Julius's nonstop chatter faded into background noise. His mind refused to let go of the girl with the black hair… or what she had said. Her voice lingered like a cold finger at the back of his skull.
When school finally ended, he waved at Julius, forcing a smile he didn't feel.
"I'll message you tonight," Julius called, raising a hand.
"Yeah," Jael replied, but his voice barely carried.
Unease rode his shoulders as he walked home — a tightness in his chest that only grew heavier with every step closer to the mansion. He knew what he should do: tell his grandfather. Ask for answers. Trust his teachings.
But something in him hesitated.
Grandfather always says only speak when necessary.Ignorance is a shield.
The old iron gates of the Madlock estate creaked open as he approached, the gravel path crunching beneath his shoes. The mansion emerged, looming like a relic frozen in time — large, grand, and intimidating to the rest of the village. It had always been his sanctuary.
Today, it felt like a threshold.
Jael slowed as soon as he spotted a luxury car parked in the front yard — polished chrome, pristine condition, too perfect for the dusty countryside. He recognized the model only from magazine covers. He had never seen one in person.
Visitors rarely came here.
His heartbeat quickened.
He paused beside a tall stone statue — a knight with a sword plunged into the earth. Growing up, he would talk to the statue like it was alive… because sometimes, he wasn't so sure it wasn't.
"Who's the guest?" he muttered under his breath, as if expecting the stone figure to answer.
It didn't. Frozen. Silent.
Instead, a voice responded from behind him.
"Your parents are inside, young master."
Jael stiffened.
The butler — Mr. Rowan — stood a few paces away, his posture perfectly formal, a silver tray tucked under one arm. He always seemed to appear without sound, as if part of the house rather than a man in service.
"My… parents?" Jael repeated.
His mind stumbled over the word. Parents. He almost forgot what calling them felt like.
Then it hit him.
His eighteenth birthday.
Of course.
He felt his stomach twist.
"So it's time to leave then…" he whispered.
Mr. Rowan gave a subtle nod — respectful, but with sympathy buried deep beneath professionalism.
"It has been arranged."
Jael's hands curled into fists at his side. Eighteen years — and now the moment had arrived.
He forced a deep breath.
He reached for the pendant hanging from his neck — an old silver charm engraved with the Madlock crest. A protective talisman, his grandfather once said. A seal.
He closed his fist around it.
"I don't need this anymore."
The chain snapped with a sharp metallic sound.
The instant the pendant left his skin — the world changed.
The once-lonely garden erupted with movement. Tiny humanoid creatures no taller than two inches scurried through the grass — each with a single large eye blinking curiously. Winged rodents fluttered between hanging vines. A skeletal horse with a horn like polished marble rested beneath an ancient tree, its bones gleaming faintly.
Above it perched an eagle with three eyes, all unblinking and aware.
The hidden world his grandfather warned him of — the one only Madlocks could see — poured to life around him like color flooding a grayscale painting.
The stone knight beside him cracked at the joints. It moved — heavy stone grinding softly — and dropped to one knee.
"Master," the statue's voice rumbled, reverberating like echoing cliffs, "you are home."
It should have been comforting.
It wasn't.
"Yes," Jael murmured. "I am… but not for long."
He sighed, tension filling his lungs instead of air.
The Curse of Madlocks.To see what others cannot.To never truly belong in one world or the other.
He stepped past the kneeling statue and marched toward the mansion, creatures scurrying out of his path with respectful distance. As he crossed the threshold into the entry hall, the magic flickered — hidden once more behind the mundane.
Inside, the atmosphere was tight — too clean and too quiet.
On the couch sat his grandfather, cane resting beside him. His posture was straight despite age, his eyes sharp with wisdom and power, even time couldn't dull. This was Douglas Madlock — hero to the village, protector of secrets.
Beside him sat a man and a woman — strangers wearing expensive clothes that clashed with the humble countryside setting. The man's suit alone could probably buy a truck. The woman's jewelry glittered, polished, and cold.
His parents.
Jael's throat tightened.
They looked… uncomfortable. But not with excitement or affection.
Indifferent. Maybe even bothered.
His grandfather tapped his cane lightly, drawing Jael's focus.
"Sit, Jael."
Jael obeyed, lowering himself onto the opposite couch — heart thrumming loud in his ears.
"These," his grandfather said, gesturing calmly, "are your parents."
As if introductions were necessary.
Jael studied them quietly. They looked like they belonged in photographs — perfectly poised, perfectly distant. Crosita, Jael's mother's gaze flicked over him briefly, as though examining an expensive purchase. His father, Howard's posture was stiff, jaw clenched defensively.
They did not smile.
A hollow ache opened beneath Jael's ribs.
His grandfather continued, tone gentle but firm:
"As tradition dictates, the firstborn son of every Madlock generation is trained by the previous head of the family from birth until age eighteen.""You were trained by me," he said. "Because they lack the ability we possess."
His parents' expressions twitched — slight, but noticeable.
Grandfather pressed on:
"It is now time for you to return to them. The preparations are complete."
Jael lowered his eyes, processing every word.
Ability.Training.Return.
This wasn't just a birthday.
It was a transfer of responsibility.A shift in worlds.
"What about school?" Jael asked quietly. "I have two months before graduation."
"Already handled," his grandfather replied. "I spoke with the school administration. You've completed enough requirements. You're considered graduated."
Jael blinked — stunned.
Just like that?
"What will you pursue?" Grandfather's voice softened a fraction. "In college, I mean."
Jael looked up. He already knew his answer.
"I want to enter the police academy."
A reasonable path — one where he could protect people in both worlds.
Grandfather nodded. "A good choice. You'll have three months to adapt to city life before you begin."
Jael glanced toward his parents.
Still nothing.
No pride. No disagreement. No concern.
Just blank, statuesque compliance.
Grandfather's fingers tapped his cane — a single decisive strike that thudded through the room.
The couple flinched.
Jael stared. Fear — real fear — flashed in their eyes.
Grandfather's glare sharpened. Then, just as quickly, he turned a warm smile toward Jael.
"Pay them no mind. They don't have our sight. Without our gifts, the world terrifies them easily."
Jael forced a nod.
He wanted to ask — about the girl, the dream, the illusions breaking through.
But with those two strangers in the room — he held his tongue.
Douglas noticed, but said nothing.
Instead, he leaned toward Mr. Rowan.
"Prepare dinner," he ordered. "And ask if our guests will stay the night."
Jael saw his mother tense even before the words left her lips.
"No need," Jael's father said quickly, voice strained polite. "Thank you, Uncle, but we have business tomorrow."
Of course they did.
Grandfather simply hummed — unsurprised. If my son gave me a proper heir, he had once muttered, I wouldn't have needed to deal with such cowardice.
Dinner was quiet. So quiet the clinking silverware echoed like a threat. Jael barely swallowed anything — his stomach twisted by nerves and dread.
When they finished, Grandfather tapped Jael's shoulder.
"Come with me."
They entered the study — walls lined with old tomes and relics from battles no historian knew. Grandfather opened a drawer and retrieved something wrapped in black cloth.
He unrolled it onto the table.
A dagger — ancient, well-maintained, carved with symbols that seemed to pulse with life.
"You can fight," his grandfather said. "But strength alone will fail you if you stand alone."
He offered the blade.
"With this dagger, you can defend yourself from anything. Never hesitate to use it."
Jael took it with both hands — feeling a strange warmth spread through his palms.
"And," Grandfather continued, "you must find a familiar. A guardian spirit will be your greatest ally."
He then motioned to a small wooden box.
"I've prepared herbs and talismans. Use them wisely."
Jael licked his lips, hesitant — but finally spoke:
"I… had a dream."
He described the skyscraper. The girl. The illusions. The message.
Grandfather remained silent. His eyes narrowed — but not in confusion.
In concern.
"Your path will be bumpy from here on," he said solemnly. "The world is shifting. Illusions break because something wants to be seen."
Before Jael could ask more, his father's voice called from downstairs:
"Jael, if you're ready, we should go. It's late."
Jael exhaled, eyes sweeping the study — memorizing every detail.
"Yes," he replied, quieter than he intended.
They returned to the foyer. Darkness coated the windows — night had come quickly. Too quickly.
Grandfather stood proud despite the dim light.
"Visit when you can," he murmured.
Jael nodded — clutching the dagger beneath his jacket.
He stepped outside with his small backpack, turning for one last look.
The mansion — his home for eighteen years — stood tall and silent behind him. Its windows glimmered faint reflections of the other world still hiding beneath reality.
Goodbye.
He walked toward the sleek vehicle. His parents offered no help — no words — as he climbed into the back seat.
The engine roared.
The car rolled forward.
Leaves rustled violently in their wake as the gates closed behind them.
Inside the empty garden, Mr. Rowan stepped up beside Douglas Madlock.
"Master," the butler asked quietly, "will the young master survive without your protection?"
Grandfather didn't blink.
"He is unworthy of the Madlock name," he said, "if he fails."
He turned — walking back into the mansion, leaving the night to swallow his grandson's future.