Two days remained until her birthday. Zamira lay awake in her room, feeling the breath of silence on the back of her neck as she questioned her own thoughts.
At exactly 03:03, her lamp flickered once—then a few more times. She jolted, though she was almost getting used to these things.
When the light finally went out completely, a shadow in the corner of her room began to stir. This time it was different—the shadow grew, took shape, and rippled across the wall as if it were made of liquid.
Zamira stood up; the floor beneath her feet felt like it was slipping away.
The shadow vanished for a heartbeat, then reappeared. She looked around, but she was no longer in her room.
Everything around her glowed in shimmering shades of grey.
The sky had turned into a blend of violet and silver.
In the distance stood colossal structures—towers made not of stone, but of living, pulsing crystal.
The air was heavy, yet within it she could feel vibrations echoing like a hidden melody.
A silhouette was watching her from a short distance.
"Nayel!"
The black garment he wore seemed to swallow the darkness of this world, yet the icy blue light radiating from his body illuminated everything around him.
Zamira's heart felt like it would burst from her chest—but she wasn't afraid.
Nayel didn't speak. He simply raised his hands, and shimmering light drifted from the tips of his fingers.
A door formed before Zamira.
It was closed—locked.
She tried to take a step toward it, but in that moment, the world trembled.
The sky cracked along with the very fabric of the universe.
A whisper echoed through the darkness.
"Not yet…"
When she opened her eyes, she was back in her room.
She was drenched in sweat, the lamp was dead, and the book on her desk had opened on its own.
In the center of the page, a glowing text was forming.
Zamira pushed herself up and moved toward the book.
Words shone brightly upon the page:
"Darkness is the place we are trapped in—not because of our evil, but because the light within us still remains."
In that moment, Zamira understood—
this was no longer curiosity.
It was a calling.