Chapter 1: The Door That Shouldn't Be There

Elias Thorn lived a life of deliberate simplicity. His days began and ended with routines as precise as clockwork. The scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted him at 6:15 every morning, mingling with the faint tang of ink from his folded newspaper. His toast, invariably charred at the edges, was a testament to a toaster he’d stubbornly refused to replace.

For Elias, this predictability was a comfort. The world outside his modest home was chaotic, and chaos had no place in his life—not anymore.

But on this particular morning, something was off. He couldn’t quite place it at first, dismissing the sensation as leftover unease from a restless sleep. It wasn’t until he reached for his coat that he saw it.

At the far end of his hallway, there was a door.

Elias froze. He had lived in this house for twelve years, long enough to memorize its every quirk and creak. There had never been a door there before. Yet here it was, solid and unassuming, as if it had always belonged.

The door was painted a dull gray, its surface smooth and unblemished. A brass knob gleamed unnaturally bright, catching the morning light like a polished mirror.

His first thought was that it must be a prank—some elaborate trick played by someone with too much time on their hands. But how? No one else had a key to his house.

He approached cautiously, each step echoing down the suddenly elongated hallway. The distance seemed to stretch, the door receding just slightly as he advanced. He paused, feeling the hair on his arms prickling. The air was heavy, the silence almost oppressive.

Elias reached out, his fingers brushing the cool metal of the knob. A strange sensation rippled through him, like the faint vibration of a far-off engine. For a moment, he hesitated, a voice in the back of his mind urging him to walk away.

But curiosity was a persistent whisper, and it won.

He turned the knob and opened the door.

Darkness greeted him, a thick, suffocating void that seemed to swallow sound. He blinked, trying to adjust, but the blackness was impenetrable. Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the darkness peeled back, revealing a room that was utterly alien.

The walls shimmered faintly, covered in symbols that twisted and shifted as he looked at them. A clock with no hands hung suspended above a single chair, which was occupied by an envelope.

Elias stepped inside. His breath caught as the door swung shut behind him with a decisive thud.

The envelope was addressed in elegant, flowing script: To Elias Thorn.

His name on the envelope startled him more than the room itself. He picked it up carefully, noting how unnaturally heavy it felt. The weight was wrong, disproportionate to its size, as though it contained something more than mere paper.

With trembling hands, he tore it open. Inside was a single slip of paper. The message was short, but its implications reverberated through him like a shout in a silent room.

“Do not trust the others.”

The air in the room thickened, pressing against him. Panic surged as the symbols on the walls began to glow faintly, their shapes shifting faster. He turned, yanking at the door.

It opened with surprising ease, spilling him back into his familiar hallway. When he glanced over his shoulder, the room was gone. The strange door stood closed, as mundane as any other.

Elias stood there for a long moment, the envelope still clutched in his hand. Whatever this was, it wasn’t over.