The rain poured in relentless sheets against the tall windows of the Kron estate, blurring the mountain view beyond. Maximilian Kron sat in his father's old leather armchair, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering flames of the fireplace. A letter lay in his hands, its paper worn but unmistakable.
The crest on the seal—a serpent devouring its own tail, encircling cryptic symbols—was burned into his memory. It was the insignia of his father's secret society, the same symbol that marked nearly every notebook and diagram in Viktor Kron's study.
Fifteen years ago, Viktor Kron had vanished, leaving his wealth, research, and riddles behind. Max had spent years trying to bury the memories of his father's obsession with the unknown. But the letter in his hands, written in his father's unmistakable handwriting, tore through his defenses.
Maximilian, it read.
The time has come for you to claim what was left unfinished. The answers you seek are in the lab. Trust only yourself. Beware the shadows—they know you're looking.
The words tugged at something deep within him: fear, anger, and an undeniable pull toward the truth. He folded the letter and placed it on the table, his hazel eyes flicking to the corner of the study where an old key hung in its hiding place.
Max stood, his leather jacket creaking softly with the movement. His dark brown hair, damp from earlier errands, clung slightly to his forehead. He retrieved the key and held it tightly, feeling the cool metal bite into his palm.
The basement door loomed before him, its faded paint and brass handle unchanged since the day his father had disappeared. The air felt heavier here, as though the house itself was holding its breath.
Max turned the key, and the lock clicked open.
The stairs creaked under his weight as he descended into the basement. Dim, yellow light from a single bulb barely illuminated the space, but the outline of his father's laboratory was unmistakable: rows of tables cluttered with equipment, dusty blueprints pinned to the walls, and in the center of the room, a massive machine that seemed out of place in this world.
The portal.
Max's breath caught. He had seen it once before, years ago, but it had been dormant—a lifeless hulk of steel and wires. Now, it hummed faintly, its curved surface flickering with traces of dark energy.
He stepped closer, his boots echoing softly on the cold concrete floor. A journal sat on a nearby table, its pages open to a page covered in his father's handwriting.
The Veil is thinning, it read. Beneath it were sketches of the portal, surrounded by equations and annotations. In the margins, words were scrawled hastily: Not of this world. A bridge. A warning.
Max frowned, his fingers brushing the edge of the journal. A sudden hum filled the air, growing louder as lights on the portal's console blinked to life.
ACTIVATION SEQUENCE INITIATED. PREPARE FOR CROSSING.
"What the hell?" Max whispered, stepping back.
The portal flared with a chaotic swirl of energy, its surface a shifting mix of black, green, and purple. The humming grew into a low roar, and the air vibrated with an electric charge.
Max stared, transfixed, as the swirling energy stabilized, revealing a view of another world. Towering structures shrouded in mist loomed in the distance, their edges sharp and alien. The faint glow of symbols etched into their surfaces pulsed rhythmically, as if alive.