Daniel Carter stared at the blank page on his laptop screen. The cursor blinked, mocking him. He had been sitting like this for nearly an hour, fingers hovering over the keyboard, waiting for something—anything—to come.
But the words refused to come.
With a sigh, he shut his laptop. Maybe a walk would help.
The streets were quiet as he made his way toward the library, the cool evening air settling around him. The library was one of the few places that still felt familiar, a sanctuary of forgotten stories and whispered ideas.
When he stepped inside, the scent of old paper and polished wood greeted him. The library was nearly empty, its warm lighting casting soft shadows along the shelves.
As he wandered past the rows of books, he noticed a woman at the front desk. She was stacking a pile of old volumes, her movements precise and careful. She looked up as he passed, offering a small smile.
"Back again?"
Daniel nodded. "Yeah. Hoping to find something new tonight."
She chuckled. "Or maybe something old."
He smirked at that and continued deeper into the library.
Then, in the farthest corner, he saw it.
A book, wedged tightly between two larger volumes. It looked old, its leather cover cracked and worn. But what struck him most was the absence of a title. There was only a faded design on the cover—something that might have once been a sketch, though time had blurred it beyond recognition.
Curious, Daniel pulled the book free and flipped it open. The first page was blank except for a single line written in an elegant, old-fashioned script:
Chapter One: The Key and the Waves
There was no author's name, no preface—just the chapter title.
Intrigued, Daniel turned the page and began to read.
---
Chapter One: The Key and the Waves
The ship rocked gently on the open sea, its sails full under the dark sky. The ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, waves rising and falling with an unbroken rhythm.
A man stood at the railing, staring into the black depths below. His name was Elias Gray. A long, weathered coat clung to his frame, and a dark hat cast a shadow over his sharp features. His presence was steady, almost immovable, as if he had long since learned to live with the motion of the sea.
In his hand, he held a rusted key.
Elias turned it between his fingers, feeling the rough edges press into his palm. He had carried it for years, through places he no longer wished to remember.
With a sharp breath, he tightened his grip—then, without hesitation, flicked his wrist.
The key spun in the moonlight before vanishing beneath the waves.
Elias did not watch it sink. Instead, he turned and walked toward the ship's cabin, his boots echoing against the wooden deck.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wood and whiskey. The dim glow of lanterns flickered over the walls. A few passengers sat hunched at their tables, murmuring in low voices.
Elias made his way to a quiet corner, where a single glass of whiskey awaited him. He pulled off his gloves, sat down, and took a slow sip. The warmth spread through his chest, but his fingers still felt cold.
Across from him, a woman sat with her arms crossed. She wore a deep blue dress, her expression unreadable. Her gaze met his, steady and knowing.
"You are late," she said.
Elias removed his hat, placing it on the table beside his glass. "It had to be done," he replied.
She studied him. "Did you get rid of it?"
He nodded, though his fingers tightened slightly around the whiskey glass.
She leaned back, considering him for a moment. Then, with a slow smirk, she said, "Then it begins."
Elias said nothing. He simply took another sip, the liquid now cold against his tongue.
---
Daniel exhaled, a strange feeling settling in his chest.
Something about the story… unsettled him. The way Elias clutched his whiskey glass, the tension in his shoulders—it felt oddly familiar, though he couldn't explain why.
He ran his fingers over the book's cover again, as if trying to uncover its missing title. But the faded sketch remained unreadable.
Closing the book, he hesitated for a moment. A part of him wanted to take it home, but something told him it belonged here.
He carefully placed it back on the shelf.
"Find what you were looking for?" the woman at the desk asked as he passed.
Daniel hesitated. "I think so."
She nodded. "Strange one, isn't it? I don't think I've ever seen that copy before."
That gave him pause. "Do you know where it came from?"
She shook her head. "No record of it. But old books turn up here all the time."
Daniel nodded slowly, then stepped back into the cool night air.
The story lingered in his mind as he walked home, the details repeating themselves like a half-remembered dream. He didn't know why, but something told him he wasn't done with it yet.
---
The Next Evening
Daniel sat at a quiet bar, nursing a glass of beer.
The book was still in the library, yet its words hadn't left him. He kept thinking about Elias—his coat, his hat, the way he sat in that dimly lit room, sipping whiskey.
Across the room, a man sat alone at the bar.
He wore a dark coat. A hat rested beside him. And in front of him, a glass of whiskey.
Daniel's fingers tightened around his own drink. It was just a coincidence. It had to be.
Then, the bartender walked over and placed a fresh glass in front of the man.
"Here you go, Elias."
Daniel's breath caught in his throat.
The man barely reacted. He simply nodded and reached for the glass.
Daniel felt a chill creep over him.
Elias.
The same name. The same drink. The same presence.
Slowly, Daniel set his beer down, his pulse steady but heavy.
What were the chances?
And more importantly…
What did it mean?