The path wound endlessly through fog and memory.
Each step Avery took sounded hollow, as though the ground beneath her were made of glass. The air grew colder, but it wasn’t the kind of cold that bit the skin — it reached through it, settling in the bones.
Ahead, the mist began to thin. A faint black outline loomed in the distance, framed by pale light: the Door.
It rose higher than any structure she’d ever seen — not carved or built, but grown, like the world itself had split open and decided to never heal. Black stone, slick and pulsing faintly as if alive, stood sealed by iron bands marked with the runes of death.
And at its center: a faint handprint, glowing dimly white. Human-sized. Waiting.
Avery stopped several paces away.
She could hear her own breathing, ragged and uneven. H
