The old attic still smelled of pine wood and damp paper, where memories slumbered quietly within dusty boxes. I gently pushed open the attic door, letting in narrow bands of afternoon light that sliced through the tiny window.
Today, I couldn’t sit still. After last night’s bizarre dream and the unusual look in my son’s eyes this morning, something compelled me to reopen the wooden chest left behind by my father – Rhelon’s grandfather – before he passed away.
The chest lay hidden behind an old bookshelf, the iron lock rusted shut. It took me a while, fumbling around, before finding the tiny key hidden inside an old cigarette box. With a soft click, the lid popped open.
Inside lay a handful of black-and-white photographs, a few notebooks filled with hastily scribbled handwriting, and a cube-shaped object wrapped carefully in a thick, dark brown cloth.
I unfolded the cloth.
A cold metallic block—heavy, solid, and reassuring.
It resembled an astronomical model, intricately constructed with delicate rotating rings encircling a foggy core. Yet it wasn’t like any model I’d ever seen. The rings were engraved with strange symbols, neither Latin nor Chinese, nor resembling ancient Greek.
As I rotated one of the rings experimentally, a faint mechanical click echoed—like an ancient mechanism slowly awakening. A small section on its outer surface shifted, revealing a narrow crack emitting a faint, misty blue glow.
I shivered involuntarily.
The glow didn’t shine steadily—it rippled, as if something within was moving, threads of faint lightning dancing chaotically inside the mist.
I reached out carefully, lightly brushing my fingers along the edge of the crack. A slight tingle ran up my spine, and suddenly my head felt heavy, as if someone had just pushed me into a flood of memories that weren’t mine.
In that fleeting moment, I saw… a sky-blue planet, encircled by enormous pillars of light swirling upward like vertical tornadoes. And at the planet’s center hung a massive spiral-shaped gateway—not anchored to a wall or the ground, but suspended midair.
Then everything vanished.
I stepped back, breathing heavily.
The metallic model lay motionless atop the cloth, the glowing crack gradually dimming and then closing completely.
I grabbed one of my father’s notebooks and flipped through the first few pages. They were filled with symbols and frantic notes about “sliding reality portals,” “layers of luminous density,” and a repeated phrase:
"The Window isn't a passageway—it's a junction."
"When the crack opens for the second time, time itself becomes nonlinear."
"The boy is the key, but only the opener can truly see."
I froze. “The boy”? Could that be Rhelon?
I placed everything back inside the chest but kept the metallic model with me. Every instinct screamed that this wasn’t just a souvenir. Was it a key? A door? Or perhaps… a warning?
Underneath the chest, a small scrap of paper fell out. In my father’s shaky handwriting, it said simply:
"When the boy begins to see what no one else can—do not fear. Go with him."
I sat dazedly in the attic as darkness slowly fell. Outside, gray clouds moved in like a curtain being lowered.
Perhaps everything… was just beginning.
