Imagine A Happy Ending

The moment I stepped into the city, I felt it—a rhythm, faint but insistent, pulsing beneath the surface. It wasn't just the hum of the machines or the distant chatter of the crowd. No, it was something else, something alive.

The buildings, each a towering amalgamation of glass and stone, seemed to breathe. As I walked the streets, I noticed the faint glow of patterns etched into their surfaces—lines that pulsed in a synchronized dance. They reminded me of veins carrying blood, but instead of red, they pulsed with a silvery-blue light.

At first, I thought it was a trick of the strange twilight that bathed the city, but the longer I stared, the more certain I became. These structures weren't just buildings; they were something more. Connected. Watching.

I kept walking, my footsteps hesitant as I took in my surroundings. People moved with purpose, their faces obscured by hoods or masks, their gazes either averted or fixed on the strange devices they carried. Some of those devices hummed softly, others emitted brief flashes of light that made my skin crawl.

And yet, even amidst the throngs of people, I felt utterly alone.

Or perhaps, I wasn't.

The sensation of being watched crept up my spine. I turned sharply, expecting to catch someone staring at me, but the street behind me was empty save for the faint shimmer of heat rising from the ground. The pulse of the buildings quickened, or maybe it was my imagination.

I ducked into a narrow alley, hoping to shake the unease. The walls here were closer, the light dimmer, and the air thicker, carrying the faint tang of metal and ozone. My boots splashed through puddles that reflected the same glowing veins I had seen in the buildings. The city's lifeblood was everywhere, connecting everything.

Even here, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being followed.

By the time I reached the room I had woken up in, my nerves were frayed. The door clicked shut behind me, and for a moment, I just stood there, my back pressed against the cool wood, trying to steady my breathing.

The room was exactly as I had left it: the fire crackling softly in the hearth, the shelves lined with books and trinkets, the strange clock ticking away in its alien rhythm.

But something felt different.

I glanced around, searching for the source of my discomfort, and my eyes landed on the mirror.

It stood innocuously in the corner, its frame ornately carved with symbols I didn't recognize. I hadn't paid it much attention before, distracted by the book and the city beyond the window. But now, it seemed to demand my attention.

I approached it slowly, each step measured. My reflection stared back at me, but something was… off.

At first, I couldn't place it. My face, pale and drawn, looked exactly as I remembered. But then I noticed the eyes. They weren't mine.

The irises were darker, almost black, and the gaze they held was colder, sharper—like a predator sizing up its prey. A chill ran through me as I realized that the reflection wasn't mirroring my movements.

When I reached up to touch my face, the figure in the mirror didn't move. Instead, it tilted its head, studying me with an unsettling intensity.

I took a step back, my pulse hammering in my ears.

And then it spoke.

"You're not ready."

Its voice was mine, but deeper, rougher, as though it had been dragged across shards of glass.

"What… what are you?" I stammered, my hand instinctively going to the gun at my hip.

The reflection smirked, a cruel twist of the lips that made my stomach churn. "A question with many answers, none of which you're prepared to hear."

"Try me," I shot back, forcing steel into my voice despite the tremor in my hands.

The reflection stepped closer to the glass, its movements slow and deliberate. Scars I hadn't noticed before became visible on its face and hands—jagged lines that spoke of battles I had never fought.

"You think this is real?" it asked, gesturing to the room around me. "This city? This body? It's all a construct, a fragment of something much larger. And you… you're just a thread in a tapestry you can't begin to comprehend."

"I don't understand," I admitted, hating the vulnerability in my voice.

"You will," it said. "When the time comes, you'll understand everything. But for now, all you need to know is this: you are not alone. And you are not safe."

Before I could respond, the reflection dissolved into shadows, leaving the mirror empty. My own face stared back at me, pale and shaken.

I turned away, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But before I could dwell on it, the room shifted.

The fire in the hearth dimmed, and the shadows grew longer, stretching across the floor like living things. The air grew heavy, pressing down on my chest until it was hard to breathe.

And then I saw it.

The threads.

They were faint at first, barely visible, but as I focused, they became clearer. Strings of light, thin as spider silk, crisscrossed the room, connecting every object—the books, the clock, the fire, even the mirror. They pulsed with the same silvery-blue glow I had seen in the city, their rhythm steady and unyielding.

I reached out tentatively, my fingers brushing against one of the threads. It vibrated at my touch, sending a jolt of energy through me that made my vision blur.

In that brief moment, I saw… something.

A memory, or perhaps a vision. A vast, sprawling network of light stretching out into infinity, each thread connecting to countless others. And at the center of it all was a door, impossibly tall and carved with symbols that seemed to shift and writhe.

I stumbled back, my breath coming in short gasps.

"What is this?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

The voice from earlier echoed in my mind. "The Door Between Times. Your past. Your future. Your choice."

The weight of those words hung over me as I paced the room, trying to piece together the fragments of what I had seen. The threads, the door, the reflection—what did it all mean?

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

I froze, my hand instinctively going to the gun at my hip.

"Who's there?" I called out, my voice sharper than I intended.

No answer.

The knock came again, louder this time.

With a deep breath, I approached the door and opened it.

No one was there.

But on the floor in front of me was a small package, wrapped in cloth and tied with a thin silver thread.

I picked it up cautiously, my fingers tingling as they brushed against the thread. Unwrapping it, I found a key—a simple, unassuming thing made of black metal.

And yet, as I held it, I felt a strange sense of familiarity.

The key was warm in my hand, pulsing faintly in time with the threads that still shimmered faintly in the room.

The voice returned, softer this time. "The choice is yours, Kael. Open the door, or stay in the shadows."

I didn't know what door it meant or what lay beyond it. But as I held the key, I knew one thing for certain: I couldn't stay here.

Not with the city watching.

Not with the reflection haunting me.

And certainly not with the threads pulling me toward something I couldn't yet understand.

With the key clutched tightly in my hand, I stepped back into the city, ready to find the door—and the answers waiting on the other side.