Episode 2: The Door That Breathes

The grandfather clock struck once.

Then again.

Again.

Thirteen times.

Elian froze mid-step.

He hadn’t touched the clock. Hadn’t wound it.

Yet it mournfully sang at exactly 2:09 a.m., just like the night before.

From deep within the mansion, something clicked — not like wood or metal, but like lungs inhaling through stone.

A door, hidden behind the faded tapestry in the hallway, creaked open by itself.

Elian’s hand trembled as he lifted the lantern. The light flickered blue for the first time.

“It’s just the wind,” he whispered, though even his breath didn’t believe him.

He peeled the tapestry aside.

There was a door behind it — one that hadn’t been there in daylight.

It pulsed, as if something on the other side was breathing in rhythm with him.

Not loud. Just enough to make his chest tighten.

He reached for the handle. Cold. Worn. Etched with symbols — some familiar, some… shifting when he looked away.

As he turned the knob, the lantern dimmed.

The hallway behind him grew darker, as if light itself was being drawn into the opening.

Inside, the room was not made of walls — but of mirrors.

Each surface reflected not Elian, but different versions of him:

One covered in blood.

One smiling like he knew the ending.

One screaming, face pressed to glass.

One… standing still, watching him back.

The air was still. No dust. No time.

“This isn’t a room,” Elian thought, “It’s a memory waiting to happen.”

At the center of the mirrored chamber stood a chair — empty — but around it were candles already burning, though no one had lit them.

And on the floor, a message written in black chalk:

“YOU’VE BEEN HERE BEFORE. THIS TIME, STAY AWAKE.”

A soft knock echoed behind him.

He turned — and saw himself, in the hallway, lantern less, face pale, lips moving but making no sound.

When he turned back…

The message was gone.

The mirrors were dark

Only the candle flames remained.

Burning… backwards.

The flames coiled inward, shrinking instead of growing, spiraling into the wick like time itself was undoing them. Elian took a step back — but his reflection didn’t.

The mirror in front of him no longer showed a version of him.

It showed Nerae.

Her silhouette stood in the foggy glass, expression unreadable, her long hair moving as if underwater. She raised her hand slowly and pressed it against the other side of the glass.

So did Elian.

But his hand passed through.

The glass wasn’t a mirror anymore. It was a veil — thin, cold, and humming.

"You’re not supposed to be here yet," she whispered, though her mouth never moved.

"He hasn’t remembered you."

Elian’s throat tightened. “Who?”

But the figure was already gone.

He turned — and the mirrored room had changed. Now it resembled a library, shelves curling endlessly up and inward like a spiral staircase. Each book had a name. Some were his.

Some… weren't.

He found one that made his stomach twist:

“The Last Memory of Elian Cross.”

He pulled it off the shelf.

Pages fluttered open on their own — revealing a scene he hadn’t lived yet:

Elian, holding the glowing lantern high, running down the stone corridors as a voice called his name — not pleading, but accusing.

A second Elian — taller, sharper, eyes gold — stepping from the shadows with blood on his hands.

"You're too late," he said. "You always are."

Elian slammed the book shut. His heartbeat roared in his ears.

Suddenly, the shelves snapped shut, the room shrinking back into mirrored walls. A sound — faint, metallic — echoed above.

The ticking had stopped.

Elian looked up.

The grandfather clock’s face was floating midair, its hands hovering at 2:09, refusing to move.

The lantern flickered violently.

From the mirror directly behind him, a voice — his own — whispered:

“You’ve opened the door. But it breathes now because you fed it.”

He spun around.

The mirror cracked.

A hand — his hand — reached out of the broken glass, grasping at his shoulder with unmatched force. Its skin was pale, decayed, fingertips burning cold.

Elian screamed, stumbling back into the center of the room.

Every mirror erupted with fractured versions of him, all yelling, whispering, screaming… laughing.

The room rumbled. The floor beneath his feet warped, softening like wet clay.

Then —

The candles went out.

And in total darkness, a voice said:

“Welcome to Night Two, Elian.”

To Be Continue...

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***