The wind was restless that morning. It swept through the village with a chill that felt older than the mountains themselves, curling through stone alleys and whistling past doorframes like a whispered warning. Jake stood at the edge of the village, his pack heavy and his heart heavier.
Behind him, James clasped his shoulder. "You're sure about this?"
Jake nodded. "I have to know what my father was after. And I have to understand what's happening to this world."
James gave a small grunt. "You take care of her," he said, jerking his chin toward Emma, who stood just behind Jake with her own pack slung over her shoulder.
Emma rolled her eyes. "He doesn't have to protect me, Father. I'm coming because I want to."
James frowned, but said nothing more. He understood. Jake could see it in his eyes—there was a quiet knowing there, born from years of hard choices.
From the treeline, a soft rustle drew Jake's attention. Eric emerged, bow slung across his back, his cloak blending with the woods like moss on bark.
"I figured you'd come," Jake said.
Eric's gaze lingered on the horizon. "I've seen things lately. The animals are wrong. The wind carries voices. Magic doesn't flow—it spasms." He turned his eyes to Jake. "This isn't just the veil shifting. It's breaking."
Jake swallowed. "Then we're not just walking into the unknown."
"We're walking toward the source of it," Eric said quietly.
They set out before noon. The villagers watched them go—some with curiosity, others with worry. Children whispered. Old men made signs of warding. No one stopped them.
The path turned rocky by midday, winding through hills blanketed in early spring snowmelt. Streams cut deep grooves into the earth, their icy trickle loud in the silence that followed the group. They hadn't spoken much—not yet. Each of them had their reasons.
It was Emma who finally broke it.
"So," she said, adjusting the strap of her pack, "we're following a torn scrap of a map and some vague journal entries, hoping to find something called the 'Doorway'?"
Jake glanced at her, then back at the narrow trail. "It's all we've got. My dad circled a place far north, and that same location showed up again in some of the rumors from the village. People talked about strange lights. Vanishing hunters. Sounds that don't belong in the mountains."
Emma huffed. "So we're chasing ghost stories."
Eric, walking ahead of them, didn't turn around. "Ghost stories always start as truth. Over time, the truth just gets lost under fear and forgetting."
Jake nodded. "And if it's the same place my dad kept coming back to… maybe it's the only real clue I have."
"But do you even think it's still there?" Emma asked. "That it even exists anymore?"
"That's what we're going to find out," Jake said. "I don't think he made all this up. And whatever this 'Doorway' is… it's connected to me. The frostmaws, the thinning—breaking—veil, all of it."
Eric finally stopped walking. He pointed ahead where the hills sloped downward, revealing a winding road far below. At its end sat a large town nestled between two rivers, smoke curling from chimneys, walls rising in defense, banners fluttering above gate towers.
"That's Kaleva," he said. "Last real town before the wilds."
Jake blinked. "That's… way bigger than I expected."
"It should be," Eric said. "This is no longer a forgotten corner of the world. You're not the only outsider who's come through, Jake. You're just the first in a long while who might matter."
They walked the rest of the way down in silence.
The town of Kaleva bustled with trade, sound, and color. Horses stamped in muddy courtyards. Merchants hawked salted meats and cured hides. Children darted between carts while guards in green-laced tabards watched them from the gates.
As they passed through the open archway, Jake felt eyes on them—not hostile, but alert. This wasn't the sleepy village he'd woken up in. This was civilization on the edge of something wild, and people knew it.
Inside, Emma's eyes danced with fascination. "Look at this place! It's like three of our villages stacked on top of each other."
Eric made a face. "I hate towns."
Jake chuckled. "Why?"
"Too many people. Too many lies."
They found an inn tucked behind the market square—modest, but clean. The kind of place that didn't ask too many questions so long as coin changed hands. After dropping their gear in a shared loft room, they sat together in the tavern, maps and notes laid across the table under flickering lanternlight.
Jake pointed at a jagged outline near the top of the page. "This is where the circle was drawn. The words are faded, but I think it says 'Kor Vareth'—or something close."
Eric leaned in. "Old tongue. Could mean 'crowned threshold.' Sounds like a poetic name for a Doorway, if there ever was one."
Emma raised a brow. "Do we even know how far that is from here?"
"Far," Eric replied. "At least a week. Maybe two. Through wilds and ruins older than the kingdom itself. And if the veil is breaking… those lands won't be what they used to be."
Jake's fingers tightened around the edges of the map. "Then we don't wait. We get supplies. We rest. And we move."
Emma looked up at him. "Are you afraid?"
"Every second," Jake admitted.
Eric nodded approvingly. "Good. Fear means you're still thinking. Just don't let it stop you."
Outside, a cold wind howled through the streets. Somewhere far beyond Kaleva, in mountains that no longer remembered peace, something ancient stirred.