Chapter 2
Not believing in something doesn't mean it isn't real.
It seemed as though the ivy carved into the arch had begun to move.
Mira blinked a couple of times, then opened her eyes wide and stared at the stone again. The ivy was perfectly still.
Of course it is, she thought. It’s stone. Why would it move?
Then she noticed it again — movement, this time on a different part of the arch.
Either I’ve overheated in the sun, she commented dryly to herself, or my stomach acid has reached my brain, because I haven’t eaten since yesterday.
Still, she took a step to the right, closer to the other side of the arch.
Now she stood directly in front of it, in the center, studying it carefully. Her eyes traced every curve, every carved leaf and petal, every centimeter of stone.
It’s just light and shadow, she convinced herself. There’s no reason to look for mysticism where there is none.
To be sure, she reached out and ran her hand over the pattern.
She wasn’t entirely sure why she did it — maybe to prove to herself that the stone was real and unmoving, that it had only seemed strange. Or maybe she wanted to feel, with her fingertips, the texture and the craftsmanship of the people who had carved it centuries ago.
But the moment her fingers touched the ivy, she felt a sharp tingling sensation.
She pulled her hand back instinctively, checking that she hadn’t pricked herself on anything — and in that moment, something changed.
Despite the clear sky and the warm spring sun overhead, a cold breath rolled out from the arch. The air inside it began to shift, growing thicker somehow, clouded.
Once, Mira had painted with pearlescent silver paints. When she rinsed her brush in water, the clear liquid would turn cloudy, shimmering faintly. That was exactly what the air inside the arch looked like now.
Of course, Mira had grown up on films and cartoons about magic and wizards. But those had always felt like beautiful fairy tales — an escape from reality, nothing more.
Still, thanks to those stories, she knew exactly what one was supposed to do when something strange happened right in front of you, in an unfamiliar place, with no one else around.
Driven by instinct, by the weight of the moment — when common sense seemed to have quietly stepped aside — Mira reached out again, extending her right hand toward the arch. She wanted to know what that pearlescent air felt like.
It was completely illogical. Completely foolish.
But when she touched it, the air inside the arch suddenly cleared, revealing a landscape entirely different from the one she had seen only minutes before.
Mira stared.
What she saw was deeply unsettling.
She stepped sideways and confirmed that the ruined corridor — the one without walls or a ceiling — was still there. She looked up. The sky above remained blue and cloudless, the sun shining brightly.
Then she returned to stand in front of the arch and looked forward again.
There were no ruins. No sun.
Instead, the arch opened onto another place.
A heavy gray sky hung low over the land, as if rain was imminent. The air looked cool, damp. The arch seemed to stand on a hill — below it stretched a valley carpeted in fresh green grass, dotted with small, tentative spring flowers.
Forest wrapped around the valley on both sides, but it was nothing like the forest they had passed on the way here. This one was denser, darker — slightly frightening.
Farther still, beyond a wide clearing, she could make out tiny houses and dark patches of freshly plowed earth. And at the very edge of the horizon, barely visible, stood what looked like another castle — white, with towers.
And although Mira was an adult woman — one her parents trusted for her judgment and reason — although she had an analytical mind and five years of education from one of the best universities in the country, although she knew miracles didn’t exist and that every action had consequences…
She did the second stupidest thing she had done that day.
She stepped into the arch.
Passing through it felt like… nothing special.
Like stepping through a doorway from a warm, dry room into a cold, damp autumn day. The air seemed to vibrate faintly, as if filled with misty droplets, but everything else felt ordinary.
Mira looked around. The scene matched exactly what she had seen through the arch seconds earlier — the silky green grass beneath her feet, the heavy gray sky above, the valley cradled by forest below, the tiny castle on the horizon.
She turned around.
Behind her stood the same arch — the other side of it — and inside it she saw…
The ruins.
The same ruined castle. The same blue, cloudless sky. The same bright sun.
It felt as though icy water had been poured over her.
The two images were so different that her head swam.
Without thinking, she stepped backward into the arch — and, of course, found herself once again in the ruins.
A moment after she emerged, the air inside the arch turned clear again, showing nothing but the familiar ruined corridor, the broken walls, the open sky.
She rubbed her eyes. Nausea rose in her throat.
Hunger, she told herself firmly. And the heat.
She should take off her jacket. Sit down. Breathe.
She was imagining things.
Her body betrayed her — alternating waves of heat and cold, trembling hands, dizziness. Her breathing became shallow. Her vision darkened, and she slowly lowered herself to the ground, sitting with her head resting on her knees, arms wrapped tightly around them.
Breathe. Don’t forget to breathe.
Mira had never had a panic attack before, but she had read about them online. She wondered if this was her first.
Her heart raced. She felt overheated and freezing at the same time.
What the hell was that?
A hallucination? A dream? There had to be an explanation. Everything in this world had a logical explanation.
She lifted her head and looked at the arch again.
It stood exactly where it had before. It showed nothing unusual.
She looked around. Everything was in place — the half-destroyed walls, the warm, solid stone beneath her. Not particularly comfortable to sit on, she noted absently.
Carefully, Mira stood up, checking whether her knees were steady, whether the dizziness would return. Everything seemed fine.
Her heart still pounded. She felt cold, despite the midday sun. But she had almost regained control.
That other image — that other world — couldn’t have been real.
It had only lasted seconds. The sun must have gone to her head. That was all.
It couldn’t possibly be true.
It just seemed that way.
She didn’t tempt fate by checking the arch again or watching to see if the carved ivy would move. She picked up her backpack and hurried off in the direction she thought the group had gone.
Walking aimlessly, she tried not to think about what had happened.
She was just on an excursion. These were just castle ruins.
She would find the others. Everything would be normal again.
And everything was normal — no gray rain clouds in the sky, no dark forest surrounding her, no towers on the horizon.
She walked quickly now, no longer looking around, no longer studying the strange carvings or peering into broken rooms to imagine what they once had been.
She focused only on closing the distance between herself and the group, hoping that this “incident” — as she had decided to call it — hadn’t lasted long, that she would hear voices any moment now.
But there were no voices.