Talyria

The kitchen smelled faintly of toast and cocoa, though neither of them had touched breakfast. Morning light slanted through the windows, catching the dust in soft golden motes. Zyraen sat on the counter with her legs swinging, her braid slipping forward across her shoulder. Her brother tugged her scarf tighter, knotting it neatly under her chin. “There. Now you won’t freeze walking to school.” Zyraen made a face. “You’re going away for a whole month, and your big farewell gift is strangling me with wool?” He smirked, though his hands lingered at the knot as if reluctant to let go. “Better scarf tyrant than careless brother. Besides—” he tipped her chin up gently so she’d look at him—“you think I won’t worry about you every day I’m gone? Wrong.” Her lips twitched, torn between a pout and a smile. “You don’t need to worry. I’m not a little kid anymore.” “You’ll always be my little sister,” he said simply, his voice so steady it made her chest ache. The sound of wheels on wood broke the moment—the suitcase rumbling down the hall. He had packed everything into one large black case, its handle squeaking as he pulled it toward the door. Outside, through the window, Zyraen could see the dark car idling at the curb, the driver leaning casually against the hood. She trailed after him into the wide entryway. Their house always felt too big, but now—now it already seemed cavernous, like the walls had pulled farther apart. Her brother glanced back at her with a grin that didn’t quite hide his own nerves. “It’s only a month, Rae. You’ll barely have time to miss me before I’m back.” “You’d better call every day,” she said quickly, hugging herself to keep her voice from shaking. “Every day,” he promised, tapping his phone in his pocket. “Morning, night, whenever I can. You’ll get sick of me.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead lightly to hers. “Take care of yourself, okay?” And then he was gone—out the door, suitcase rolling behind him, swallowed by the waiting car. The silence rushed in at once. Zyraen stood in the doorway, clutching her scarf until her knuckles whitened. Tears slid hot down her cheeks, but she forced a smile through them, because she knew—knew with all her heart—he would keep his promise. The door clicked shut, and she was alone in the big house. The door clicked shut, and Zyraen stayed frozen in the entryway, the scarf still wrapped snug against her throat. For a long moment, the silence pressed heavy around her—no footsteps, no suitcase wheels, no familiar voice calling back one last reminder. The house felt wrong without him. Too wide. Too still. She let the tears roll down freely, wiping them roughly with her sleeve before they could fall onto her smile. He would call. Every day. He had promised, and her brother never broke promises. She drew in a shaky breath, grabbed her bag from the stairwell, and slipped out the front door. The autumn air cooled her face as she walked down the street, the city humming to life around her—cars rushing past, neighbors chatting, a dog barking behind a fence. The normality of it all pressed against her chest like a weight. Everyone else was going about their lives, while hers suddenly had a hollow space where her brother should have been. But she wasn’t completely alone. Not yet. Her friends were waiting. She quickened her pace, sneakers thudding against the pavement, until the neighborhood gave way to the older part of town. Trees arched overhead, their branches still thick with leaves that rattled in the wind. At the edge of the old stone wall, she spotted them. Three figures clustered near the gate to the abandoned garden, their voices hushed and urgent. Zyraen slowed, frowning. Usually, when they spotted her, they shouted her name loud enough to scare birds from the trees. But today… they hadn’t noticed her yet. She hugged her scarf a little tighter and stepped closer. The iron gate groaned when Zyraen pushed it open. The old garden stretched inside like a secret pocket of the city—wild vines climbing over crumbling stone, weeds splitting the path, and bursts of stubborn flowers pushing through where no one cared to tend them. Her three friends—Lina, Kairen, and Jessa—looked up when they heard the gate. For a moment, their faces lit the way they always did when she arrived, but it dimmed quickly, replaced by something quieter. “Zyraen,” Lina said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We were just talking about you.” “That sounds suspicious,” Zyraen joked, forcing a grin. But their expressions didn’t shift. Her stomach sank. “What’s wrong?” Jessa bit her lip before blurting it out. “We’re leaving.” “Leaving?” Zyraen repeated. “Like… for the weekend?” Kairen shook his head. “For good. Our parents got us into another school. Far from here.” The words hung between them, heavy as stones. Zyraen stared, searching their faces for a c***k, a laugh, anything that meant they were teasing. But their eyes were steady, apologetic. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Her voice came out small. “We didn’t know how,” Lina admitted, her voice catching. She stepped forward and squeezed Zyraen’s hands. “We didn’t want our last weeks with you to feel like… countdowns.” The goodbye was tangled with hugs and half-finished promises. “We’ll text when we can.” “We’ll visit.” “Don’t forget us.” Zyraen clung to them, swallowing the lump in her throat until her scarf felt too tight. When they finally pulled away, the three of them drifted toward the far side of the garden, talking quietly among themselves. Zyraen stood watching them, then remembered her notebook lying forgotten on the bench where they had been sitting. She turned back to grab it. And froze. Her friends were no longer at the edge of the weeds where she’d left them. They were walking toward the far wall—toward something that shouldn’t exist. A door. An arched door of dark wood stood half-hidden in ivy, where she knew there had only ever been blank stone. She had played in this garden since she was a child. She knew every c***k in the wall, every twist of vine. There had never been a door. Yet there it was. And her friends were already reaching for it. Zyraen’s pulse hammered in her ears. She blinked once, twice, but the door didn’t vanish. Its dark wooden frame glistened faintly under the tangle of ivy, as though it had been waiting there all along, disguised, unseen until now. Her friends stood close together, whispering. Jessa glanced over her shoulder, scanning the garden with a wary, almost guilty look. Zyraen ducked quickly behind the bench, clutching her forgotten notebook to her chest. What are they doing? She peered between the leaves just in time to see Kairen press his palm flat against the wood. The surface shimmered like disturbed water, a soft ripple spreading outward. The air seemed to hum. Zyraen’s breath caught. Magic. But magic didn’t exist. Lina murmured something under her breath—words Zyraen couldn’t catch, heavy with rhythm. The door blazed faintly, then softened to a glow, its edges bleeding into the ivy as if it were half part of the world, half not. A door that had never been there. A door that shouldn’t be there. The three of them stepped closer, and Zyraen’s heart seized. They were going to walk through. She shot up from her crouch before her mind could stop her. “Wait!” The word burst out louder than she intended, echoing off the stone walls. Her friends froze, whipping their heads toward her. Zyraen stood there in the path, clutching her notebook so tightly the corners bit into her palms. “What… what is that?” Her voice shook, half from fear, half from betrayal. None of them answered right away. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the wind stirring the ivy. Then Lina’s eyes softened with something almost like sorrow. “You weren’t supposed to see this.” And with that, the glowing door yawned open. A spill of pale, otherworldly light poured out, spilling across the garden path. Zyraen’s chest tightened. She should run. She should turn around, go home, lock the door, call her brother, pretend none of this existed. But her feet carried her forward instead, step by trembling step, drawn to the impossible glow.