The transition did not feel like movement.
It felt like being erased… and rewritten somewhere else.
Emily staggered as solid ground slammed back into existence beneath her feet. Cold air filled her lungs — sharp, dry, carrying the faint scent of stone and something older, metallic, like ancient dust sealed away for centuries.
She ripped her hand from Theodore’s on instinct, stumbling back.
The forest was gone.
In its place rose a vast chamber of black stone, ceilings vanishing into shadow far above. Pale blue fire burned in iron braziers along the walls, casting long, wavering light that never quite warmed anything it touched.
No windows.
No sky.
Just weight.
Emily’s voice came out thin. “Where… are we?”
“The Gothic Castle,” Theodore said.
His tone carried no grandeur, no pride.
