The crack
1555 Words
The northern mountains lay buried beneath a merciless winter sky.
Snow drifted from the heavens in slow, silent sheets, swallowing ancient pines beneath blankets of silver.
Moonlight washed over the frozen wilderness, turning every branch into crystal and every shadow into something that seemed to watch from the darkness.
Long after dusk, a lone girl moved carefully through the waist-deep snow, a woven basket hanging from her arm. She searched the frozen earth with practiced eyes until a patch of unusually vibrant herbs caught her attention.
Nestled atop a freshly disturbed mound of soil, the leaves glowed a rich emerald against the endless white—as though winter itself had forgotten to touch them.
She frowned.
Strange.
Nothing should have flourished in this bitter cold.
Medicinal herbs like these were far too precious to leave behind.
Without a second thought, she knelt.
One by one, she carefully plucked the herbs and placed them into her woven basket.
Then—
She froze.
Still balanced on one knee, her fingers curled tightly around the stem of another herb, every muscle in her body locking in place.
A presence.
Slowly…
She lifted her head.
Someone was watching her.
Standing less than five feet away.
Bathed in the pale glow of moonlight…
…was herself.
For one impossible heartbeat, the forest stopped breathing.
The basket slipped from her trembling fingers, spilling herbs across the snow.
The same face.
The same brown eyes.
The same curve of her lips.
It was as though she were staring into a flawless mirror that had somehow stepped out of reality.
But everything else was wrong.
Where she wore worn wool garments stitched together countless times, the other woman stood wrapped in layers of a midnight-blue gown that shimmered with impossible elegance.
Fine strands of spun gold and luminous pearls were woven through her dark hair. A collar of carved sapphires embraced her throat, scattering the moonlight like captured stars.
Every thread, every jewel, every graceful movement whispered of unimaginable wealth.
She looked like royalty.
Like a princess who had stepped out of an ancient fairy tale.
Fear rooted the peasant girl to the spot.
She couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t blink.
Couldn’t even convince herself she wasn’t dreaming.
Then—
The princess recoiled.
Her eyes widened with the very same disbelief.
Her jeweled hands flew to her mouth.
A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she staggered back a step, every trace of royal composure shattering in an instant.
She looked just as horrified.
Just as confused.
Just as impossibly shaken by the sight of a dirt-streaked village girl clutching a basket of herbs…
…wearing the exact same face as her own.
The regal figure stared in genuine, staggering shock. Her hands, adorned with delicate gold rings, remained clasped over her mouth. Her chest rose sharply with each unsteady breath, as though the air itself had been ripped from her lungs.
Neither screamed.
Neither ran.
For one suspended moment, the world seemed to stop turning.
Two strangers.
One face.
One impossible existence.
Separated by nothing more than five feet.
Bound by a mystery neither could comprehend.
Waiting to see who would break the spell first.
⸻
Before mankind named the stars…
Before kingdoms rose and crumbled into dust…
Before the first prayer reached the heavens…
Or the first sin stained the earth…
There was only Balance.
An ancient force older than time itself.
It neither created life nor destroyed it.
It simply kept the worlds apart.
Three realms were woven into existence like threads of the same tapestry, each bound by immutable laws.
For thousands of years…
No angel walked among humans.
No demon tasted the air of the mortal world.
No human ever gazed upon the kingdoms hidden beyond the veil.
Because the Balance allowed no such thing.
Or so everyone believed.
⸻
The first was the Human Realm—a fleeting world where seasons changed, civilizations rose and fell, and every life was measured by the relentless march of time.
Above the mortal realm, beyond the reach of human eyes, lay the Realm of the Fallen Angels.
It was neither Heaven nor Earth.
At the heart of this celestial kingdom stood the Crystal Castle.
Not built…
But grown.
Tower after tower rose from living crystal, each spire catching the eternal twilight and scattering it into countless rainbows that danced across the realm. The castle seemed less like architecture and more like a mountain sculpted by the hands of the cosmos itself.
Surrounding it was the Lake of Judgment.
Its waters were impossibly still, reflecting the heavens with such perfection that sky and lake became indistinguishable.
To the pure of heart, its waters remained calm, allowing safe passage to the castle.
But should a soul tainted by greed, hatred, or deceit attempt to cross…
The tranquil lake became a sea of molten fire.
Its glass-like surface erupted into rivers of living lava.
From the inferno emerged the realm’s eternal sentinels—grotesque guardians forged from celestial punishment itself. Their flesh hung in molten strands from bodies of blackened bone, blazing cracks running across their skin like rivers of magma. Their empty eye sockets burned with crimson flames as they dragged the unworthy beneath the fiery depths, where no scream ever returned.
None escaped their judgment.
Beneath the Crystal Castle…
Hidden within the Sanctum of Eternity…
Rested the greatest secret ever created.
The Blood Stone.
A flawless crystal resembling a diamond, beautiful beyond imagination.
Yet imprisoned within its perfect shell swirled a crimson heart that pulsed like living blood.
Every heartbeat echoed through the realm.
Every pulse whispered promises.
The Blood Stone could grant any desire.
Power. Love. Life. Revenge.
Even immortality itself.
But the universe demanded balance.
Every wish granted invited an equal measure of ruin.
The greater the miracle…
The greater the tragedy that followed.
It was not merely an artifact.
It was destiny given form.
And its guardian…
was bound to it by fate.
Ivar.
The last heir of the Crystal Throne.
The Blood Stone did not simply empower him—it sustained his very existence.
Every beat of its crimson heart echoed within his own.
Should it ever be stolen or destroyed, Ivar—and his twin brother, Raziel—would cease to exist, not through death, but through complete erasure.
Their bodies would fade into nothingness.
Their souls would dissolve.
Every memory of them would vanish from history as though they had never been born.
One brother guarded the Blood Stone.
The other guarded Hell itself.
Together…
They preserved the Balance.
Far beneath these two worlds lay the Realm of Demons.
There was no dawn.
No moon.
Only an endless crimson sky split by black lightning.
Mountains of obsidian rose like broken fangs from a wasteland scarred by rivers of molten rock.
Colossal fortresses clung to cliffs above oceans of fire, their towers disappearing into storms of ash that had raged since the dawn of time.
This was no kingdom.
It was a prison.
Its ruler…
Raziel.
Twin brother to Ivar.
While Ivar protected the Blood Stone above, Raziel ruled the infernal realm below, commanding the legions of Hell and ensuring that the horrors imprisoned there never escaped into the realms of angels or mankind.
Demons feared him.
Fallen angels respected him.
Even Hell itself bowed before his throne.
For if Raziel ever fell…
Hell would no longer have a king.
It would have an army.
And it would destroy the other realms.
⸻
The Human Realm remained blissfully unaware.
People spoke of haunted forests…
Cursed mountains…
Lakes where travelers vanished without leaving footprints.
Ancient legends.
Nothing more.
They never realized those places marked the thinning of the invisible veil.
Tiny fractures…
No wider than a blade’s edge.
Cracks in reality.
Most sealed within seconds.
Some lingered for minutes.
Only a handful remained open long enough…
for something to cross.
Passage between worlds was impossible without a fragment of another realm—a relic imbued with its ancient magic. Such an object acted as a key, allowing its bearer to slip through a crack before it vanished.
Few possessed such relics.
Fewer still survived the journey.
For every crossing weakened the Balance.
And the Balance…
was dying.
⸻
The frozen wilderness surrounding Riverfield Village rested in an eerie silence, broken only by the whisper of snow carried on the wind. The forest stood motionless, as if the mountains themselves were holding their breath.
A magnificent waterfall plunged from the cliffs like a shimmering curtain of liquid silver. Its thunder echoed through the valley, drowning every other sound.
Behind that endless veil of water…
lay a secret older than mankind.
The forest should have been alive.
The howl of wolves.
The rustle of foxes beneath the snow.
The distant cry of an owl.
Instead…
Silence.
An unnatural, suffocating silence.
Even the wind had abandoned the mountain.
Then…
The roar of the waterfall changed.
A deep, unnatural hum reverberated through the mountain.
The stream below shivered.
The earth trembled beneath the ancient cliffs.
Then reality itself rippled behind the curtain of water.
A razor-thin fracture of silver light spread through the hidden cavern like lightning across a night sky.
The waterfall glowed.
Mist swirled violently.
The invisible veil separating the three realms began to tear.
The gateway had opened.
And something—
or someone—
was about to cross into the Human Realm.
- Writer
