Chains Of Eternity

Chapter One — The Last Midnight The city never really slept, but it felt quieter tonight — like it was holding its breath. Elyra Voss crouched on the edge of an abandoned rooftop, camera balanced in her hands, waiting for the perfect shot of the glowing skyline. One more photo set to sell, she told herself. One more job to make rent. But her chest felt tight, restless, as if something unseen was counting down the minutes with her. 11:42 PM. Eighteen in eighteen minutes, she thought. A milestone that should have felt exciting. Freedom, technically. No more “you’re just a kid” looks from clients when she showed up to photograph old churches or decrepit train yards. But tonight didn’t feel like a celebration. It felt… haunted. Her phone buzzed. A text from her best friend, Mara: You better not be working on your birthday. Come party, loser. Elyra smirked and typed back with numb fingers: Can’t. Chasing ghosts again. This wasn’t entirely a joke. For the past month, every assignment had pulled her toward older and older parts of the city. Crumbling facades. Rusted gates. Strange symbols carved into stone. Tonight’s location — the roof of a condemned hotel — had been whispered about online. People swore they heard chains dragging in the halls at midnight. Elyra adjusted her camera lens and froze. A shadow moved across the building opposite her — tall, human-shaped, but wrong somehow. Too smooth. Too fast. By the time she swung the lens to focus, nothing was there but a glint, like moonlight on metal. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. 11:53 PM. She packed up quickly, shoving her camera into her battered satchel. The elevator shaft in this place had collapsed years ago, which meant a long, creaking stairwell down. Halfway to the ground floor, the air shifted. The temperature dropped so sharply her breath puffed white. And then — the sound. Clink. Drag. Clink. Drag. It wasn’t echoing from below or above. It was everywhere. “Okay, that’s new,” she whispered. Fear prickled her skin, but so did curiosity. She should run — call Mara, get out — but instead she switched her camera to night mode and snapped a few blind shots down the stairwell. The chains went silent. Elyra’s pulse thundered as she reached the lobby. The dusty front doors groaned open to the empty street outside. Just a dream, she tried to convince herself. A draft. Metal shifting in the walls. No reason to— “Leaving already?” The voice came from behind her, deep and smooth, with an accent she couldn’t place. Elyra spun around so fast her camera strap smacked her cheek. He was standing at the far end of the lobby. A man — no, not a man, not exactly. He was too still, like he’d been waiting centuries just to speak. Tall, dark hair pulled back, dressed in black like he’d stepped out of another century. And around his wrists… were they shackles? No, more like fragments of them, glowing faintly before vanishing again. Elyra’s voice stuck in her throat. “This building’s condemned.” “So am I.” He smiled faintly — not kind, not threatening, just tired. “Go home, little photographer.” “How do you know I’m a photographer?” His eyes — pale gray, almost silver — flicked to the camera at her side. “You see what others don’t. That’s why you’re here.” Midnight hit. A shockwave cracked through the air, rattling the glass doors. Elyra stumbled, clutching her satchel as the temperature plummeted even further. The man flinched, like invisible chains had yanked hard against him. “What—what’s happening?” Elyra demanded. “Happy birthday,” he said through clenched teeth, and then he vanished. The chains didn’t. For a split second, they shimmered around her own wrists — cold, ancient, wrong — before fading into nothing. The chains had vanished, but Elyra’s hands still felt cold, heavy, as if the weight of metal lingered under her skin. Her breath came in shallow gasps, fogging the icy air around her. The lobby was silent again, the dust motes drifting lazily in the pale moonlight streaming through shattered windows. Her camera had fallen to the floor during the shockwave, lens pointing at the ceiling like a witness to the impossible. She bent to pick it up, fingers trembling, trying to ground herself in something real. This wasn’t real. None of it could be. Yet the memory of the man’s pale gray eyes — sharp, timeless, impossibly calm — burned into her mind. His parting words echoed like a curse: “Go home, little photographer.” Elyra’s pulse thrummed violently in her ears. Go home. The words should have sounded comforting, but they didn’t. There was danger embedded in them, like the edge of a knife hiding beneath a velvet glove. She stumbled toward the doors, pushing them open with more force than necessary. The street outside was empty, unusually so. The cold of the night bit at her cheeks and hands, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts were spinning, the echo of chains and the shimmer of shackles haunting every nerve. “Okay,” she whispered to herself, gripping the satchel strap like a lifeline. “Okay… just get home. Don’t think. Don’t look back.” Her footsteps were uneven, the rhythm of her heart louder than anything else. Every shadow along the crumbling buildings seemed to twist unnaturally, stretching toward her as if alive. A streetlamp flickered above, casting her own silhouette long and jagged across the pavement. And then — she felt it again. The presence. Not behind her, not in front. Everywhere. A subtle pressure, like invisible eyes pressing against her skin. Elyra’s stomach lurched. She ducked into a narrow alley, trying to convince herself that it was paranoia. That the man — whoever or whatever he was — had vanished. That the chains were gone. Her camera beeped. A notification. She fumbled for her phone, hands shaking. A new message. Unknown number. “You saw me. Now they know you see.” Her fingers froze over the screen. “Who… what?” she whispered into the empty alley. No answer came, only the distant hum of the city. Her chest tightened. Whoever “they” were, they were here now, and Elyra realized, with a sick twist in her gut, that she couldn’t hide. Not from them. Not from him. The night had ended. But Elyra Voss was only just beginning. Elyra’s fingers hovered over the glowing screen, but before she could type a response, her phone went black. Dead. Her stomach dropped. It had been at sixty percent. The alley was suddenly too quiet. Even the usual hum of the city — the distant cars, the midnight laughter of drunks, the faint thrum of passing trains — had gone silent, like the world was holding its breath again. Elyra backed away slowly, gripping her camera like a weapon. Ridiculous, she thought. What am I going to do, flash them to death? But it gave her something solid to hold on to. Clink. Drag. Clink. Drag. The sound again — the chains — but closer now, impossibly close. The walls of the alley pressed inward, cold brick on either side, and the darkness ahead seemed to pulse. Elyra’s heartbeat roared in her ears as she raised her camera and snapped a shot blindly into the black. The flash lit up the alley for a fraction of a second. There was something there. Tall. Wrong. Shackled hands reaching toward her. The figure’s head tilted in that same unnervingly smooth motion as before — and then the darkness swallowed it whole again. “Nope,” Elyra gasped, bolting for the street. Her boots slapped against the pavement, breath ragged, satchel bouncing against her side. The alley gave way to open road, but the silence followed her, heavy and unnatural. She didn’t stop running until she saw the glow of an all-night diner on the corner. Warm light, human voices, the clatter of dishes — normal. Safe. Elyra stumbled inside, drawing a few curious looks as she slid into the nearest booth, clutching her camera like a lifeline. Her reflection in the window caught her eye. For a split second, she could swear faint bands of metal shimmered around her wrists — the same ancient, glowing chains from the hotel. She blinked hard, and they were gone. A waitress appeared, concern softening her voice. “Honey, you okay? You look like you saw a ghost.” Elyra forced a laugh, shaky and thin. “Something like that.” Her phone screen lit up suddenly, startling her so hard she nearly dropped it. One new message. Same unknown number. “Midnight was just the first chain. You have seven.” The words burned on the screen. Seven chains. What did that even mean? Elyra’s breath came faster, her pulse pounding as she sat frozen in the glow of the diner’s fluorescent lights. And then she noticed something chilling. Across the street, standing perfectly still in the shadows — silver eyes watching through the glass. The man from the hotel. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He simply raised one shackled hand, and this time she was sure of it — the fragments of glowing metal were real.