A Breakthrough

"Zoey?"

The girl looked up to see her aunt enter the mudroom. With a half-hearted g'morning, Zoey returned to tying the laces on her boots. Mae sat down on the bench beside her and began to stroke the braided black locks.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Enough."

Silence.

Then the two began to speak simultaneously.

"Aunt Mae, there's something I need to—"

"Zoey, we should have a talk—"

They stopped and stared at each for a moment, soon releasing a few giggles.

"You go first, Zoey."

The girl nodded and rubbed her thighs nervously. "It's been three whole weeks since Dad disappeared... He was in my dream last night."

"Was he?"

"Yeah. He led me through a maze. I couldn't see anything, but his voice was so distinct, it was as though he stood there beside me."

"This must have been a very vivid dream."

"Almost to the point where I wasn't even sure if it was a dream!"

"What else happened?"

"At the end of the maze, I met a boy. He looked about my age. His name was Prince Edward."

Mae glanced at her niece as Zoey continued softly. "He looked nothing like Dad, so the same name must have been a coincidence. But who in the world could it possibly be?"

Her aunt offered no reply. After a few moments, Zoey touched the woman's shoulder and asked, "What did you want to talk to me about, Aunt Mae?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Are you going with us today?"

"With you...?"

"Yes, we're going to the pound, remember?"

"Oh... No, I don't think I will. I feel like I'm finally about to make a break in the attic, but it's really quiet without Max. My phone is out in the car, so I'm running out to grab it real quick."

"Ah, that would explain why you're putting on your boots. Is it still raining hard?"

"Extremely. It wouldn't surprise me if we get a flash flood warning soon."

Suddenly, the garage door burst open, and Jack, panting as though he'd just sprinted a marathon, stumbled through. His tennis shoes were covered in mud, and he dripped with water from head to toe. His short hair sparkled with rain, his nose almost as red as his wispy curls. "Zoey!" he cried. He fished into his pocket and produced his sister's smartphone.

"Jack!" Zoey cried. She took the phone, checked that it was still dry, then gazed gratefully at her brother. "How did you know?"

"I went to check the mailbox, and on my way back, I noticed the car windows were cracked. So I had to roll them back up, and while I was in there, I saw your phone sitting in the passenger's seat. I figured it slipped out of your pocket, like always."

"Thank you so much, Jack."

"But now you need to quickly get out of those shoes and socks before you catch cold," stated Mae.

Jack sneezed violently. "Too late..." he confessed. He swayed and groaned suddenly, grabbing his forehead. Zoey steadied his shoulder, but he had already righted himself.

"Another headache?" she asked.

"Worse than usual," Jack moaned, shading his eyes.

"We'll have to postpone the pound," his aunt sighed.

With that, Mae and Zoey quickly peeled off all of Jack's clothes, which were soaked all the way to his underwear. As Zoey grabbed him some warm pajamas, Mae helped him into a hot shower. Jack downed a large cup of water and swallowed a few pain killers, then Mae and Zoey laid him to rest upon the aunt's queen bed. He peeked open an eye and whispered as loudly as his throbbing brain would allow, "Thanks, Zo!"

His sister lightly kissed him on the forehead and replied, "Of course." She closed the blinds to make it as dark as possible, but the wind and thunder prevented silence. There was nothing she could do about that though, so instead, Zoey returned to the attic to proceed with her search through her father's and uncle's journals. She turned on the music app on her phone and listened intently for a moment to the Lo-Fi beats she usually listened to when studying. Combined with the howling wind, crashing thunder, and pattering rain, the attic became quite comfortable. Part of Zoey noted how depressing this room really was, convincing her to go spend time with her family. But she pushed aside those thoughts and focused upon the papers in her hand instead.

After several hours, the rain finally died down, making it much quieter in the attic. Zoey skimmed through page after page as she pieced together the journal Dad and Uncle Denver kept. It was a gruesome task, as each brother often overlapped in what they spoke of. Their handwriting was also scarily similar, making it difficult to identify the subtle differences between the two. But Zoey continued on contentedly, half wishing Max and his plethora of classical music were there to keep company, but content with the course crackle of music from her phone.

Knock, knock.

Zoey jumped, scanning the attic from her cramped space on the floor. "Mati?"

No reply followed, so Zoey slowly returned to the entry she had been processing.

Knock! Knock!

This time Zoey stood, pausing her music. "Mati, is that you? It's not funny, come on out."

Again, no answer. She turned to examine every corner as best she could, but still could not find anything.

Bam! bam!

Zoey crawled out from where she sat. That's when she saw it. Her heart skipped a beat or two.

The fourth corner that Max had kept empty because of that strange phenomena of moving items was no longer empty. Zoey could hardly believe what her eyes told her to be true. In the midst of the floor sat a sword. Its scabbard was a deep ocean blue, with sapphires and diamonds embedded into the stiff, scaled rawhide. The hilt, coloured a soft blue, was wrapped in dark leather strips, a dazzling blue diamond forming the end. Its cross guard held a simple and clean black obsidian appearance.

Hoping that her mind was just playing tricks on her, Zoey squeezed her eyes shut for a solid three seconds. But when she opened them, the Sword still rested as before. In fact, it was no longer alone. Beside the majestic weapon sat a neatly rolled and sealed scroll. Even from across the room, Zoey could clearly see her name written upon it in elegant and bold handwriting.

Wait a second... that was not the English alphabet used to write her name. Stepping over the clutter of papers to the center aisle, Zoey cautiously approached the Sword and scroll. The lettering was most certainly not the alphabet, and yet she could read it just as well. She then noticed similar symbols embellished upon the Sword's scabbard.

"Nahora..." Zoey read, still unsettled by her evident understanding of the strange letters. "I've heard that name before..." She tried to recall where she had come across the name. It had to have been in her family's journals, because it sounded far too strange to be someone she knew or heard of elsewhere. Wherever it had come from, it's origin eluded her, and Zoey was left grasping at straws.

Hold on a minute! Zoey suddenly thought. She leapt backwards and asked aloud, "Why am I not more freaked out about this!?" Her heart began racing, and she quickly darted for the ladder. But before she could leap down, Jack popped up. His nose was stuffed with tissues, but he seemed unusually chipper.

"Zoey!" he cried with glee. "Can I please come help you? My migraine went away a lot faster than I thought, so maybe we can still go to the pound—"

His sister grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him into a hug.

"Zo? What's wrong? You're trembling."

She said nothing, but silently led him to the corner where the Sword and scroll still sat. Only... they were no longer alone. Now, a third object—a slender hunting knife—sat beside it.

"Jack," Zoey whispered, hardly capable of forming the words. "Go downstairs. Right now."

Her brother looked up inquisitively but reluctantly obeyed. She waited till the ladder stopped creaking, betraying that he was no longer on it, and bolted for the steps herself. But before she could even turn around, a bright light blinded her, and gravity gave way. Zoey screamed, vaguely hearing her name, and fell into darkness.