Begining

Althur wielded his authority as Master of the Portals, summoning the shards of the power that lingered in the air.

With his skill, he sliced through the layers of reality, opening a gateway to the edge of existence, where death and loneliness converge.

He was the Gatekeeper of Walaric, the one who stood before the symbol of connections, the one who could sense and manipulate the hidden links that ran through the world. He used his portals not to travel or enter but to unleash their power and influence and alter the course of events. It was the embodiment of authority.

A wave of unseen turmoil swept through the cemetery, shaking the landscape with subtle force. The rocks aged and crumbled in an instant, the grass withered and dried in a blink, and the dust turned to ash in a breath. Everything seemed to be dying.

The skeletons buried beneath the tombs, which had been silent and still, began to tremble with purpose, as if ready to rise and swarm towards the source of the disturbance. It was an area around the young man where an invisible crack had just opened.

The cemetery was alive with hidden movements, felt only by the sensitive. A man in a fine green and white chasuble sat among the withered plants, his face expressionless. A young man, admiring the beautiful murals, felt a wave of disgust and filth.

In the shadows were the eyes of madness, obscured by mist and darkness and hard to make out. They all pointed to the source of it all: the Cemetery of the Innocents.

Peter felt the familiarity again—a vibration rather than the comfort of home.

He didn't know what the man in front of him was doing, but that familiar aura was what he hated most. He felt like a demon.

"It's going to be unpleasant for a while. I need some time to prepare. Go back and find a strong tranquilizer or mind stimulant. It's an ingredient needed for the craft."

"For the first ritual, I'll stay here and keep this aura at bay. Try to come back in an hour, or I'll assume you've chosen the second option. We must finish before the darkness spreads completely. It's their time to strike."

"Why is it an hour? Is this a coincidence with you?"

"We have an hour before these skeletons come to life, emerge from the graves, and wander towards the living. It will be an interesting scandal."

"Sometime."

"I wonder if the living still remember the dead."

Althur gave a series of instructions; Peter was a bit distracted but still got some key points. He ran away quickly. This showed his determination.

Althur watched the slender figure walk away, leaning against a rock and gazing at the crevice in front of him, where a sinister and life-draining aura gushed out. He didn't tell Peter that the person who took part in the ceremony was in danger, but the one who arranged it was even more so. He began to wonder why he had made this choice.

He looked around, observing the cemetery built over a collapsed coal mine.

The signs of that disaster were still visible, as the ground was uneven and full of cracks. The graves were scattered on a steep hillside, marked by tombstones of different shapes and sizes. Graves tilt and topple, uprooted from the earth. They pile up in a chaotic heap, a jumble of bones and stones. A scene of disorder and decay.

This place was the final resting place for all sorts of people, from those who had proper burials to those whose bodies and ashes were dumped in mass pits.

He sat seriously as he recalled what Peter asked before leaving quickly. "Are children not that dangerous after all? Peter asked.

"Don't worry, the dark night is the stage of dreams."

"That depends on you too."

Brahms has the power of dreams; he gets stronger when people sleep deeply and start dreaming, and this will resonate with him.

He was deep in thought, occasionally reaching out his hand as if to catch something invisible. Those were the stray powers. Opening the gate was the unique and most powerful power of the gatekeepers. The clerics of the Haya Church and the Lut Temple could do it more easily and more powerfully. They did not worry much about unleashing something that was difficult to control.

For other forces, such as Verhang, the people in the organization had special items linked to safe coordinates. It was a privilege that the people in the organization enjoyed when they reached that level.

For rare and unusual powers like those of Althur or Peter, it was simply a gamble. Meanwhile, Walaric's power was more special because he could not only open his own gate but also the gates of other powers. The problem was that he did not know what to expect after this rupture. Today, of course, it was only a matter of not destroying anyone.

...

Peter fled, ignoring the hazy shadows in the cemetery, his mind reeling from the information the man had given him.

The man's coldness and flatness made him wary. But he still picked the first option because he wanted to take action. He saw himself as a curse, but he wanted its target to be those he detested, not his precious sister. He wanted the end—to burn that damned house, to put an end to this wretched fate.

He felt his heart constrict when he heard that there was a terrible possibility—a possibility that accidents were not accidents. From the small amount of information Althur offered, he felt that he had understood some of it. He knew the origin of the curse; at least there was a way into the future. He felt a bit less like himself.

He felt rage for the leaders, the operators, and the owners of the mine, as well as for the lunatics he had never encountered in his life. Leaving the cemetery, he tried to sprint fast to fulfill the man's demands.

...

Brahms and Polly waited awkwardly, and as the room grew darker with a lack of light, the fire from the fireplace gradually became brighter, making the flickering scene less awkward.

"You heard about the story..." Brahms began.

"Well..." He recalled Althur's demands: "In that case, I'll tell you. The girl nodded.

"Things are like this. Brahms began to tell a horror story, which he read by accident on the train; the atmosphere made him want to tell it. But he doesn't know why.

...

Althur was still staring at the crack beside him, watching the shaky soul that Death was trying to mend with his mighty power. He barely noticed a hazy figure approaching through the dry grass of the graveyard. It looked like a person, but it was shrouded in a strange mist that made it appear lighter than a feather. It crept toward Althur, making strange noises that grew louder and louder.

"Oi, what are you doing to our skeletons? They're clattering and popping out of the ground like chestnuts." The trembling specter stood outside and warned the man sitting on the gray rock.

"Shh, be quiet; we don't want any trouble. Damn, why is this place so noisy?"

"Hey, hey, you insolent boy, don't pretend you can't hear me. I'm not afraid of you. Oddballs, from the lunatics having fun in the graveyard to the freaky boy who thinks he is a wizard," the ghost screamed louder as he approached the crevice.

The young man looked up and said, "If you want to rest in peace, I suggest you back off."

"Fine, you finally spoke". The ghost trembled as it approached Althur.

"I'm not afraid; I'm not afraid of you, madman."

Suddenly, a slight change in the rift, as if a bony arm had reached out from beyond the grave, caused the screaming ghost to be inadvertently sucked in.

"No, no, save me, damn it."