Whispers of the Second Gate

The attic dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight, each a tiny world caught in a golden beam. Nyx, a smudge of ink against the faded wallpaper, coiled closer. "The shimmer," it rasped, a sound like dry leaves skittering, "it is not just a tear. It is a doorway. And the first Gate… it has been touched." My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage