Chapter 1

  The narrow mountain road wound like a snake through the valley, cutting between forested slopes and scattered stone farmhouses. The sun hung low, painting the cliffs in gold and shadow, and Raffaele—Raime, to anyone who knew him beyond paperwork—let one hand rest lazily at the top of the steering wheel as the other flicked on his blinker.

  His car, an old red Alfa with more kilometers than he liked to admit, hummed faithfully beneath him as he took the final turn into town.

  The moment the first rooftops came into view, he felt his chest loosen. Just a little.

  Brenta was a quiet place. A typical Italian countryside town. No clubs, no trams, no crowds pressing against each other like overgrown bacteria colonies. Just winding roads, olive groves, and the sound of running water always somewhere nearby. After months of lectures, city noise, and the constant hum of other people’s pain in the hospital wards, it felt like stepping into a dream he used to have as a kid.

  He passed the old stone chapel, the small piazza with its single café, and finally the gravel road leading up to the house. White walls, brown shutters, red-tiled roof—a typical Veneto home, but it had character. His childhood was built inside those walls.

  As he pulled into the driveway, the front door opened.

  “RAIME!” Victor’s voice tore through the calm like a firecracker.

  Raime barely had time to unbuckle his seatbelt before the twins came sprinting down the path like golden-haired wolves. Both were tall for being ten, wiry and fast, with matching blond mops and sharp blue eyes that gleamed with mischief.

  Albert reached him first, yanking open the driver’s door. “Finally!”

  “Did you bring the cake?” Victor added, already trying to peek into the back seat.

  Raime laughed and hauled his bag out before either of them could steal it. “Yes—and no. You can’t have it yet. It’s for after dinner.”

  Laura appeared behind them on the porch, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her hair was tied in a quick bun, blonde streaked with threads of silver, and her hazel eyes lit up the moment she saw him.

  “Hi, Ma.” He hugged her one-armed, careful not to get flour on his jacket—though he didn’t mind if he did.

  “Welcome back, honey,” she said warmly.

  “You hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Good,” she said, giving him a mock stern look. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Inside, the house smelled like roast beef and rosemary, garlic frying in a pan, and fresh bread cooling on the rack. Raime dropped his bag by the coat rack and kicked off his boots. The warmth hit him full-on—the temperature, yes, but also the feeling. The deep, lived-in comfort of home.

  In the dining room, Alessandro sat with a glass of red wine, flipping through the evening news on the small TV they kept near the window. Full beard, salt-and-pepper hair, shoulders thick from years of work as a carpenter—and eyes a pale, penetrating blue, the kind that could freeze a lie in place. He looked up as Raime entered and smiled.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  “I drove under the speed limit. Unlike somebody,” Raime replied, sitting down across from him.

  “Mmm. Good. Let’s eat. Your mother didn’t let me touch a morsel,” Alessandro said, shooting a pointed look across the table.

  “You’re not going to die of hunger, Dad,” Raime replied, eyeing his father’s stomach.

  “The pot calling the kettle black,” Alessandro shot back with a grin.

  Dinner passed with chatter and laughter, the kind that only happens when every voice at the table belongs.

  The twins argued over who won their latest video game match—something involving lasers, swords, and exploding spaceships.

  “I beat you fair and square!” Albert insisted, mouth full of roast potatoes.

  “In your dreams,” Victor shot back. “You glitched through the wall. It doesn’t count if you cheat.”

  “It’s not a cheat, it’s a speedrun strat,” Albert said smugly.

  “Enough, both of you,” Laura said, flicking Victor lightly on the forehead as she passed behind him with a fresh basket of bread. “We’re eating, not storming Normandy.”

  Raime smirked. “They’ll just start again during dessert.”

  “I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I like pretending I have control for at least twenty minutes.”

  She placed the bread down and turned to Raime, finally taking a seat beside him.

  “So… how are you really? You look thinner.”

  “Thinner than a barrel maybe,” said the twins in perfect unison, then exploded into laughter.

  “I’ve been eating,” he replied, dipping a slice into the sauce. “Mostly cafeteria and vending machine food.”

  Laura sighed. “That’s not eating. That’s surviving.”

  “I’m in med school, Ma. Surviving is the curriculum.”

  Alessandro chuckled from the other end of the table, glass of wine in hand. “Let him do his own thing, love. He’ll start eating good food when he finds a good woman.”

  “Was that an indirect compliment I just heard?” she beamed at her husband, then looked back to Raime. “Are you sleeping, at least?”

  “Enough,” he said. “Some nights better than others.”

  “You never tell me much on the phone,” she added gently. “You always say ‘fine,’ ‘good,’ ‘busy.’ But you always sound a little tired.”

  Raime hesitated a moment, then offered a small, honest smile. “It’s a lot. The studying, the rotations, the pressure. But it’s not bad. It’s what I want. I just… don’t always know how much of me there is left at the end of the day.”

  Laura’s eyes softened, and she reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “That’s why you come home. To remember the part that’s still you.”

  The room was quiet for a moment.

  “Alright, enough of this,” Alessandro said, clearing his throat and gesturing toward the chocolate cake Laura had just placed on the table. “We’re all going to cry into dessert.”

  Victor and Albert immediately broke the tension with their usual chaos, arguing over slice sizes and trying to sneak extra whipped cream.

  Raime’s phone buzzed.

  He glanced at it under the table.

  Alice: Did you arrive, love? I can’t wait to see you again.

  He stared at the screen for a second, then locked it without replying.

  “Still with Alice?” Laura asked casually, not looking at him.

  Raime didn’t answer immediately. “Sort of.”

  Laura nodded. “You’ll figure it out. Just don’t keep her halfway.”

  “I know.”

  “And don’t stay halfway either.”

  He gave her a half-smile. “You’re getting good at this dramatic advice thing.”

  “I was always good at it,” she replied, sipping her espresso. “You just weren’t listening when you were a teenager.”

  By the time dessert hit the table—yes, the promised chocolate cake—Raime had loosened his belt and leaned back in his chair, feeling fuller than just food could explain.

  Alessandro poured himself a second glass of wine, then gave Raime a nod.

  “Listen,” he said. “Tomorrow morning I’m heading up to Nonno’s old shed. That trail’s half-collapsed and the roof’s falling in. I could use a hand.”

  Raime met his gaze and nodded. “It’s a miracle it’s still standing. I don’t really understand why, instead of storing tools we don’t use, we don’t just bring it all down and build us a nice chalet. With a jacuzzi, possibly.”

  Alessandro watched him with a spark in his eyes. “Money—for once. And tradition. Every respectable man has a shed. But as soon as you become a doctor, you can afford to build it for your loving parents, no?”

  “As soon as I start working, absolutely.”

  “So after all this school, when do you actually start working?”

  “If all goes well, I graduate this summer. Then there's the state exam, then I apply for specialization. Maybe neurology. Or trauma.”

  “Trauma?” Laura blinked. “That’s… intense.”

  “Yeah, I like it,” Raime said. “You don’t have time to overthink. You just do what has to be done.”

  Alessandro gave him a thoughtful nod. “That’s how a man should work.”

  Raime smiled. “And how’s your work been?”

  His father exhaled through his nose. “Tiring. My back’s worse than it used to be, but I still carry half the workshop because Marco calls in sick every second week. No one wants to do hard work anymore—only desk jobs and influencers, like Alice.”

  “At least she’s successful in that… You ever think about retiring?” Raime asked, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

  “Sure. Every morning,” Alessandro said with a grin. “But then I remember I have two ten year-olds, and a wife who bakes like it’s wartime ration season.”

  “I heard that,” Laura called from the kitchen.

  “And I still like it,” Alessandro added more quietly. “The work, I mean. Making something with your hands. Wood, stone, whatever it is. It stays. It matters.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  There was a quiet pause. Raime nodded slowly.

  “That’s why you won’t let go of Nonno’s shed, huh?”

  His father smiled again—smaller this time. “Exactly. Some things should be left standing.”

  The clock in the hallway struck ten, its soft chime echoing through the walls like the house was reminding everyone to settle down.

  Laura gave a quiet clap of her hands and stood, smoothing her apron.

  “Alright, kitchen’s closed. Off to bed, you two.”

  “But I’m not tired,” Victor groaned, even as he yawned halfway through the sentence.

  “You’ll be tired tomorrow when you’re sliding down the hill on your face,” Alessandro muttered, gathering the empty cups.

  “We’re coming with you?” Albert perked up.

  “Of course you are,” Raime said, already stacking plates. “You think we’re going to let you sit inside and play video games while we carry planks and curse at spiders?”

  Victor grinned. “Do we get to use hammers?”

  Laura shot them a sharp look. “Only if your fingers are insured.”

  The twins laughed and began their usual, chaotic process of cleaning up—dropping forks, elbowing each other, and arguing over who would take what into the kitchen. Somehow, the dishes ended up washed and the table cleared.

  Raime stood at the back door for a moment, looking out at the dark silhouette of the mountains. A wind had picked up, gentle but cold, rustling the tall grass and shaking the tree branches like someone whispering too close.

  “Still looks the same,” he murmured.

  Alessandro joined him with a small, tired nod. “It does. That’s the best and worst part of this place.”

  “I missed it. The quiet, the familiarity. Living in Milan is the opposite of this… and not for the better in my opinion.”

  “It’s city life—something you’ll have to take into consideration if you want to work in the best hospitals in the future.”

  “Maybe I’ll become a family doctor instead, so I’ll be able to live in a quiet town and not die of lung cancer.”

  “Mmm. Just follow your heart—you know we’ll support you all the way.”

  “I know. Thank you, Dad.”

  “It’s my duty. But enough with the heavy talk. It’s been an emotional evening—and it’s your fault,” he said with a chuckle. “You should come home more often. Especially for your mother. She misses you dearly.”

  “I’m nearly done. I can see the finish line already—and after that, things will be less hectic. I hope, at least.”

  “Good. Then I’m going to bed. Your room’s ready. Get a good night of sleep—you’ll need it tomorrow. Between your brothers and the shed, I don’t know who will tire you most.”

  “You probably.”

  “Hahahaha! You’ll see tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight, Dad.”

  “Night.”

  Later, upstairs, Raime lay in his old bed—same sheets, same creaky frame, same soft knock of tree branches against the window. He hadn’t replied to Alice’s message. He could still feel it buzzing in the back of his mind like a mosquito in a dark room.

  He didn’t think he’d sleep, but when he closed his eyes, the mountain silence wrapped around him, and he drifted off before he knew it.

  The Next Morning

  The smell of coffee and toasted bread pulled him out of sleep.

  Raime rolled over with a groan as sunlight slipped through the curtains. His phone said 06:41. Outside, the morning haze still clung to the valley, and somewhere a rooster was crowing like it was doing overtime.

  Downstairs, Alessandro was already dressed in work pants and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, pouring hot coffee into a thermos. Laura was slicing cheese and wrapping sandwiches in wax paper.

  “Hope you like cold lunch,” she said as Raime walked in, rubbing his eyes. “You’re going to be up there a while.”

  “Cold, carbs, and caffeine? Perfection,” Raime said, stretching.

  The twins stumbled in next, still half-asleep, dragging their jackets behind them. Victor had one shoe on the wrong foot. Albert looked like he’d combed his hair with a fork.

  “Morning, champions,” Alessandro said, grabbing the toolbox. “Car’s loaded. Everyone ready?”

  The boys mumbled vague affirmatives, biting into pieces of bread and Nutella as they shuffled toward the door.

  Raime pulled on his boots, adjusted the collar of his jacket, and stepped out into the morning air.

  The mountains stood tall around them, cool and still. The sun had begun to climb, bathing the valley in a soft gold. The gravel crunched underfoot as they walked toward the car, tools and snacks packed, laughter already starting to bubble up again between the boys. They climbed into the old pickup truck and began the not-so-long trip up to the shed.

  The air smelled of damp earth and pine, and the dirt road leading up the hill crackled under the tires. Raime sat in the passenger seat, coffee thermos wedged between his legs, while the twins bounced in the back like impatient jackals.

  “Are we there yet?” Victor asked for the fourth time.

  “You asked that two minutes ago,” Raime said, not turning around.

  “Yeah, but it’s been two whole minutes,” Albert added. “We could’ve traveled like... four kilometers by now.”

  “You think we’re in a spaceship?” Alessandro muttered.

  “We should be,” Victor said. “We’d get there faster. Plus: jet boosters.”

  “No jet boosters,” Raime replied. “But we do have Dad’s driving. That’s an adrenaline rush in itself.”

  “You want to walk?” Alessandro asked, one brow arched.

  The boys went silent.

  “No, sir,” they said in unison.

  Raime smirked. “Classic dad threat. Still undefeated.”

  “They don’t realize I’d actually do it,” Alessandro murmured.

  The truck climbed higher into the hills, weaving between tall trees and the occasional crumbling stone wall—remnants of old terraces and forgotten farms. The road narrowed into a trail, barely wide enough for the truck, branches scraping the sides like curious fingers.

  “We’ll need to reinforce the whole left side of the shed,” Alessandro said, steering with one hand and gesturing with the other. “One corner’s rotten through. Then fix the roof. I’ll tarp it until I get the new tiles.”

  “You sure the whole thing won’t collapse on us?” Raime asked.

  “If it does, just hold it up with that fancy degree of yours.”

  Raime chuckled. “That’s not how engineering works. But sure, I’ll give it a shot.”

  When they arrived, the car crunched to a halt in a clearing surrounded by thick woods. The shed stood at its edge—if stood was the right word. It leaned like it had gotten tired halfway through the years. The roof was patched with three different types of tile, and the door hung by one working hinge. The grass around it had grown knee-high. It looked more like something out of a forgotten fairytale than a place to store tools.

  “This is the part where the twins say ‘cool!’ and I start questioning my life choices,” Raime muttered.

  “Cool!” Victor shouted, hopping out of the truck.

  Albert echoed him. “Can we live in it?”

  “No,” Raime and Alessandro said together.

  “Wow,” Raime said, surveying the damage. “It’s even worse than I remember.”

  “It was worse before,” Alessandro replied, stretching his back. “We fixed it up ten years ago, remember?”

  “Barely.”

  “Alright, everyone grab something,” Alessandro said, popping open the trunk.

  Raime slung the toolbox over one shoulder. The twins each took a bag of supplies—ropes, gloves, nails, and sandwiches, one of which Albert promptly dropped.

  “I think the peanut butter is squished,” he said, poking the slightly flattened package.

  “It’ll still taste like peanut butter,” Raime said. “Gravity doesn’t change flavor.”

  They unloaded planks, tools, and a box of nails. The twins carried what they could manage—mostly smaller boards and buckets.

  Raime eyed the sagging roof. “So, what’s first?”

  “We support the beam from inside. Replace the warped board. Patch the shingles,” Alessandro said. “Simple.”

  Raime laughed. “That word means something very different to you, doesn’t it?”

  “You two start clearing out the inside,” Alessandro said. “If anything in there looks alive, don’t touch it. Just call me.”

  The twins groaned but obeyed, dragging their feet toward the door.

  “Do we knock?” Victor asked.

  Albert snorted. “Knock on what? That thing looks like it’d collapse if you breathed near it.”

  “Which is why we’re here,” Alessandro said. He pulled the creaking door open like a ringmaster at a circus. “Welcome to the kingdom of dust and forgotten screws.”

  Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wood, rust, and old varnish. Spiders had clearly claimed the rafters. Shelves sagged under the weight of boxes, old coffee cans full of nails, random wires, and tools that should have retired two decades ago.

  Raime ran a hand along one of the beams. “Still solid.”

  “Nonno overbuilt everything,” Alessandro said. “Even his mistakes were made to last.”

  Raime smirked. “Are we talking about the shed or Uncle Daniele?”

  Alessandro’s mustache twitched. “Both. Less talking, more clearing.”

  “Copy that.”

  The twins were checking corners.

  “This feels like a side quest,” Albert muttered, stepping over a fallen beam. “Find the ancient relic. Defeat the spiders. Fix the roof.”

  “Better than school,” Victor said.

  “I wouldn’t mind either,” Raime added. “At least school doesn’t make you carry ten kilos uphill.”

  “Med school is a ten-kilo uphill,” Victor said sagely.

  Raime blinked. “That’s disturbingly accurate. Did you eat bread and fox for breakfast?”

  “Ha-ha, so funny”

  Dust flew from under every plank Raime lifted. Cobwebs hung like ancient curtains. The air smelled of mildew, pine, and old iron.

  “Raime!” Alessandro called from outside. “Bring me the lever!”

  Raime paused. “The what?”

  “The big steel bar. Flat tip. It’s in the truck bed.”

  He walked back to the car, rummaged through the pile of tools, and found it: a 1.6-meter-long steel bar, octagonal, slightly curved, rusted in places but solid. He grunted as he lifted it—seven, maybe eight kilos. It felt heavy in his hands.

  “Where does this beast come from?”

  “Your grandpa made it himself.”

  “That old, huh? I could probably crack a safe with this.”

  “Instead, we’ll lift a support beam. It’s sunk into the foundation. We lift it, wedge it, brace it. Then deal with the roof.”

  Raime dug the curved end beneath the rotted post. Alessandro slipped in a stone brace. The wood groaned, but held. Sweat rolled down Raime’s back.

  As the morning wore on, the sun burned away the last of the fog. Raime and Alessandro wrestled another beam into place. The shed sweltered.

  After an hour, the twins slowed. Albert leaned against a post, his shirt soaked.

  “Can we take a break?”

  “No,” Alessandro said.

  Victor flopped onto a stump. “I’m dying. Actual death. Tell my story.”

  Raime poked his head out. “Five-minute break. But don’t go far. If you wander off, I’m not hiking three counties to find you.”

  “We’ll just look around!” Albert said, already vanishing into the trees.

  “They’re going to get bitten by a snake,” Alessandro muttered.

  “Or fall off a cliff,” Raime added.

  Inside, the hammering resumed.

  Meanwhile, deeper among the pines, the twins wandered farther than they realized.

  Victor led the charge, holding a long stick like a sword and swinging it dramatically at invisible enemies. “Sir Victor of the North strikes again! Another goblin bites the dust!”

  Albert trudged behind him, rolling his eyes but smiling. “You just beheaded a fern.”

  “Fern-goblins are the most dangerous kind,” Victor replied, slicing again with a whoosh. “They pretend to be plants, but they strike when you least expect it.”

  Albert kicked a pine cone at his brother. “Well, Sir Victor, maybe you could use your mighty blade to help fix the shed.”

  “I am a knight, not a carpenter.”

  “Convenient.”

  They stepped over fallen logs and pushed through tangles of brambles. The sun filtered through the high canopy in broken shafts, lighting the mossy ground in gold and green.

  Albert picked up a stick of his own and gave it a few practice swings. “You’re just trying to get out of carrying more planks.”

  Victor scoffed. “I already carried three whole boards. My back is shattered.”

  Albert raised an eyebrow. “Three boards? That’s your heroic burden?”

  Victor gasped, dramatically collapsing against a tree. “Cruel brother. No sympathy for the fallen. My bones are dust.”

  “Your bones are lazy,” Albert muttered.

  Victor stood up again and looked around. “Okay, where even are we?”

  Albert paused. “Uh… not exactly sure. But we didn’t go far, right?”

  “I don’t remember passing that tree,” Victor said, pointing to a twisted old pine with bark that peeled like sunburned skin.

  Albert looked back the way they came. The path was barely visible now.

  “Maybe we should turn back,” he said.

  Victor shook his head. “Let’s go a little farther. Five more minutes. Maybe we’ll find a hidden cave or something cool.”

  “Or get eaten by a bear.”

  “Pfft. You know what Raime said. Bears hate us.”

  “I think he said he hates bears.”

  “Same difference.”

  They kept walking, voices lower now, the laughter dimming as the forest grew thicker. The air felt... heavier. The light more muted. The trees closed in, older and closer together, their bark gnarled, branches creaking softly overhead.

  Then a sound came.

  A faint tearing—like a shirt being slowly ripped down the middle.

  Both boys stopped.

  “What was that?” Albert whispered.

  Victor tilted his head. “Sounded like... fabric?”

  The tearing returned, sharper this time. Then another sound layered over it—a low, electric crackle.

  The air shifted. The hairs on their arms stood up.

  “Okay,” Albert said. “Now I think we should go back.”

  Victor held up his hand. “Wait. Look.”

  Ahead, between two ancient trees twisted like reaching arms, the very air itself rippled.

  At first, it was just a shimmer—like heat over pavement. Then it pulsed, becoming larger, floating above the moss-covered ground. The edges danced with sparks of blue and violet. The center swirled with colors that seemed too deep, too layered for reality—shades that didn’t have names.

  The forest went silent.

  Albert stared. “That’s... that’s not normal.”

  Victor nodded slowly. “It’s a portal.”

  Albert glanced at him. “You say that like it’s a normal thing to see in the woods.”

  “Well, I mean—maybe not in real life. But in games? Movies? It’s got all the signs. Look at it!”

  The shimmer deepened, the center of the circle now opening into something else entirely. Not another part of the forest—but somewhere... vast. Dark. Alive with motion.

  Shapes twisted behind the veil—silhouettes that didn’t move quite right. Like shadows underwater.

  Albert swallowed. “Should we... tell someone?”

  “Yeah,” Victor said, inching backward. “Yeah, we definitely should.”

  He kept staring as he moved, his mouth slightly open. “It’s terrifying. I think I want to throw up.”

  Albert pulled at his sleeve. “Let’s go!”

  “Right, right.” Victor turned. “But we have to remember exactly where this is.”

  Together, they hurried back through the trees, hearts pounding—not because the forest had changed, but because something else had just opened a door between worlds.

  Then another sound. Behind them, the shimmer pulsed once more.

  And something stepped out of it.

  Grey and thin with corded muscles, the creature was a nightmare to look at—long limbs bending at unnatural angles, bone spikes protruding like thorns from its elbows and back. A single enormous purple eye dominated its face, unblinking, wet, gleaming with cruel intelligence. Beneath it, a mouth full of jagged, needle-like teeth gaped open. It moved low to the ground, hunched, every movement unnaturally smooth and fluid, like it was sliding more than walking.

  Its claws dug into the forest floor.

  It tilted its head and turned to the left, looking in the direction the twins just went to.

  Then followed.