I cannot, said the visitor. Only the Anchor's keeper can. And now — it pointed one long finger at Elias's chest — that is you.
Elias woke on his cabin floor, the iron poker digging into his ribs, the fire long dead. Dawn was still bleeding through the window. Only seconds had passed. But the shard was real — warm in his palm, its tiny galaxy spinning. mysteries visitor part 2.
The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing the same hooded figure from the night before. This time, however, the "Mysterious Visitor" wasn't carrying a lantern—they held a single, tarnished silver key. The Unspoken Pact I cannot, said the visitor
Three nights ago, Silas had arrived on Arthur’s doorstep, drenched and frantic, muttering about "the boundary" and "the debt." Then, just as Arthur had turned to fetch the man a blanket, Silas vanished. The front door was locked from the inside. The windows were latched. He had simply ceased to exist, leaving only the compass and a lingering scent of ozone and burnt cinnamon. Elias woke on his cabin floor, the iron
Arthur heard it then—a scratching sound from behind the bricks. Not a rat. It was the sound of fingernails dragging against stone. It was frantic, desperate, and getting louder.
Arthur froze. The clock struck midnight. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that the visitor had returned. Or rather, something had come to collect what the visitor had left behind.
The bricks gave way, and a hand, pale and translucent, reached out from the darkness within the wall. Arthur raised the iron poker, his heart hammering against his ribs.