Alan pointed toward a shining grave—its surface glowed like a falling star, bright and otherworldly.
"Can it be?" I whispered, barely able to believe my eyes.
"Yes. It must be. The grave of the famous mathematician… Sir Rodulf Rodriguez," Alan said, his voice steady with certainty.
"Let's go," he added, already starting toward it.
But I didn't move.
I was frozen. Not by the cold, but by fear.
Alan turned, confused. "Serena, what happened?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
My body was here, but my mind—lost in a fog darker than this place.
He rushed back, grabbed my hand gently but firmly, and shook me. "Serena! What happened?"
His voice pulled me back into this horrifying reality. The grave. The silence. The pressure in the air. Everything felt heavy.
I started to sob. Loud, aching sobs that I couldn't hold back anymore.
"Serena…" Alan said softly, worry etched all over his face.
I threw myself into his arms, clinging to him like the world was crumbling around us.
"Don't leave me… please…" I begged, my tears soaking into his shirt.
"Yes—yes, I'm not going anywhere," he reassured, but then began, "but we need to—"
"We need to go home," I interrupted, my voice cracking.
Alan didn't argue. He just held me tighter and waited. Waited until my trembling eased.
The world around us went quiet—except for the sound of my deep, shaky breaths and the thump of Alan's heartbeat pounding through his chest.
Then, after what felt like forever, he broke the silence.
"Serena… I know you're scared. Anyone else would be too. But you're not just anyone. You're Uncle Benjamin's niece—the bravest of all. He didn't choose just anyone. He chose you. Because he believed in you. Because he knew you were the strongest."
His words struck something deep inside me. Something that had gone quiet until now.
Alan's voice didn't just reach my ears—it reached my soul. It reignited the fire Uncle Benjamin had once lit in me.
I stood up slowly, the fear still there, but now burning in the shadow of something stronger.
"Let's go," I said, this time with a spark in my eyes and power in my voice.
Alan smiled, proud. "That's my girl."
I blinked. Did I hear that right? Or was I hallucinating again? His smile faded into a small, embarrassed look, and I let the moment pass with a racing heart.
We walked up to the grave. As we approached, the ground began to rumble.
"Damn," Alan muttered, trying to keep his balance.
My eyes scanned the glowing inscription:
"Mathematician Scholar, Rodulf Robert Rodriguez."
"Look there!" Alan shouted.
On the other side of the gravestone, half-buried in the soil, was something rectangular—a book.
"Yes, yes—we did it!" I cried out in joy.
I reached for it—but just before my fingers touched the cover, a deep voice echoed from nowhere:
"NOT ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GOLD."
The sound of a thousand bats erupted around us, wings flapping furiously in the dark sky.
"Wait—let me—" Alan started.
But I shook my head. "No. This is my battle. I have to fight it alone."
And I reached out.
The moment my fingers touched the book—everything changed.
Winds howled.
The cemetery dissolved.
Colors swirled around me—pinks, purples, galaxies of light and dust. I was being pulled—transported—through space and time.
"Mr. Rodriguez! Mr. Rodriguez!" voices cried, over and over again—hundreds of voices from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Then—
Darkness.
And silence.