Elion Dray lived a simple, almost invisible life. He worked at a small bookstore, spent his evenings reading, and rarely spoke unless someone initiated a conversation. People knew him as a polite, gentle, and quiet person who never caused trouble, stayed within his routines, and remained on the safe edges of life. Every day, he sat by the window with a cup of warm coffee and his old sketchbook. He didn't draw for fame or money; he drew because it brought him a sense of calm, making the world feel right for a few moments.
His room was small, filled with paint-stained pencils on the desk and half-completed drawings adorning the walls.
Most of the drawings depicted scenes from his favorite novel, *The Kingdom of AsterFall*. He had been illustrating places from that story for a long time. To him, those lands felt more real than the city outside his window. He knew every detail of the towering castle and the quiet valley by heart.
Sometimes, he imagined walking through those landscapes, listening to the sound of the rivers. It was a foolish dream, he reminded himself, but one that never truly left him. That morning, when Elion opened his sketchbook, something felt different. A strange heaviness hung in the air, as if the world was holding its breath. Elion couldn't explain it, but he sensed that this day would not end as it had begun.
Elion stretched and glanced at the time—he was three minutes late, as usual. He put on his paint-stained jacket and stepped out into the morning air.
At his usual corner stall, the chai vendor smiled at him. "Running late again?" he asked. Elion replied with a grin, "A little," as he picked up a pastry.
Work at the bookstore was quiet. He dusted the shelves, assisted a few customers, and exchanged brief smiles with the strangers who came and went. That day, Elion walked home under streetlights, helping a child pick up a ball and holding open a door for someone. Those things were what defined his gentleness and kindness.
That night, he sat by the window; unease crept in. The air felt heavier. He looked at his sketchbook, lying closed on the desk. For the first time in years, he didn't feel like opening it. Instead, he sat by the window long after the city lights dimmed. The clock ticked towards midnight.
Elion finally opened his sketchbook. This time, he didn't start sketching; instead, he looked at the latest sketch he made. It was a scene from the novel The Kingdom of AsterFall. The hero is standing alone on the cliff, the cape flowing in the wind, with his sword shining faintly.
Elion whispered, "I've seen this scene a hundred times." But something was wrong this time. The hero was not standing alone.
Someone else was there—a boy with messy hair and tired eyes.
The boy looked exactly like Elion.
He froze.
"I didn't draw that," he said quietly, his heart beating faster. A cold wind brushes through the room even though the windows are closed. The pages of the sketchbook flipped faster and faster until they landed on the same page.
The figure that looked like him was no longer still. Its head tilted. It looked straight at Elion. The lamp flickered.
Elion pushed back his chair. What... What is happening?
Ink began to drip from the edges of the page like wet paint. The lines dissolved and swirled into a dark circle that grew larger and larger, glowing faintly like a portal.
The sketchbook shook violently.
The world around him started to twist. A strong force wrapped around his body and started pulling him towards it. Elion tried to step away, but the pull was strong.
Elion felt that the floor around his feet vanished. He saw his own reflection in the swirling ink.
Eyes wide open. Breath caught.
Before everything went black, the ink swallowed him whole.