Grayridge was never quiet.
Even at four in the morning, when the mist still lay thick upon the ground, the sounds of the mining village had already begun: the first shovel striking stone, wooden wheels grinding on rails, the dry coughs of the early shift miners. But if you listened more carefully—truly listened—there would be something else mingled within.
A sound that didn't belong to this world.
Ethan Gray lay in bed, eyes open in the darkness, counting the rhythm. Clang... clang... clang... from the mine. Then, between the third and fourth beat: a very faint hum, like air being torn apart for an instant.
That's exactly what it was—air being torn apart. He recognized it immediately.
Ethan sat up, fumbling in the dark for his clothes. Maria—his mother—was still asleep in the next room, her snoring steady. He quietly opened the door and stepped outside.
Grayridge at this hour was like a painting frozen in time. The low wooden houses emerged from the fog, their tile roofs covered in dark green moss. The main road stretched from the square to the mine gate, lined on both sides by flickering oil lamps. And at the end of the road, where the lamplight couldn't reach, stood the D.I.S steel pillar—a monitoring device that measured Boundary fluctuations.
Ethan walked toward the nearest pillar. The small screen on it displayed:
[BOUNDARY STABILITY: 91%]
[FREQ: 6.1 RF]
[ANOMALY: NONE DETECTED]
91%. Four percent below the safety standard. And that number had been steadily declining over the past six months.
Ethan stared at the last line. NONE DETECTED. He didn't believe it anymore.
"Why are you up so early?"
The voice startled Ethan. He turned to see Harren—the village's sole mechanic—standing there, holding an oil lamp, his face creased from lack of sleep.
The lamplight illuminated Ethan's face, clearly revealing his silver-gray eyes. Harren stared for a second, then looked away.
"Couldn't sleep," Ethan replied. "Have you heard any unusual sounds?"
Harren looked up at the fluctuation pillar, eyes narrowing. "I've heard a crackling sound, like someone walking on broken glass. Gets clearer every night."
"Does D.I.S know about this?" Ethan asked.
"They know," Harren shrugged. "But Grayridge is low priority. A small mining village, population just over seven hundred, nothing special. It'll probably take them years to pay attention to us."
"Or just one impact strong enough," Ethan thought, but didn't say it aloud.
In the morning, the Grayridge library opened at eight o'clock.
It was the only brick building in the village, two stories high, with thick glass windows—a legacy from when Grayridge was a geological research station, before the first Boundary Rift appeared. Now it served as storage for books, documents, and things D.I.S had "forgotten" to take away.
Ethan pushed the door open and entered. The elderly librarian—Mrs. Moira—sat behind the counter, thick glasses perched on her nose, jotting something down.
"Early today," she said without looking up. "Here to read those forbidden things again?"
"Not forbidden," Ethan smiled. "Just 'restricted circulation.'"
He walked straight to the farthest corner of the library, where there was a locked glass cabinet. Inside were books and documents stamped with red marks indicating they weren't meant for everyone.
Ethan had secretly read all of them. It wasn't difficult when Mrs. Moira often forgot to lock the cabinet.
Today, Ethan found something different.
An old notebook with a dark brown leather cover, edges worn. It was wedged between two technical reports, so discreet it nearly blended into the gray paper background. If he hadn't paid close attention, he would have overlooked it like any other nameless document.
Ethan pulled out the notebook.
In the bottom corner of the front cover, there was a line of faded handwriting:
Thomas Gray.
His heart skipped a beat.
That was his father's handwriting.
There was no doubt—this was his personal journal.
Ethan opened to the first page.
March 12
Today I discovered an anomalous piece of metal from Level 3 of the mine. Its crystal structure doesn't follow any familiar physical laws. When light passes through it, the surface displays constantly shifting vein patterns, as if it doesn't belong to the same space. Sent preliminary images and data to the central laboratory.
March 27
D.I.S has responded. They believe this object doesn't originate from the current Realm; its structure doesn't match any type of matter ever recorded. They asked me to store it carefully and continue searching for similar samples.
April 15
Dug deeper. Level 5 of the mine has an entire vein of crystals. But something's wrong. Workers are starting to see hallucinations. One man swore he saw a sky with seven suns. I suggested stopping the search, but D.I.S wants to continue.
May 3
The more time passes, the more I realize how special that piece of metal is—no bigger than a child's hand but unusually heavy. When I touch it, I hear... no, I can't describe it. It's like the entire universe whispering at once. D.I.S says they'll come to collect it tomorrow.
May 4
This is my last entry. I won't hand this piece over to them. I've hidden it at
The page was torn.
Ethan stared at the tear. Someone had deliberately done this. But why leave the rest of the journal?
"What are you reading so intently?"
Ethan jumped, turning around. Rowan stood there, grinning broadly. He was 17 years old, same age as Ethan, with messy brown hair, wearing mine coveralls still dusted with dirt.
"Just a book," Ethan quickly closed the notebook.
"Mr. Gray's book?" Rowan recognized the cover. "My mom says he went crazy. Kept talking about a world with seven layers, about the world collapsing, sounded like fairy tales."
"My father wasn't crazy," Ethan corrected. "He just knew more than others."
Rowan shrugged and sat down beside him. "Well, he's gone anyway. Like everyone who tried to dig deep into the mine. My mom says Grayridge is a place people come to forget, not to remember."
"Forget what?"
"Forget that the world isn't the same as it used to be," Rowan said, his voice lower. "Haven't you noticed? For the past six months, birds don't sing anymore. Trees grow slower. Well water tastes metallic."
Ethan nodded. He had noticed everything.
"What do you think is about to happen?" Rowan asked.
Before Ethan could answer, an explosion echoed from the direction of the distant mine. Not an ordinary mining blast. It sounded like glass shattering, amplified a thousand times.
The library windows shook. Books fell from shelves. Mrs. Moira screamed.
Ethan and Rowan ran outside. Above the mine, a tear appeared in mid-air—a glowing blue crack about ten meters long, rippling like water.
The D.I.S alarm began to wail. Villagers scattered in panic. And from within the tear, something began to emerge.
Not a monster.
But a human arm, with skin glowing pale blue, waving as if calling for help.
"Don't look!" Rowan pulled at Ethan.
But Ethan couldn't look away. Because on the wrist of that arm, he saw a familiar bracelet. An old type. The kind D.I.S had issued to mine workers. His father had worn one just like it. He had one at home.
The tear closed after three minutes, leaving the air heavy with the smell of ozone. The arm fell to the ground. D.I.S personnel stationed there sealed off the scene immediately.
Ethan stood watching from afar, his heart hammering in his chest. Rowan had run home. Villagers were ordered not to leave their houses.
"Go home," Mrs. Moira placed a hand on his shoulder. "This isn't something you should see."
"Do you know what's happening?" Ethan suddenly asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Mrs. Moira was silent for a moment, her eyes darting around. When she was certain no one stood nearby, she turned back and lowered her voice.
"Grayridge isn't a normal village, Ethan. Never has been." She paused, as if swallowing down something heavier. "D.I.S has research facilities here."
Ethan felt his spine tense. "Research what?"
"Anomalous phenomena," Mrs. Moira said, this time without hedging. "In recent years, cracks have begun appearing in space all over the world. Not cracks in the ground or walls. Thin rifts, sometimes just like a distorted streak in the air—you have to look for a long time to see them."
She tilted her head slightly toward the village edge, where the working lights of the D.I.S team still flickered.
"They call it a rift."
"Rift..." Ethan repeated, as if testing whether the word was real.
Mrs. Moira nodded. "Some say it's just a flaw in the world. But others whisper that... a rift is a gateway. A door to somewhere else—another world." She stopped there, as if even the word "gateway" itself could bring trouble.
"And if someone... touches it?" Ethan asked.
Mrs. Moira didn't answer directly. She only said, her voice small but certain, "D.I.S monitors them because they don't want things to get out of control. They keep the information, maintain order. But the truth is these things don't just happen here. They appear scattered, suddenly—every day, every hour. And sometimes... people disappear before they can even name it."
She looked straight into Ethan's eyes, her gaze both warning and pitying.
"So don't ask too much."
Then she turned and walked on toward her house, leaving Ethan standing alone in the silent street.
Perhaps Rowan was right. Grayridge was a place people came to forget.