Lira Vale was not afraid of strange things…she painted them. Her small flat was cluttered with canvases that looked like dreams caught mid-scream—twisted cities, floating staircases, eyes where mouths should be. However, there was one vision that haunted her. It never made it onto canvas, she only saw it in her dreams: a man adorned in red and black, holding a luminous playing card.
Why did she keep seeing him? She asked herself. Was he someone from reality?
Tonight, she would have her answer.
Compelled by a bizarre urge, Lira found herself in the alley behind the old opera house. It was often used as a shortcut during the day, but rarely at night. She walked slowly, slightly amused as to why she was there, but then she saw it. The wall loomed before her, chaotic and alive with bright red and black paint. And there he was—just as she had imagined him, the man holding the card.
“You’re real,” she whispered.
The figure turned towards her. His eyes shimmered like oil on water.
“You painted me,” he said. They call me The Magician.
Lira inhaled sharply. “How?”
“You don’t remember,” he said slowly.
He held out the card. “This is a door. But doors require keys. And keys require questions.”
Lira reached for it. The moment her fingers touched the card, the wall behind him shivered. A ripple of light swept across its surface, revealing a world beyond—a city reminiscent of Virelia, but fractured. Floating buildings. Crimson skies. A clock tower melting into the horizon.
“You’ve been here before,” The Magician said. “You just forgot.”
Lira stepped forward, and the wall wrapped itself around her.
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