The first time Mason entered the Gateway, it was an impossible fracture in the air at the entrance to a dark tunnel. It was a cave in the mountain, carved through the fabric of reality and time. Martin never dreamed where it would lead. Scientists had theories; the government had fears. Mason had fears but knew he must enter. Kay and her family’s lives depended on it. He never would have guessed the nightmares that stood at the end. A voice in his head whispered that it led to something ancient—something watching. 

Martin had to go. He needed answers.

 The wind howled as he and Kay stepped closer, an eerie purple glow reflecting in their eyes. On the other side, beyond the swirling veil of the unknown, something moved.

The talisman book was cold in Gary’s palm, its metallic surface thrumming with energy unseen yet deeply felt. It had been waiting for him. For centuries, since the time Merlin had written it. It had been passed from one bearer to the next, whispered about in forgotten tongues, its power dormant until summoned by the right hands.

 He traced the strange sigils etched across the surface of the book’s clasp. The clasp held the book closed in an iron grip. His name was Gary Talisman; he was reportedly the twelfth generation. His breath was shallow as the book responded to his touch. It did not open. Gary took the talisman charm from around his neck and touched it to the clasp. It opened. The first texts warned him: magic was not granted, but earned. The talisman was no mere object—it was a conduit, a key to magic far greater and far more powerful than anything his ancestors had dared wield. 

Gary closed his eyes and focused; he began to understand that magic wasn’t a trick or a deception. It was a dialogue, an agreement between the wielder and the universe itself.

 Soon, he would begin to understand the price.

The air was thick with the scent of decay, the remnants of a once-thriving civilization now little more than crumbling husks. The Tibetan moon shone bright against the blackened sky, its beauty swallowed by death.

 The Queen did not sit atop a throne. She was no mindless beast, no shambling horror of rotted flesh. She was their ruler, wanting to help them.

 The virus had gifted her to them. A gift rejected, fought against, feared. But fear meant nothing now. Humanity was ignorant of what the virus could and would do.

 Humanity was safe from them now. The zombies were few and under control. But the virus was stolen. Would it be taken and used where the Queen’s influence could not reach? She frowned. Was it naïve of her to think she could help?