The One Came Before

The door loomed before them, its carvings shifting like something was alive beneath the stone. The words "You are not the first" still pulsed faintly across its surface, as if whispering a warning through time.

Ethan's breath was slow, measured, but his heart pounded in his chest. He ran his fingers over the etchings, feeling the worn indentations, the centuries of secrets buried beneath his touch.

Anna stood rigid, her gun raised but her grip tight. "I don't like this," she muttered.

Ethan barely heard her. His mind was racing. If this was a door, then whoever had built it was trying to keep something in.

But who?

And more importantly—what?

The Forgotten Histories

Ethan reached into his coat and pulled out Grantham's journal. He flipped through its fragile pages, searching for any reference to St. Augustine's underground chamber.

Then—he found it.

A faded, yellowed page filled with symbols matching the door before them. Scribbled notes ran through the margins, some nearly illegible, but the meaning was clear.

"We weren't the first to seal it. The Lanes weren't either. Someone—something—has been trying to contain this since before recorded history. The first records date back to civilizations that no longer exist."

Ethan's grip tightened.

Grantham had known this wasn't just about Luminex. He had uncovered something far older.

But it was the final sentence on the page that sent a chill down Ethan's spine.

"They never stopped it. They only delayed it."

Anna read over his shoulder, her jaw clenching. "That's not reassuring."

Ethan exhaled slowly. "No. It's not."

The Ghosts of the Past

The temperature in the chamber dropped.

The faint glow of the carvings dimmed, flickering as if the room itself was breathing.

Then—a whisper.

Not like before. This one was clear.

And it spoke in a voice that did not belong to this world.

"You have come too late."

Anna's gun was up in an instant. "Ethan—"

The walls shifted. The carvings stretched, forming new words, rearranging themselves before their very eyes.

Ethan took a step back as the words became clear:

"THEY ARE COMING."

And then, from deep within the walls, something knocked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Slow. Deliberate.

Like something waiting to be let in.

Anna turned sharply. "I'm done with this," she muttered.

She pulled something from her coat—a C4 charge.

Ethan's eyes widened. "Anna—"

"I don't know what's behind that thing," she said, voice steady, "but I sure as hell don't want to find out."

She slapped the charge against the stone and stepped back. "We end this now."

Ethan hesitated. The logical part of him agreed. Whatever was behind this door should never see the light of day.

But another part of him—something deeper, instinctive—wasn't so sure.

Destroying the door might not stop what was on the other side.

It might just set it free.

Luminex: The Last Stand

Victoria Lane stood before the glowing monitors in Luminex's war room, her face a mask of cold determination.

The reports were flooding in. More disappearances. More anomalies—places where the very fabric of reality seemed to be wearing thin.

And then there was the message.

It had come through Luminex's encrypted network, bypassing every layer of security they had in place.

A single sentence.

"The door is open."

Victoria's fingers tightened around the edge of the console.

"Get me a direct line to St. Augustine," she snapped.

The technician hesitated. "Ms. Lane, we lost satellite connection to that area forty minutes ago. There's nothing—"

The power flickered.

For a single second, every screen in the room went black.

And when they came back on—

There was something else on the feed.

A face.

No.

Not a face.

Something wearing one.

Its mouth didn't move, but its words echoed through the room.

"You are too late."

Victoria's breath stilled.

She turned to the technician. "Deploy them," she ordered.

The technician paled. "Deploy who?"

Victoria's expression was stone.

"The Veilwatchers," she said.

The Final Decision

Ethan stared at the charge blinking red on the door.

Anna had her finger over the detonator. "Tell me you're not hesitating," she said.

Ethan didn't answer.

Because the door was changing.

The carvings—they weren't words anymore.

They were faces.

And they were screaming.

Anna stepped back. "I'm setting it off—"

The door shuddered.

And then—

It began to open.