Chapter 1 – The Storm in the Mirror
Duskfield, Present Day
The first crack of thunder arrived just after midnight, low and distant — like something trying to claw its way out of the sky.
Elian Hart sat at the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around his knees, watching the storm crawl across the dark horizon. His room was quiet except for the low hum of the fan and the occasional drip from the bathroom faucet. Rain hadn't started yet, but the air was thick, like the world was holding its breath.
Down the hall, he heard muffled voices. His parents. Again.
"…not tonight," his mother whispered.
"I'm not the one who brought it up," his father snapped, quieter but bitter. "We said we wouldn't do this in front of him."
They always said that. And they always did it anyway — just far enough away that it could be excused as background noise. But Elian knew better. Every sigh. Every pause. Every sentence that stopped halfway through like it had something sharp at the end.
They weren't fighting exactly. They were trying. That was almost worse.
He turned away from the window, but the silence in his room felt louder than the thunder. On his nightstand was a family photo: him, his mom, his dad… and an empty space. Not visibly empty, but it felt that way. Like someone had been erased.
He picked up the photo frame and turned it upside down.
There was always something missing.
When the rain finally came, it came fast — sheets of water slapping against the window like hands. Elian stood, barefoot, and wandered into the hallway. He didn't know why. Sometimes his body moved before his thoughts did. Like something else had taken over.
The house was dark. His parents had gone quiet, either asleep or pretending to be. The door to their bedroom was half-closed. A faint glow from the TV flickered inside. Some old movie with static-filled sound.
He passed by the hallway mirror without meaning to look — but something made him stop.
At first, it was his reflection. Pale skin. Messy hair. Eyes too tired for a fourteen-year-old. Nothing unusual.
But then the reflection flickered.
Just once.
And suddenly, the hallway behind him looked different — in the mirror only.
There was a door that didn't exist. A light on in a room that hadn't been open in years. A small toy train rattling down the hallway floor.
He turned around. Nothing. The hall behind him was the same as ever — dark, silent, real.
He looked back into the mirror.
The toy train rolled forward again, across the floor of the other Duskfield.
Elian reached out and touched the glass. It was cold — too cold. Like water that had been still for too long.
And then—
Lightning.
A flash so bright it swallowed the room.
And when the light faded—
The hallway was gone.
He woke up lying on warm pavement.
There was no rain. No storm. No darkness.
The sky above him was summer blue. Birds chirped from somewhere nearby. A lawnmower buzzed in the distance.
He sat up slowly.
He was in the middle of a street — not far from his house — except… it wasn't his house. Not exactly.
The paint was fresher. The trees younger. The driveway didn't have the cracks he knew by heart. The porch light was a different shape.
He turned, heart pounding, and looked down the street.
Kids on bikes. Rollerblades. Someone walking a yellow lab. A couple holding hands. A boy tossing newspapers from a bicycle. The world felt too alive. Like someone had turned up the brightness and color.
A newspaper fluttered by and landed near his feet.
Elian reached down and picked it up.
Duskfield Daily – July 15, 2005
He stared at the date until the numbers stopped making sense.
Twenty years ago.
It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a hallucination.
Somehow, Elian Hart had fallen out of the present—
—into yesterday.