The air was heavy.
Not in the suffocating way that comes with heat or pressure, but with something else—something unexplainable. As we gathered in the cottage lounge the morning after the siren-filled chaos, a silence hung between us. Not the kind born from awkwardness or conflict, but one that came from unspoken understanding. We were all thinking the same thing—we weren't in control of this anymore.
Bobby had his laptop open, eyes scanning through articles, research papers, forums... anything that could offer some explanation for what we were experiencing. Jacob, still skeptical but visibly unsettled, kept pacing, occasionally muttering things like "coincidence" and "sleep deprivation." Ambrose, on the other hand, was chewing on a breadstick like it held the secrets of the universe.
"You know," Ambrose said, mouth half-full, "at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if the bread turned into a snake and gave me life advice."
"Can you be serious for once?" Jacob snapped.
"I am serious," Ambrose replied with a raised brow. "That snake might have better answers than we do right now."
I cracked a smile, even if only briefly. Humor had a way of breaking tension—Ambrose's superpower.
We began piecing together what we knew. The siren rang between 3 and 5 AM. Time seemed to bend. Ambrose had encountered something—or someone—that pulled him from this world into another. Then we were suddenly transported back. No memory. No clues. Just fog, fear, and the lingering echo of the siren.
Bobby leaned forward. "Guys… I think the forest isn't just in this world. It's between them. A sort of dimensional buffer."
Jacob raised a brow. "You mean like... Narnia but with worse lighting and no wardrobe?"
"Exactly," Bobby said, not even flinching at the sarcasm. "And I think every time the siren rings, it's like... the door creaks open a little more."
Ambrose tossed the remains of his breadstick into the bin and wiped his hands dramatically on a napkin. "So, what, we're chosen interdimensional travelers now? Great. Do I get a cape? Maybe a badge?"
"I'm being serious," Bobby said. "And you heard what that old man said… about being stuck in a loop. What if he wasn't crazy? What if he was just stuck between two timelines?"
That sobered us up. Even Jacob.
I looked down at my phone. 2:43 PM. Only hours until nightfall.
"We need to be prepared," I said. "We can't keep stumbling through this. Let's set rules."
Jacob crossed his arms. "Like what?"
"Rule one," Bobby began, already in scientist mode. "No one goes out alone between 3 and 5 AM. Not again."
"Agreed," I said. "Rule two: If anyone sees or hears anything unusual—voices, people who look like us, warped scenery—you tell the rest. Immediately."
Ambrose raised a hand. "Can we make a rule that we don't talk to glowing trees or floating grandpas?"
We all turned to stare.
"What?" he said, shrugging. "That fog glowed, okay? And that old man gave me the 'you're special' speech like we were in a Marvel movie."
Jacob, for once, didn't argue.
"Rule three," I continued. "We document everything. Timings. Changes in surroundings. Who remembers what. We keep track. Maybe it helps us piece the pattern."
By evening, we were more organized than we'd been since we arrived. Each of us had a notebook. Ambrose decorated his with doodles of stick figures fighting time ghosts. Bobby mapped out the forest's rough layout based on what we remembered. Jacob, despite all his disbelief, sharpened two extra pencils and labeled them with our names—classic Jacob.
When night rolled in, we stayed in the same room. We kept the lights dim, torches nearby, phones charged, and an alarm set for 2:50 AM.
And when the siren rang again—exactly at 3:00 AM—it was louder than ever.
Almost... urgent.
We sat up in unison, like our bodies had been expecting it.
"I hate that sound," Ambrose muttered. "Feels like someone's trying to microwave my brain."
This time, none of us hesitated.
We grabbed our torches and moved as a unit, exiting the cottage slowly, carefully.
The forest loomed ahead, draped in fog that shimmered unnaturally. As we stepped closer, something felt... wrong. Like the space around us was stretching and shrinking at the same time. Our footsteps didn't echo normally. It was as if sound itself was unsure of the laws here.
And then we saw it.
The portal.
A rippling outline of light, like a vertical pool of water held upright in the air.
Ambrose whistled softly. "Well, I'll be damned. It's a Stargate."
Bobby didn't say a word. He was transfixed.
Jacob stepped forward, his hand reaching out, almost drawn in.
"Wait," I said.
They turned to me.
"If we go through again, we do it together. No solo missions. Agreed?"
They nodded. Ambrose gave a mock salute.
We stepped through.
It was like falling, but sideways.
When we landed, everything was wrong and right all at once.
Colors were richer, yet off. The sky had a texture. The trees bent at impossible angles, and our voices echoed with a half-second delay.
"This place again…" Ambrose whispered.
But it felt different now.
Stronger.
And then we saw her.
A figure stood not far off—a woman, cloaked in a silvery light. Her presence felt calm, but commanding. Almost... ancient.
"You've returned," she said.
Her voice rang in my head, not my ears.
"The forest has accepted you once more."
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I am a guardian," she replied. "A watcher of this nexus."
Jacob whispered under his breath, "Of course she's a guardian. There's always a guardian."
She ignored him.
"You stand at the convergence," she continued. "Four souls intertwined across realms. Chosen not for power, but for resonance."
Ambrose looked sideways at me. "What does that even mean?"
"I think," Bobby said slowly, "it means we're attuned to this place somehow. Like keys that fit a lock."
The guardian nodded. "Precisely."
She raised her hand and from the mist, the shape of the hut emerged again.
"This structure exists in all timelines. A safe point."
Alex stared at it. "But why us?"
The guardian didn't answer that directly. Instead, she said, "Some paths are not chosen. They're inherited."
The moment those words left her lips, the siren echoed again—softer this time. Almost like a warning.
"You must go," she said. "Not all eyes in the forest are kind."
And with that, she vanished.
We turned to each other.
No one spoke.
Because we all knew something was coming.
Something bigger than glowing trees, old men, or portals.
We needed answers.
And now, we were finally ready to start asking the right questions.