That night, I couldn't sleep.
It wasn't fear exactly—it was awareness. Like once you realize a room has a second door, you can't stop wondering who might be standing behind it.
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, listening. Not with my ears. With that new part of me that had woken up and refused to go back to sleep.
The world hummed.
Not loudly. Not violently. Just enough to remind me it was there.
Across the room, Kristina shifted in her sleep. We shared the room tonight—Mom insisted. She said it was "just for comfort," but I knew better now. Comfort wasn't the reason.
Protection was.
"Kris," Kristina whispered suddenly, eyes still closed.
"You're awake?" I asked.
"No," she said. "But I can see you."
That sent a chill straight down my spine. "That's not how being asleep works."
She smiled faintly. "It is now."
I sat up. Moonlight leaked through the blinds, striping the walls like prison bars.
"I keep seeing places," she continued. "Not dreams. Memories. But not ours."
"Other worlds," I said.
She nodded. "They're getting closer."
Before I could respond, something shifted—harder this time. The air pressed inward, like the room was taking a breath it didn't have lungs for.
Then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
From the window.
I froze.
Kristina's eyes snapped open.
"Don't move," she whispered.
The tapping came again. Slow. Patient.
I slid out of bed and crept toward the window. Every step felt heavier than the last, like the floor didn't want me to reach it.
"Kris," Kristina hissed. "Wait."
Too late.
I pulled the curtain back.
Nothing.
Just the backyard. The old fence. The tree where we used to hang blankets and pretend it was a castle.
Then the tree moved.
Not physically. Conceptually.
The space around it folded, bending inward like someone had pressed reality with their thumb.
A doorway opened.
I stumbled back. "Kristina—"
She was already beside me, eyes glowing faintly—not with light, but with focus.
"That's it," she breathed. "That's one of the ways."
The door widened, showing a place that looked like a reflection of our yard—but wrong. The grass was darker. The sky deeper. The fort we built years ago stood there, not broken and forgotten, but towering, reinforced with walls made of thought and belief.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway.
The door burst open.
Mom rushed in, Grandma right behind her.
"Step away from the window," Mom ordered.
Grandma stopped short when she saw it. "So soon," she murmured. "The world chose that entrance."
"What is it?" I asked.
Grandma placed a hand on my shoulder. "One of the Five. A Border World. Built from imagination strong enough to refuse fading."
Kristina swayed suddenly.
"Kris!" I caught her before she fell.
Her breathing was shallow. Her eyes unfocused.
Mom rushed forward. "Is it starting?"
Grandma's jaw tightened. "Not yet. But the curse is stretching its fingers."
"What curse?" I demanded.
Silence.
Then Grandma spoke, her voice low. "A slow one. A cruel one. Placed by a man who believes time is his weapon."
Far away, in a fortress forged from collapsed realities, Malachor watched a projection ripple.
He frowned.
"The girl weakens faster than expected," one of his commanders said.
"Good," another replied. "Then the boy will break."
Malachor raised a hand. "No."
They fell silent.
"The boy will resist," Malachor said. "That is why he does not matter."
The mirror flickered again—this time showing me holding Kristina upright, fear and determination burning side by side.
Malachor's eyes narrowed.
"…Still," he added quietly. "Prepare the lower ranks."
"Yes, Lord Malachor," the generals said in unison.
Ranks moved. Armies shifted.
Back in our room, Grandma pressed both palms to the floor.
Symbols ignited—old, circular, layered like history itself.
"You cannot cross yet," she said to the doorway. "Not tonight."
The doorway resisted. Then slowly, reluctantly, it began to close.
The fort beyond flickered.
Kristina gasped, suddenly fully conscious. "Don't let it disappear."
"It won't," Grandma said. "Not anymore. Once a Bouie opens a door, the world remembers."
The doorway sealed with a sound like a deep sigh.
The room returned to normal.
Too normal.
Kristina slumped against me. "I don't like how tired I feel."
I held her tighter. "You're not alone."
Mom knelt in front of us. "Listen to me. Both of you. From now on, nothing you imagine is harmless. You need to be careful. The worlds respond to belief."
Grandma nodded. "And there are those who will try to shape your imagination for you."
"Malachor," Kristina whispered, like the name had always been there.
Grandma's eyes widened slightly. "You know his name already."
Kristina frowned. "I don't know how. I just… do."
That scared me more than anything else that night.
Later, after they finally convinced us to sleep, I lay awake again, staring at the ceiling.
I thought about forts.
About games.
About how we used to build worlds without knowing they could build us back.
Somewhere beyond Earth, armies marched.
Somewhere closer than I liked, a curse tightened just a fraction more.
And somewhere inside me, something ancient and stubborn began to wake up fully.
Malachor thought Kristina was the key.
He was wrong.
I was.