The sky burned crimson.
Elira Dawnstone stood motionless at the edge of the old hill road, her gaze fixed on the silhouette of the building that loomed ahead. The fading sun cast a fiery hue across the clouds, bleeding into the horizon like spilled ink, yet the hotel didn't reflect any light. Instead, it seemed to absorb it, like a shadow clinging to the edge of the world.
It was called The Red Sky Hotel—a forgotten relic wrapped in mystery, whispered about in local legends but rarely seen in person. Some said it only appeared on nights when the sky turned red. Others believed it was a haunted place, a border between realities. But Elira… she had no idea what she was walking into.
All she had was an invitation.
A gold-foiled card, tucked inside her apartment mailbox two nights ago. No name. No return address. Just seven handwritten words:
"Find the truth where the sky bleeds."
She should've thrown it away. She should've stayed home. But ever since her father vanished years ago, Elira had never been able to shake the feeling that she didn't belong—not in the world she knew. Not in the life she was pretending to live.
And somehow… this place called to her.
The gravel crunched beneath her boots as she stepped forward. The air was colder here, sharper. Almost electric. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her worn leather bag, filled with little more than her journal, a flashlight, and her father's old compass.
The doors of the hotel stood tall and arched, carved from blackwood etched with strange runes that pulsed faintly under the dying light. There was no bell, no sign of life. Yet the moment her hand touched the handle, a soft click echoed—and the door creaked open as if it had been waiting.
Elira hesitated. Her instincts screamed to run.
But instead, she stepped inside.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the silence swallowed her.
The interior was nothing like she'd imagined. It was grand—elegant, even—filled with deep red velvet walls and gold chandeliers that shimmered like stars. A thick carpet stretched across the floor, worn with age but still regal. A spiral staircase wound up into shadow, and portraits lined the walls—portraits of people she didn't recognize but felt strangely drawn to.
At the center of the lobby stood a long check-in desk. Behind it, a pale man in a dark crimson suit appeared silently, as if summoned by her presence. His eyes were gray, almost silver, and they locked onto hers with unsettling precision.
"Elira Dawnstone," he said, his voice smooth like silk, yet echoing with something ancient. "We've been expecting you."
Her heart skipped.
"How do you know my name?" she asked, instinctively reaching for the invitation in her coat pocket.
The man smiled—slow, knowing. "You were born of two worlds. One of fire, one of stone. The blood of the marked runs through your veins."
"What are you talking about?" she whispered.
He tilted his head. "You'll understand soon enough."
Without another word, he turned and slid a heavy brass key across the counter. It was old, curved in the shape of a crescent moon, with a glowing red gemstone at the center.
Room 217.
The numbers shimmered faintly across the key's head.
Elira hesitated, but curiosity—and something deeper, something primal—drew her forward. She took the key. The moment her fingers wrapped around it, warmth pulsed up her arm. The gemstone flickered.
"You may hear whispers in the night," the man said softly. "Do not answer them."
Before she could respond, he was gone. One blink—and the space behind the desk was empty.
She turned to the staircase, unsure whether she'd walked into a dream or something darker.
The hallway to Room 217 felt endless.
It wound through narrow corridors, past locked doors and flickering candle sconces. The air felt thicker here, as though she were being watched. Her footsteps echoed, yet she heard others behind her—only to turn and find nothing.
She finally reached her room.
The door was tall, arched like the entrance, with a single rune carved into its center. Her key slid in effortlessly, and with a soft push, the door creaked open.
The room inside was dim, lit only by a fire already crackling in the stone fireplace. There were no windows—only long red curtains and shelves filled with books bound in leather and symbols. A bed stood at the center, draped in black and crimson silk sheets.
It was oddly… beautiful. Regal.
But the moment she stepped inside, something in her chest stirred.
A sharp pain pierced her heart, quick and blinding. She staggered, clutching her chest as a flicker of golden light pulsed through her ribs.
Then, just as quickly, it stopped.
She fell to her knees, panting.
What was that?
She yanked her jacket open, her fingers trembling as she pressed her hand over her heart. It beat faster than ever—wild, erratic. Her skin glowed faintly beneath her palm, and for a brief second, she swore she saw something beneath her skin…
A light. A crystal. Embedded in her flesh.
She stumbled to the mirror.
And that's when she saw it.
Her eyes—no longer hazel, but glowing softly with gold.
She didn't sleep that night.
She couldn't.
The hotel whispered to her in silence. Dreams bled into memory. She saw visions—of chains, of fire, of two figures fleeing through a burning field under the same red sky. A man… and a woman. Carrying something wrapped in cloth. A baby.
Her.
At dawn, Elira stood at the hotel's edge, staring out at the now gray sky.
And that's when she saw him.
A man stood across the courtyard, dressed in black, silver armor gleaming beneath his long coat. His face was sharp, eyes the color of ice. He watched her with a gaze that burned through the distance.
She didn't know his name.
Not yet.
But he was sent to kill her.
And he would become the only one who could save her.