Chapter 8: The Door of Three Candles
The next morning came quietly, its arrival marked by the distant call of a rickshaw bell and the soft rustle of leaves beyond Abid's balcony. He sat on his floor mat, nursing a second cup of tea, his sketchbook laid open on his lap.
His fingers still tingled from last night's drawing marathon, but his heart felt light.
He flipped through the pages he'd completed—the final panels of *Journey of the Wanderer – Chapter 5*, the smiling stream from *The Pebble and the Stream*, and the sketchy outline of *Cloud-Lanterns Over Arvellis*.
Each drawing now felt like more than just lines on a page.
They were conversations.
Connections.
He turned to the system dashboard. The interface pulsed with gentle blue light, presenting a tidy overview:
> **Sales Report – Last 24 Hours**
> – *Journey of the Wanderer – Ch. 5*: 3,481 scrolls opened
> – *The Pebble and the Stream*: 1,217 storytime impressions
> – Reader Feedback Stars: 4.8/5
> – Total Tips Received: 42 Gold Leaves, 3 Sapphire Dusts
> **New Feature Unlocked:**
> **Reader Wall – Message Archive from Registered Readers**
A button below blinked softly: *View Messages?*
Abid hesitated.
He had never been comfortable with feedback, even back in art school. Praise made him feel awkward. Criticism, even the kind kind, sent him into long spirals of self-doubt.
But this was a different world.
And these were readers he'd never meet face-to-face.
He tapped the button.
---
A parchment-like wall unfolded on his screen, filled with handwritten-style messages from avatars and usernames. Each one bore the reader's name, region, and a small drawing or seal—like stamps of their personalities.
> "The story of the stream made my daughter cry. Thank you for teaching her that even the smallest stone matters." – Tira of Korun Vale
>
> "Your Wanderer feels like the kind of friend I always wished for." – Seledin, Apprentice Rune-Smith
>
> "More sky panels please. They make me want to breathe deeper." – 'Shadowbirch' (anonymous)
Abid scrolled slowly, his eyes lingering on each sentence, each awkward spelling, each strange little symbol at the end. Some were simple thumbs-ups or hearts. Others were fantastical—like a drawing of a goat holding a scroll.
He laughed aloud for the first time in weeks.
The laughter startled him.
It wasn't sharp or hollow like it had been in the past.
It was… warm.
A knock at the door made him pause.
But it wasn't from his apartment.
It came from the system interface.
> **Visitor Incoming: From the Storyteller's Crossing**
> Permission to allow cross-world projection?
Abid blinked.
He had never seen this feature before.
"Projection?" he murmured, confused.
He tapped "Allow."
The room dimmed as the lights flickered. The system emitted a low chime, like wind passing through crystal chimes. Then a faint blue shimmer appeared in front of his desk.
Slowly, like fog curling into form, a translucent figure took shape.
It was a young man—maybe 20, wearing layered robes with patterns like folded book pages. His eyes were wide with wonder, and his mouth moved slowly, as if whispering a spell.
Then, in a clear voice, he said, "You must be the maker of the light-drawn stories."
Abid sat up straighter. "I suppose I am. You're…?"
"I'm Erol, apprentice at the Crossing Archive. I came with a question. And maybe… an offer."
---
They spoke for over an hour.
Erol explained that the "Storyteller's Crossing" was a neutral zone in the other world—a place between kingdoms where librarians, scribes, oral historians, and wandering poets met each year to share stories.
This year, there had been talk of inviting a "new kind of tale" to the gathering.
"One that does not ask to be spoken aloud," Erol said, "but still speaks. One that combines the eye and the soul. The kind you make."
Abid was silent.
This was happening faster than he'd ever expected.
"I'm no scholar," he said carefully. "I just draw what I wish someone had drawn for me."
Erol smiled.
"Then you already qualify."
He bowed.
"I came to ask if you would send three works—your choosing. We'll display them at the Door of Three Candles, where new stories are judged by firelight. If even one survives the night, it becomes part of the Living Shelf."
Abid didn't fully understand the titles—but the reverence in Erol's voice made it clear: this was a big deal.
He accepted.
The moment the answer left his lips, the system chimed again:
> **New Quest Initiated: "The Door of Three Candles"**
> Prepare and submit three completed works
> Deadline: 3 Days (Other World Time)
> Reward: System Level-Up, Reader Expansion Tier 2, Artisan's Ink (Uncommon)
Abid opened his project files immediately.
He'd already finished *The Wanderer – Chapter 5* and *The Pebble and the Stream*.
That left one slot open.
He looked toward the rough outline of *Cloud-Lanterns Over Arvellis*.
Could he finish it in time?
He didn't know.
But he would try.
---
The next three days passed in quiet intensity.
Abid rose early, slept late, and paused only for tea and small meals. He let the rest of the world fall away—the laundry, the emails, the creaking of the ceiling fan. In this room, there was only the sound of pencils scratching, of the occasional sigh, and the low hum of the interface.
*Cloud-Lanterns Over Arvellis* told the story of two siblings who built lanterns to help a wandering wind-spirit find its way home. It wasn't grand or dramatic—but it felt like something a real child might tell at bedtime. It felt… honest.
He poured himself into the pages.
Not perfect lines—but tender ones.
Not grand ideas—but clear, glowing ones.
When it was finished, he uploaded all three stories to the system's submission portal.
The interface shimmered as it accepted them.
> **Submission Received**
> "The Door of Three Candles will open in 8 hours."
> "Reader Results will follow at dusk."
> "Sleep well, Story Artisan."
Abid closed his laptop and leaned back, too wired to rest.
He didn't know if any of his works would "survive the night."
He didn't even fully know what that meant.
But for once, he felt no fear.
Because he had drawn honestly.
And that… was enough.