The first time the man saw the symbol, it was etched into the back of his hand. He didn’t remember how it got there, only that it burned with a cold, metallic heat when he touched it. The mark was small, no larger than a coin, and shaped like an eye surrounded by concentric circles. It pulsed faintly, as if it were alive, and whenever he looked at it in the mirror, it seemed to follow his gaze. He had been working late at the library, cataloging old newspapers from the 1920s, when he found the article. It was buried in a yellowed section of a forgotten issue, titled *The Veil Beneath the City*. The article spoke of a secret society known only as "The Keepers," whose members were said to be chosen from those who had glimpsed the world behind the veil—those who had seen things others could not. The text was written in a strange, looping script that seemed to shift when he tried to read it too closely. The next day, he received a letter with no return address. Inside was a single page, blank except for a message scrawled in the same shifting script: *You are one of us now.* He tried to burn it, but the paper refused to catch fire. When he looked up, the mark on his hand was brighter, its lines more defined. Over the following weeks, strange things began to happen. He noticed people around him moving in patterns, as if they were following a script. A barista at his usual café would always ask the same question at the same time. A neighbor across the street would walk the same route every evening, holding a briefcase that never opened. At night, he sometimes heard whispers coming from the walls, though no one else seemed to hear them. One evening, he found himself standing outside an unmarked door in an alley he had never noticed before. It was made of dark wood, covered in ivy, and there was no handle. But when he reached out, the door swung open, revealing a long, dimly lit corridor. The air smelled of old parchment and something sweet, like burnt sugar. He stepped inside. The corridor led to a grand hall, lined with bookshelves that stretched into darkness. In the center stood a circular table, where several figures sat in silence. They wore black robes, their faces obscured by masks that seemed to shift between expressions. One of them, a woman with silver hair, spoke without turning her head. “You have seen the truth,” she said. “Now you must choose.” She placed a small key on the table. “There is a room in this place that only those who are chosen may enter. It holds the knowledge of the world beyond our own. But once you go in, you will never be the same.” He hesitated. The mark on his hand throbbed. “What happens if I don’t go in?” The woman smiled. “Then you will forget. And so will we.” He left the hall, the door closing behind him with a soft click. That night, he dreamed of a city beneath the city, where the streets were paved with mirrors and the sky was a deep, endless blue. He saw people walking through reflections of themselves, each step causing ripples in the glass. When he woke, the mark had faded, but the memory remained. He tried to tell someone, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. The next morning, he found another letter, this time with a different message: *You have chosen the path of remembrance.* In the days that followed, he began to notice more. The world felt slightly off, as if it were a stage set. He saw people blinking out of existence for a fraction of a second, then reappearing. He heard voices in the wind, speaking in languages he had never learned. And in the quiet moments, he could almost see the edges of the world, where reality bled into something else. One night, he returned to the alley. The door was gone, replaced by a brick wall. But as he pressed his hand against it, the wall shimmered, and he stepped through. Inside, the room was empty except for a single chair and a mirror. In the reflection, he saw not himself, but a version of him wearing a black robe, standing beside the other figures. The mirror showed him a choice: to stay, or to return. He reached out, but the mirror did not break. Instead, it whispered, *You already chose.* And then, the world shifted again.